I Want Him.

The man I mentioned in this post, the man I want to strap me into his homemade bondage contraption: red painted metal, leather restraints, & leopard print pads.    This man, I’m craving him a lot lately.  But I’ve done whatever it is I’ve done to keep him away from me.  After that post, we’ve talked.  As a matter of fact as I was writing that post, we were talking.  But since then, I’ve told him I hate him.  I’ve told him I wish he never would have said “hi” to me.  I’ve asked him to tell me why I like him.   We’ve only really had one discussion since those statements and question, then he vanished.  But since reading someone else’s blog, I’ve kind of got him in mind. 

And I’ve only got him in mind because of what he said the one and only night I spent in his presence.  “Next time, I’ll bring rope.”  

When I met him face to face it was awkward at first.  For me.   I was meeting a man I’ve been lusting after for quite a few years, years that I didn’t even talk to him.  I was scared to meet him.  I’m still scared of him now that I’ve met him.

[God, I hate that I can't put into words what I 'm thinking.  When I'm lying in bed at night trying to get to sleep, it's so easy for me to form words and put those words into sentences.  I think about getting up and writing them down.  But then that's less sleep that I'll be getting, so I just hope what I want to type will come out.  Without problems, w/out rambling, w/out stumbling.  But I do, I do all that and it bothers me.  I'm not a good writer when I sit down to do it.  I wish my brain would have a print button.  Print. print. print.   But it doesn't. . . And well, I get stuck.  Stuck like I am now.  Stuck like I can't get moving.  Stuck so much that I backspace and delete.  Until it all sounds right, but it doesn't sound right.  And I just hope what I'm typing comes across okay, not so scatterbrained.  But it's useless. I'm hopeless.]

And that’s how I feel when I’m around that  guy.  That’s how I feel when I talk to him.  I also feel like I can’t say enough, or I don’t say the right things.  I feel like all I’m trying to  do is live up to an image I want him to believe.  But he knows me.  He knows exactly how I am.  I sometimes hate that he can read me so well, but at the same time, I can take a breath and say, “He knows me. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

That night we met, I felt so awkward.  And scared.  He didn’t put me at ease at all in the beginning.  The only thing that did was him making the first move.  He reached across the space and slapped me across the face.  I was shocked.  I slapped him back.  That lightened the mood so much, so much more than him picking on me.  So much more than our ridiculous chatter about nothing.  

We continued w/ the slap fight.  I had to hold onto his hands to keep him from slapping me again.  But it didn’t stop. And I got in some good shots myself.  This went on for quite some time.  Time enough for us to move positions all over the place.  Time enough for him to wrap his legs around me and pull me close.  Time enough for him to sink his teeth into my exposed neck.  Time enough for me to fall almost in love w/ what he was doing to me. 

Being w/in his grasp was exciting.  Being semi-violent w/ him brought out … I don’t know what it brought out, but sometimes, sometimes I came so close to kissing him.  Our faces would be inches apart and I’d stare at his lips and just wish that he would close the gap and press his lips to mine.  The times he could have he just pushed away.  But he bit my neck.  My god did he bite my neck.  I loved it. I moaned it.  I wanted more.

The violence of slapping each other and liking it turned into foreplay.  And we continued the foreplay.  I don’t remember when, but he finally did it.  He finally kissed me.  And I liked it.  A tingle went down my stomach into my pussy.  I felt myself getting wetter.  That tingle didn’t happen often, but when it did, my god, I wanted it to happen again.  And it did.  It did when I placed my hand on his denim clad dick.  I felt it.  Felt the length. Felt the width. My pussy was lost in tingles. 

He took my wrists in his hands, jerked them behind my back, latched onto my neck.  He said in his silky voice he needed rope.  He wanted to tie me to a tree.  Have his way w/ me, even tho he could have easily that night, w/out the rope, w/out the physical bondage.  He could have told me to stay still.  For him, I would have.   However the rope was missing, so for him it was a no go, but he said.  Next time.  

The next time never happened.  In 3 months it’ll be a year since I’ve seen him.  And in part it is my fault.  My fault I like him so damn much, half in love w/ him, and I can’t handle it.   So I do everything in my power to tell him to fuck off, then I come running back to him.  Running straight into lust and love and wanting and craving and  . . . I’m almost head over heels for him.   I hate him.  I hate it. I hate myself.   I want him.

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.

It’s That Rape Thing, Again

The one guy, Eagles, that I wrote about in a previous blog has mentioned violating me.  Raping me.  And he said it jokingly. If only he knew.

We were talking late last night online and well, I was tired so I kind of went along w/ all he was saying.  And he mentioned, once again, he might rape me.  (That is, if what I told him prior conversations months ago, doesn’t stand now.)

He said we’ll get the niceities out of the way and then he’s taking me.  I asked him where he’s  taking me. 

“Eagles”:  I’m taking you over the tip of my cock straight down to my balls.

Ok, I’ll admit, that sent a tingle to my pussy.

I love it when a guy talks dirty to me.  Tells me what he wants to do to me.  What he wants me to do to him.  I love it when he uses those naughty words.  Like cock, dick, pussy, cunt.  And definitely, definitely fuck.  Oh how I love that word.

And w/ Eagles, rape is fast becoming a favorite.  (Hmmm, whoever would have thought?)

I think it’s funny that he keeps bringing up that word. And I’m not sure if he’s noticed that I haven’t said yay or nay to it.  Well, I guess if it’s rape, there really isn’t an answer I can give him.  He can only worry if his actions would land him in jail, or I’ll ask him for more.  But really, once you’ve been “raped” can you be raped again?  I think after the first time, there’s only being forceful. 

And he does seem to have a very dominant bone in his body.  Considering he wants to take me.  And I have no say in this.  But I did tell him once, before he became a damn wuss, that as soon as he walked in my door, he could strip me of my clothes and fuck the hell out of me.   I made him that promise.  But w/ what all happened, well. . . . do I still want him to do that?  I think I might just tell him no and see if he really will rape me. 

I think if he does, I just might have to kiss his feet!

Controlled, But Too Much

A few years back I had this X. He was short (5’7″.)  He was mainly Italian.  He was older, but not by much.  His age was not something to joke about.   He lived w/ his mom, dad, and sister.  His hair was thinning.  He had issues w/ his eyebrows.   He lived 2 hours away from me.  Yes . . .  I met him on the internet, in a chatroom.  He was the one who started our conversing. He was the one who picked me.

Our relationship started sometime in the beginning March.  He had me professing love by the middle of the month.  Altho at the time, I only “liked him more than I should have.”  But he wanted to hear those 3 words.  So I told him.  It wasn’t that hard.  It was pretty easily done. And even w/out him saying it back.   And me not totally meaning it, at all.

We were talking on the phone.  Constantly.  I don’t remember a minute we weren’t on the phone if I wasn’t w/ him or at work.  And even then I was using work’s dime to phone him for an hour here and there.  Which, I do feel bad about.  I thought I had a good long distance phone plan.  5 cents a minute.  Not shabby.  (Not what I ended up thinking in the end. Er, middle.)   Sometimes while we were talking he’d have to go to the bathroom or get a drink.  Instead of hanging up, cuz I thought it wouldn’t take more than 5 minutes, he’d set the phone down and do his thing.  This one time.  Oh, this one time, he left me sitting on the phone for 30 minutes waiting for him.  He said he got to talking w/ his sister.  Hmmm, must have forgotten about me.  I did mention, this was on my phone plan.  MY. PHONE. PLAN.  Not his.  If he called me, it was to tell me to call him back.  Because he was jobless at the moment and couldn’t afford to pay for LD.

I got directions to his house. Sorry, his parents’ house.  Which I wasn’t allowed to go to if his family was there.  I did say he lived 2 hours from me, right?  I only was there twice.  Met his mom, once . . . by accident, for a passing minute.   All the other times I was w/ him, it was at a hotel.  For the weekend.  Sometimes long weekends, if he made the request of me.  Or maybe I should demand of me.  And I paid for it.  It had to have a frig in it.  And it had to be an end unit.  I had to pay for it!  Oh . . . and I had to pay for the food. That we got delivered, twice a day.  And I had to buy him a carton of cigarettes.  Each Time!

You are noticing how much money I’m shelling out, right? And you are realizing, it’s not because I wanted to, but because HE. MADE. ME. DO. IT.  

This was his way of making sure I was his.  This was what he needed to make me know I was his.  There was no ignoring it, I was his.  As long as he told me what to do, when to do, and who to do it w/.

Oh, did I mention I had to change my email account.  Not just change it, but cancel it and start another one.  To his specifications.  And I had to change my phone number.  And the only person who was allowed to have it was him.  And he grudgingly let me give it to my family.

Did I mention . . . . I went along w/ all of this?

Yes, I did.  And I did it, because I thought I deserved it.  I went nights months w/out sleep.  I stopped paying my bills.  I started smoking 2 packs a day.  I drove to him.  I listened to what he had to say about his ex . . .

His ex was perfect.  And from Colorado, or somewhere out midwest.  She had the most perfect boobs.  They were big, but there was no sag. They were perky.

I have a friend who has a nice, BIG dick.   Bigger than his.  And I told him that.  Because he asked.  We broke up.   For about 2 hours.  We got back together because I cried and begged.   (My friend still has the bigger dick! So pppfffffttttt!)

I didn’t mention it, but he wouldn’t come visit me.  In the beginning it was because he would never lower himself to be seen where I live.  Then it was because he didn’t have a car, because he had some mad-mom-in-a-minivan hit him.  (He got put on Oxycodone.   He loved them. I didn’t.  Worse woozy feeling ever, but w/ a dull pain behind it.  No thanks.)

This is just the icing.  This is what I didn’t like about him.  This is the controlling part I abhor when I look back on it.   I ran up a $3000+ phone bill on him for 6 months.  I bought him a $250 air conditioner.  Plus some football paraphernalia.  I paid for motel rooms at $60 a night, I bought food at $25-30 a meal. I bought him $25 cartons of cigs.  I paid gas money, tolls, oil changes, etc.  I even got cable TV so we could watch shows together.  All in all, I wish I never got w/ him, he wasn’t worth the monetary value.

. . . to be continued . . .

A Fantasy Called Rape

I rented Irreversible from Netflix this past week.   I got it for the rape scene.  I heard it was unspeakably violent.  Very brutal.   Etc. Etc. Etc.

For any of you who don’t know, this movie is done in reverse order.  (Hmmm….) It shows the revenge for the girlfriend who was raped.  And it’s not a true revenge.  The rapist’s friend is the one who ends up w/ his face literally beaten to a bloody pulp.  Literally!   And in the middle is the so called brutal rape scene.     Yes, after shaking my head and calling the beginning of the movie stupid, stupid, stupid, then being horribly horrified over the fire extinguisher not-so-much-a-revenge, I fast forwarded it to the rape scene.  

I was unimpressed.  I was disappointed.  I was let down.   Ok, so to me, the only thing brutal about the rape was what happened afterward – having her head bashed in.   And all because she was trying to get away from him.   And she was a pretty rich chick.  And he was just sadistic.  Eh. 

I have a rape fantasy.  I’ve had the fantasy in my head ever since middle school.  I use to take walks at night, up and down the street I live on and think, “What if a guy were to jump out right now and try to rape me?”  My ready answer always was, “I’d let him.  You can’t rape the willing.”   The reasons for that kind of answer was, I was behind the times on losing my virginity.  And I thought that being raped was the only way I’d get laid.   (Can you really call getting raped getting laid?!)

So anyways, since I’ve grown up, since I’ve lost my virginity, since I’ve gotten laid,  I still have the rape fantasy.    Maybe it’s because I’d be helpless.  I’d be forced.  I’d …. oh, I don’t know.   I can’t imagine myself screaming for help.  I can’t see myself fighting him off.  All I see is me just laying there taking it.   (Like a good girl!)  

I never told any of my lovers or boyfriends that I wanted to be raped.  Except for ”Fucker,” (and he’s not a boyfriend nor a lover) he knows, but he refused to do it, since he had a girlfriend who was  raped in his own house by his own friend.   But he did offer to have one of his friends rape me.   How chivalrous.  But I guess the reason I never told any of them, I just didn’t want to have to deal w/ their pathetic attempts.  And I didn’t want them to think I was mental, or something.    I accused my X of trying to rape me once and he got the biggest puppy-dog-pouty-you-hurt-my-feelings look.  I wish he would have said he was………….And I would have let him.  Altho, he doesn’t know that, nor will he ever. 

Maybe one of these days I’ll be more specific.

Scarves, Ties, & Leather Restraints

I don’t know what it is, but I want to be tied up. I want to be blindfolded. I want to be spreadeagle on a bondage contraption my friend built.  Leopard print, red paint, and leather buckle restraints.  All bolted down to the floor, and the ceiling.  But it’s not going to happen … at least any time soon.  Well, probably never w/ my luck.

I started talking to a guy a few years ago.  Then he disappeared, only to reappear last year sometime.  This time when we started talking I learned more about him.  Or I re-learned about him what I had forgotten.   He has a dominant streak. He’s into bondage. He is the fucker, not the fuckee.  And my god, how I adore that!   He said he’s not really into control.  But I think that anyone who is dominant and into bondage has some kind of control issues.  Well, not necessarily issues, but wants/needs.  I seriously have no issue w/ a guy who has control wants/needs.  I actually appreciate it.  Very much.  

I’d like to show my appreciation.  I’d like to show it very much.  But I can’t.  Not because I don’t talk to him anymore, but because I’m afraid.  It’s strange how I can adore a man who is willing to take charge.  And by taking charge, I mean it literally, not someone who is *pretending* to be the forceful, dominant one.  I love that he needs to be the fucker.  I want him to be the fucker.  And I’m afraid of letting go.  I’m afraid to be submissive to someone.  Probably because I have a dominant streak in me.   (Or maybe it’s just a mean streak?  Hahaha!)

Maybe my definitions of D/s isn’t exactly the Merriam-Webster version, but it works for me.   Maybe I’d like to be a switch, but I know w/ this guy, it’s not a possibility.   Maybe that’s what scares me….. And that’s probably why I stopped talking to him this time, not him not talking to me.  Actually I know why I quit talking to him.

I didn’t want to get attached.  Cuz then I’d definitely feel put upon to act the way he wants me to.  And I’d like it.  I’d like it too much.   And then things would go bad and I’d find myself  posted on the internet.  (Ok, that’s just my worst nightmare talking.)   I could love this guy.  Yet, he just doesn’t seem like that kind of “lovable” guy type tho, he seems singular.  Nomadic in his relationships.  However, he’s had long term relationships.   That, I guess, gives me hope, but not much. 

In the end, it just comes to this: he’s the kind of guy I crave. 

It Use to Be Fun

I’ve had vanilla sex.  Missionary, me on top, spoon fashion, doggy. Oh yeah, doggy!  I love that position the best.  For some reason I don’t like looking at the guy I’m having sex with.  Not even if it’s a guy I love. Or think I love. Or at best, infatuated with.  And if it’s missionary we’re doing, my eyes are closed and my head turned to the side….Every now & then, I peek, but I ain’t staring meaningfully into anybodys’ eyes.  Well, there’s another reason I love it: I can get it as hard and fast as I please, or as hard and as fast as they can give it to me.  And I’m always about telling them they’re not doing it as hard or as fast as they can.  Oh, I also love it for the spanking factor.  I like looking over my shoulder and seeing red.  I like feeling that *smack* and my inner muscles clenching.  I love not knowing when it’s coming.   Another reason to love it: he can wrap his hand around my throat and pull back, squeeze.  Not enough that I couldn’t breathe right away, loose enough I could breathe, but there is that risk factor. If he squeezed too hard, well that’s homicide for him, and death for me.  If he did it just right, over the edge I went.

My X, my god, the man could go super fast and super hard, but after 10-15 minutes of that magnitude, he had to slow down or stop.  I didn’t mind.  I tried to catch my breath just like him, but for different reasons.   Then we were back at it again.  On the bed, on the floor, on the couch, on the porch steps. Anywhere I could bend over, I was bending over.  And sometimes I even wore heels.  His hands are huge, they fit my neck perfectly and he had enough strength in them to make me wary but not frightened. And his hands covered my ass.  In more ways then I’m writing about now.

I actually gave my X a blowjob in his parents’ car on the way to the movies.  That was something new for me.  I never actually truly gave a guy a blowjob to completion before in a car.  He finished in my mouth in the parking lot w/ a group of teens looking on from the sidewalk.   We saw the movie.  We went back to his parents’ place.   They were staying in a church group home.  This means, pastors and their families stayed there.  They gave me a room w/ 2 twin beds and my own bathroom, which was beside an office.  I was on the 2nd floor, my X had to stay upstairs on the 3rd floor w/ his rents. 

Ooooo, wait.  I remember, after the movie we walked up the stairs to my floor, started making out in the hallway, bumped into a few things, as I was fumbling for the key, he yanked down my pants, turned me around,  pushed me up against the wall, and started fucking me r–e–a–l  s–l–o–w.   I eventually got the key in the hole.  We ended up on the bed, my ass against his crotch, him fucking me just how I like it, possibly even better, because he knew, he fucking knew, I had to be quiet.   Nothing like getting the pounding of a lifetime and you can’t express what it means to you!!!! That, in and of itself, was a huge turn on.

By the way, his dad is a pastor.  Kind of a dream turned naughty.  Especially since he grew up in the church, he *knows* the 10 commandments, he *knows* he’s going to hell for having premarital sex, etc.  I kind of think that was a turn on for me.  Knowing he was suppose to be good, he was suppose to listen to his daddy.  But me, I got in the way of all that. I made him do these things.  Ok, well I didn’t make him, but it’s so gooooood to think of it that way.   He is/was just so open about sex.  That’s what I miss about him. 

Anyways, while he was away in military school, we became more open w/ each other.  Actually, I remember walking around Barnes & Noble, when he was home for a visit, explaining a passage in “Exit to Eden” by Ann Rice.  I leaned against him, got my mouth as close to his ear as I could, and whisper about the lady having the guy tied up, standing up, using a double ended dildo, sticking it in her cunt and up his ass.  Yes….. HIS ass!   That’s a turn on! (I’ll admit this later: I have gay porn, there’s something about seeing two men kissing, w/ tongues, that makes my juices run.)  My X said he would never do that (Not the kissing thing, the dildo in the ass thing.)  Because he thought it was gay.  But then, he brought it up one day.  He told me I could do that. I could fuck his ass if I wanted.  We talked about going to the Toy Store. Getting me a strap-on;  what size it should be, etc.   We went to The Store, but never got the toy.  I had one, but it was puny in comparison to what he was thinking about.  We never got past the first knuckle of my middle finger.  It didn’t stop him from getting hard as nails when we talked about it though.  It didn’t stop him from cumming all over his chest either.  He still likes the idea of it.

And he likes all the other ideas I’ve told him too.  He says, “They’re sexy.”