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.

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.

I Don’t Ask for Much

So O called me the other day from a phone number I wasn’t aware of.  I answered and I get,  “Hello, how are you? What are you doing?”  I, of course, answer skeptically, because I had no frikkin clue who the hell it was.  He told me to take a guess.  I said, “Why don’t you just tell me.”  He said it was ‘your favorite boy from Kansas.’  After that, it was hit or miss on what I heard of the actual conversation.  I know he was on his way to his friends house.  Just from him telling me, plus the road noise, since he was using his bluetooth.  (Those fuckers pick up everything!!)  I know he said he’s been meaning to call me.  And I think he might have been hinting at something.  Although, I’m not quite sure.

 I told him I was moving next weekend.  Because he asked what I was doing that night, and I said packing.  So I told him where I was moving to, and then I proceeded to say that I was never ever going to move out of that place.  I was going to live there forever.  (Which is my plan!)  He said not even if some guy came over w/ a buff ass body cuz he worked out for 2-3 hours a day wearing nothing but black Calvin Klein boxer briefs and asked me to move somewhere w/ him?  I had to pause. 

In my other post about O, I mentioned loving black boxer briefs.  And well, back in the day I actually bought O 2 pairs of Calvin Klein boxer briefs.   And well, he wasn’t buff or nothing, but maybe he was hinting at what he looks like now? It has been around 7 years since I’ve actually seen him. He could have changed.   Or maybe he now thinks that I like men who are muscle bound and aren’t flexible?  That doesn’t truely appeal to me.

What appeals to me physically in a man is this: his eyes, his lips, his neck, and his fingers.  And in that order, because I usually check out a man starting at the top.  In which case,  I kind of hope I have to look way up to start there.  Ok, so nothing over 6’4” because then sex is just awkward.  And unkind.   Around 6-ish’  is good for me. 

His eyes either have to be blue (any shade, sometimes) or some really, really funky shade, like amber or grey.  Maybe glow in the dark kind.   I can’t stand green eyes or shit brown eyes.  And to me, any shade of brown is shit brown.  I have an almost fetish when it comes to eyes.

His lips have to be full.  None of that thin lipped crap.  I like to be able to feel what I’m kissing.  I like to nibble on bottom lips also, so it helps to have something there.  I don’t necessarily want to hurt him and it’d be nice to have some padding.   Top and bottom lips should be of equal thickness, but I’ll budge on the top lip.

His neck has to be muscular.  It has to look good w/ a chain around it.  Or a button down shirt.  I like em thick.  I like em semi long.  I like to be able to look at it and go, “Oh yeah, that would look great w/ my bite mark on it!”   I want to be able to put my hands around it not have them touch.  A not so noticeable Adam’s apple would be great, too.

His fingers.  The longer the better.  The thicker the better.  Do not confuse thick w/ chubby.  I like to see fingers and know that’s exactly what they are.  I like them to be rough,  callused. I like a man who works w/ his hands.  Knows his way around cars.  Can tinker w/ things to fix them.  A regular MacGyver.   I like dirty hands.  But at the same time, I like those dirty hands to look clean when they’re suppose to, not terminally dirty.

His body has never been a top priority in my adventures of finding a perfect man.  I’ve always been into men who are slightly overweight.  Or as I put it: A man w/ meat on his bones.    I can’t stand a man who is their ideal BMI, to me they look they need fed.  I like that healthy look. 

So muscle bound men can just keep moving along.  And men w/ a little pudge, please park your butt on my couch.  Well, as long as you have blue eyes, full lips, a thick neck,  and long, strong fingers.  (And medium to dark brown hair.)  Ok, and numerous tattoos helps, too!

Next: Personality

Annoyance Keep Coming Back

I’ve had numerous men in my life that seem to come and go.   And come and go.  And they all want one thing.   To start off where they left me.  More than anything I hate that, w/ the exception of one.   *ONE*   All the others, they can go to hell.  This includes and is not limited to: the X, the fuck buddy, Eagles, and Doug.

If any of these guys had the balls I thought they had, they would never have bothered to start talking to me in the first place.   But they had some balls.  And now they think they’ve grown bigger balls.

My X called me tonight, after I foolishly gave him my phone number.  And I knew what it would lead to.  I even said no, a few times, until I gave in.  And he said he couldn’t promise to behave, which I totally believe him, because every time he couldn’t control himself around me.  Sick and tired of being someone’s fucktoy when I don’t admire, trust, or respect them.

The fuck buddy is still going strong on the phone calls.   Every Saturday night around 9pm.  Yep, I know it’s coming. And yep, I ignore him. 

Eagles is a whole other matter. And manner.  He’s one I’ve never even came in physical contact w/ because he was too busy spouting off senseless shit and toying w/ me. Plus, he said he has manned up since then.  So I guess that makes him manless when we talked earlier?  Back when I first started talking to him, I liked him well enough.  Well enough to send him some videos (not necessarily of me being bad, but of me saying bad things,) and well enough to make a promise to him.  As far as I’m concerned, that promise became null and void when he became a total pussy.    And I told him about it.  And he said he changed.  He started dating someone else. And that someone else he met, just like he met me.  He gave her a chance…..What the hell was so different about me?  I’m not the one harrassing him now that he’s broken it off w/ me.  I’m not the one trying to make his life a hell.   Hmmmm, maybe he should have thought things thru a little more thoroughly?  Either way, I’ve told him it can’t be the way it was, not after he lied so blatantly.  (This was the first time he came back into my life.)  Now, I’ve got him blocked because the 2nd time he came back, he now thinks that since I’ve seen a picture of him, that I’ll desire him more.  Not so.  He may like my body type, but I don’t like his face.  And if I don’t like a persons face, you can pretty much forget it.  He’s not my type.   Plus, he thinks that since I’ve seen his face that he’ll be getting more pictures from me, more videos.  With him only giving pics in return.   I don’t see how this is fair.  I believe in fairness.   It is NOT fair.

Now Doug.  I’ve met him, he’s lied to me also.  And now he wants to come over and show me his tattoo.  One I’ve already seen.  One that hasn’t changed since I’ve seen him.  And it’s been 2 years.  Not much to seduce me into giving him another BJ for his short fucking dick!   Maybe if he had one of size, I’d have considered checking out his tattoo again, but I don’t think so.   And then he disappeared after I said no.  Imagine that.

Out of these 4 guys, 3 of them have lied to me.  Yet that doesn’t deterred them from trying to start something I will no way in hell let them finish.  But it gives me joy in toying w/ them.   It gives me great joy to see how far I can make them go to get what they want, so I can tell them, to their face, “You’re not man enough for me!”

Just Starting, Willing to Finish

As I was sitting at work today, doing nothing but printing, printing, printing….I had day dreams of being a skinny little thing, lusting after Jake Gyllenhaal, while jogging around the park and inviting him to play baseball in the morning, volleyball in the afternoon, and soccer in the evening.  And not being so rude as to not feed him, and everyone else in my friendly little world (yes, that I invented!)   Amongst the day dreaming, I also wrote on my purple post-its all the things I wanted to rant about.  Things ranging from Ink, to the older-not-so-handsome-man-that-I-adore-in-a-strange-totally-unprecedented-way, to who’s going to cause me more mental/physical/emtional issues of neighbor”hood,”  to my X.    Yes, this all seems like it’s nothing, but my world revolves around sucky little things and the CBS schedule.  

 I’ll just take the time to comment on here about the Ink issue.   I happen to have some tattoos.  Some visible, some visible under certain circumstances.  Ok, they’re all visible under certain circumstances, but still.  I’ve had 2 people in the past week, if I start counting from Friday (or maybe it was Thursday?)  ask me if I’ve seen/watched L.A. Ink.    Standard issue answer: I don’t have cable.   Ah, but I do have the internet and I’ve found out TODAY, they have the episodes online.  However, if it’s not Bones, I don’t want to watch it online.  Altho, I might make an exception, but doubtful.   Anyhow, I don’t understand why these people are asking me if I’ve seen the show.  Is it because I have tattoos and they think that I watch people who tattoo or are getting tattooed?   I don’t think so!  I don’t even like watching myself get tattooed, let alone being there.   Maybe it’s the sound that gets me?  I guess I should give these 2 people leeway – they’re blank slates.  They haven’t had the pleasure of a bunch of needles tearing at their skin like a cat on a ‘nip high.    Or the incessant droning of the gun, which you start hoping and praying will break (but not before the tattoo is finished.)

I tried watching Miami Ink.  It was h’ok.  Ami was too egotistical for me to stomach – plus, watching girls making goo-goo eyes at him about made me puke.   The only good thing was, of course, Garver!   The man is an almost semi bald god.   I would actually bow down to him, but I wouldn’t kiss his feet.  (Ok, this is all based on his looks, nothing more, nothing less superficial.)

Personally I could care less about the reason, feeling, want, need, behind other peoples’ tattoos.  The only reason, feeling, want, need I care about is mine!  That’s it…. just Mine!   You got a tattoo.  Yay!  Good for you, pat your ownself on the back, I’m not willing to reach that far.  Awww…. it’s in memory of your dead parrot?  Good for you, a dead bird on your leg.     I’m not good w/ helping someone pick out a tattoo either.  I have visions in my head of how things should look.  How they should look on me.  And if I don’t want it on me, I’m no good to you.  Ok, I might be able to point you in the right direction.   But that might be giving me too much credit.  

Either way, I don’t watch L.A. Ink.