The Only Lips I’ll Kiss

So I wonderingly wondered if women could kiss better than men.  Simply for that fact that I had had it up to here w/ the men in my life or the lackof men in my life.  But I’ve come to the conclusion that I really don’t want to know since my friendships w/ women aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

Back in the day in my early 20′s my best friend and I had a kiss or two.  Just a meeting of the lips. No tongues involved.  No heavy petting. Nothing quite sexual about it at all.  However I still remember to this day that she had the softest lips mine have ever touched.  I wouldn’t have minded exploring the kissed a little more in depth. 

But that’s neither here nor there.  The lesbian friend I mentioned that  I wouldn’t have minded hooking up w/ would she have been single at that moment has completely turned me off from finding out if I could possibly end up in a relationship w/ a woman.  I may not have had the experience I wanted to, but being her friend was enough for me to go running for the hills.  It was probably that we had just become great friends in a short span of time and I was crushing on her something hardcore for at least a year or two or three before we started conversating that made me think just possibly I could do it.  I could get out of my comfort zone and actually take the next step and actually see a woman as relationship material.   I don’t see it happening anymore.  However I’m not giving up on actually having a lesbian experience. I still have my whole life ahead of me and well …. never say never.  

So I guess until I get up the guts and go for the glory, I’ll remain a great fan of men.  They are something that I could never give up, even if I should stumble upon a woman who doesn’t have the hang-ups women tend to have … being dramatics and all.  I’m just a simple girl wanting a simple guy and possibly a taste of what a woman is.

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.

Single For A Day

I was suppose to go over the the Older Man’s house this weekend.  Not for any kind of hanky panky that I would enjoy but to look at a table he is offering to give me, if I want it.  He said his wife and daughter were going away for the day so that made him “Single for a Day.”  I enjoyed hearing that.  And he said it w/ a smile.

I told him to come over to my place to check out the paint job I did, since he didn’t get to see it last time he was here, which was over a month ago… Almost 2 months, I think.   And well, he said he’d come over after I came over to his place.  It didn’t happen, don’t know if the family didn’t go away for the day, he got to caught up in cleaning, or he just plain forgot?!  But no fantasies got to play thru my head while I was in his company, (cuz I wasn’t.)   

Anyways.  A few days ago, I ran my hand down his jacket sitting on the back of his chair at work and said that I like the feel of it.  And he remembered that I told him I’m a touchy feely kind of girl.  So he went and put his arm thru the coat, and ooooo, I almost went back and touched it, but instead I just said, “Tempting.”  Which it is, but calling him a tease would have been so much better.   He is a tease!

Ok, so lets tangent over here:

A couple years ago, he said he’d invite all of us over to his place to have a backyard BBQ when his wife was away for the week.  It never happened but it did start my fantasizing about him.  That started it all.  I fantasized about me staying after everyone left to help him clean up.  About me sitting on the counter while he put dishes away or whatever.  Him walking up to me, standing in between my legs.  Him kissing me.  (For some ungodly known reason, I really really want to kiss that man.  I don’t care if we ever have sex, but damnit, I really want to kiss him! Maybe it’s because all the dreams I have involving him, he’s always kissing me? And they’re always such great kisses!)   Then we move to the living room.  He sits in a plush arm chair, and instead of me sitting on the couch, I sit on his lap.  And we talk, we kiss, and eventually I end up straddling him,  his hand is beneath my skirt moving my underwear to the side, fingering me.  My hands are working the button and zipper of his pants.   He takes off my shirt, he sucks on my nipples… Gently bites them.  And I grab his cock out of his pants and position it so I can slowly slide down his length.  After that, I wake up, cuz you know – - – - It’s only a fucking dream!  Arrgggggghhh!!!

So maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get to be near him while he was “Single for a Day.”  Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t go over to his place, I might have been tempted to sit on his counter-top and wish him standing between my legs, his face coming closer and closer to mine.   Maybe it’s a good thing?

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

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.  

So . . . I Gave Him a Kiss

I walked up to the Older Man as he was reading something on his computer.  I said, “Do you want a kiss?”  He did a double look at me, kind of smiled and pretty much said, “What?”  I held my hand out to him.  I said, “A Hershey’s kiss.”  It was a white chocolate peppermint kiss.  He took it out of my hand.   He unwrapped it.  Placed it in his mouth and enjoyed it.  I continued to walk by him.  And as I did, I said, “Tell me if you want one later.”   He said, “Okay.”  I blushed and mentally castigated myself the whole way out into the hallway.  What was I thinking????

After I came back from a little excursion, I went to my desk.  Got another Kiss.  And gave it to him.  I told him I like em because they taste like Andes Mints.  And I think they do.  And I proceeded to tell him that minty kisses are appreciated.  He said that it was good to know and the he’d “remember that.”  I walked away.

Now here’s the thing.  I’m moving.  And he knows where I’m moving too, because prior to this episode, he was at my new place.  He was there for an hour, give or take.  Longer than I thought he’d be there.  Longer than . . . well, just longer.  He actually put himself to work and corrected my wobbly frig.  Totally his own doing.  We discussed what I’ll be doing to the place as I live there.  (Carpets needs be replaced.  New gas furnace.  Redo kitchen due to new stove being put in.  Washer/dryer plumbing being redirected.  Expanding the bathroom.  The colors I’ll paint the walls.  The vinyl flooring being retiled. )  And he told me I had a nice pad. 

The next day he brought me some cleaning supplies for my kitchen floor,  which I have not used yet.  I asked him what he would like as payment. I just thought I’d give him the money for the things.  He said, “Dinner.”  Ok, yeah, my jaw dropped. . . As it is wont to do when he says such things.  Then he added onto it, naming all the people we usually go out to lunch w/ on occassion.  I don’t know if that’s what he meant all along, or if he said that accordingly to my hang jaw reaction.   Either way. . . .

He told me has some left over wooden tiles he could bring me for the floor in front of my front door.  He didn’t have enough, after he checked.  But he did have some other tile his mother bought.  He brought that over.   And this was after the Hershey’s Kiss Episode. 

He was only there for a little while.  Like maybe a half hour.  But it was funny.  He kept pacing all over the place.  Talking rather fast. Saying nonesensical things.   Talking about Justin Timberlake, (of all fucking people.)  And he complimented me on my painting skills.   Then, he whisked himself out my front door.  Looked like he was practically running from me.  Not like the last time he left, he took his good old time. (No pun intended.)

It was kind of humorous.  Why would he run from me? Was he actually running from me?  Was it maybe because he remembers I offered him a kiss?  I hope he didn’t think that I was going to jump him, or even expect him to ask me for a kiss.  I wasn’t looking at his mouth as much as I usually do.  And I didn’t stare at his crotch as much as I usually do. (He was wearing those jeans that I appreciate so much, tho!)  I wish I could know what was going thru his mind. 

Ya know, even tho I offered the kiss, I don’t think I would have gave it if he asked.  But we’ll never know.  Or will we?