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.

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.