Saturday, 3 November 2007

Nine months passes fast

I just realised how long it has been since I posted anything here. Ridiculously long. My best friend had a baby. She had, in fact, two. They were very premature and she almost died, there was a lot of drama, which I probably didn't appreciate the severity of since I was over here and she was over there. I've been to see the babies, they are both beautiful and she's coping admirably alongside her fiance. Her tits were out for most of our visit there, but hey, who doesn't like tits.

We've moved house too, now sharing with another couple, both of whom I suspect are teetering on the brink of clinical depression. They're both lovely though. I think he might have Aspergers, as he interprets all jokes and comments literally, but that's just endearing.

The only non-depressed person in the house, actually, is J. Yes, it's true. He's thriving in the job that almost gave him a nervous breakdown when he first started it, he's doing really well with his therapy, and I'll be damned if he's not making little baby steps towards actual commitment.

Oh, and I've changed careers too, which has been harder, more demoralising and more like real work than anything I've ever done before. I guess I'm going through a small late-twenties life crisis; I lack direction for the first time in my life and it's not easy. What do I want? A fabulous career and lovely holidays (J and I just went away for a very long time to someplace very romantic) or settling down with oversized mortgage and children?

I think I do want kids. But sometimes I start questioning whether I just think I want them cause everyone else has them and it looks fun. In fact, what are the valid reasons for having kids? Something missing in my life? Wanting to give something back to someone; paying it forwards at the same time? Wanting something to anchor me? Or, shock horror, wanting someone to pursue the dreams I myself left by the wayside? In fact, the world being as it is today, are there really any valid reasons for wanting to bring kids into it at all??

Oh, I know. As my newly maternal friend says; it's a phase, it'll pass. Tell yourself that, take one day at a time, force yourself out of the house. And what am I whingeing about... J has even agreed to shave regularly cause I like soft skin. If that's not a reason to be pleased about life, I don't know what is.


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Monday, 12 March 2007

My best friend is pregnant

...and I'm so pleased for her! She called me for something that I just thought was one of our regular chats. ]

Who are you by bie
Fortunately I didn't start unburdening the latest "Me & J" antics when she asked how I was (like I did when she called to say she got engaged), but it wasn't until I said "so how is your trying out for a baby going" that she told me.

It's weird, it's almost like I have to get used to being pregnant myself, and probably it is as close as I'll get for a few years yet.

I feel a little sad that I'm not in the same situation. Out of my friends, she is probably the luckiest in terms of men; she's managed to turn her taste around completely and find someone who's both stable and supporting.

Although we were never the kinds of girls who dreamed of getting married and having babies as we grew up, I guess in our minds we always imagined we would be doing those things together.

As we don't even live in the same country at the moment, there would I guess be no real together about it even if we were moving at the same pace in our personal lives, but at the same time I wish we could share the excitement, the stories, the morning sickness on a more intimate level than just her tellin me over the phone while I'm meant to be working.

I'm not saying that she is the reason I want to settle down, it's just that I feel acutely that being in completely different life stages from your friends is quite lonely in a way.

I'm seeing my friend in a few weeks, at Easter, and I can't wait to hug her and tell her in person how pleased I am for her. Her timing has been impeccable; this way she'll have time to have the baby and lose the baby fat, all in time for the last dress fitting before her wedding!

Meanwhile I'll call our other friend who has a depressive husband and discuss the potential effect of paternal post-natal depression on babies to hammer home to myself that dipping my finger in a used condom would be a very bad idea.

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Tuesday, 6 March 2007

Learn to be still

I've talked a lot lately about being still.


physalis by Wild*Dreams
As I've said, I've never been very good at it.

I've always preferred rivers and oceans to lakes. Even though the ocean is not "going anywhere" as such, it's always doing something, its waves are relentless, it eats fishermen and will grind away at beach rocks until they're shiny pebbles and fine sand. I like that. Lakes; they just sort of sit there. And they're not as nice to swim in.

Since I stopped nagging J about getting a house, I've been feeling uneasy. He has kept asking me if anything is wrong, but, unusually for me, I've been unable to articulate what's been bothering me. We've settled for cuddles, as they seem to comfort us both for the time being.

Today when I woke, I really didn't want to get out of bed. I felt bloated, my legs were heavy and my mind syrupy.

Fortunately, the PlayStation was beckoning in the front room, I wouldn't allow myself to play without doing something "useful" first. I got up, did some grooming.

As I was operating out an ingrown hair on my bikini line, I realised that the reason I feel so uneasy is that I feel that by stopping my work towards settling down (with or without J), I've simply stopped going places. I feel uneasy because I'm still.

And there's really nothing wrong with my life. I have people I miss, yes, but I am also surrounded by a group of rather agreeable friends. I have J, and I love him. It even looks as if the work situation has sorted itself out (through a lot of hard effort from my place, I hasten to add). It is spring.

Yes, it annoys me that I can't paint our walls in a colour I like, but in the big scheme of things, I shouldn't let it matter so much that I'm not in what I imagine would be an ideal place.

And when I got used to that idea, I really felt a lot better. I had a lovely breakfast with myself outside in the sun.

Last night I had a longish chat to my ex-boyfriend's dad (yes, odd, I know; but I'm like the daughter he never had) about this job interview I have coming up that I'm extremely nervous about.

"If you're meant to get that job, you'll get it," he said. "Remember, a bit of nerves is what you need for maximum performance." It made me feel better.

I'll try to hold onto this feeling, that really my life isn't so bad, even when it's standing still.


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Sunday, 4 March 2007

Win some, lose some

A side effect of SSRIs, as we all know, is delayed ejaculation. So quite often these days, I get a shag that goes on for as long as I please, as he has no problem getting hard, I cum like nothing else -but he doesn't.

geest banana by edwardolive
I mentioned in the previous post that I'm getting laid more often. It's weird, you'd think that if J can't cum, he'd be less interested in sex, but in fact the opposite seems to be the case.

After experimenting a couple of times, we have figured out that it's simply harder for him to orgasm, no matter how horny he is. He can be rock hard and throbbing, with me administering a blowjob (his favourite way of cumming - surprise, surprise), but he can't actually cum. He can usually tell if it's on or not.

I guess what has happened is that since he only gets actual relief once or maybe twice a week, he stands to attention for nothing at all.

We've been kissing a lot lately, he seems to be all over me and rubbing his constant hard-on against my bum as soon as I turn my back. I have to say I relish the attention.

Yesterday morning, we'd snuggled in bed for ages, and decided to finally get up. I rolled over him in bed to grab something from the floor on his side, and he grabbed me and kissed me, and then we were at it.

He was groaning as he thrust his tongue hungrily into my mouth, and I felt his half-hearted morning wood grow to a decidedly full-hearted one against my stomach, his slippery pre-cum like glue between our bellies.

"Let me lick you," he begged between snogs. And who was I to say no, despite the Playstation beckoning in the front room... I sat on his face, him grabbing my ass to push his tongue deep into me.

I leaned back and grabbed his cock; he bucked against my hand and I was quite amazed at how hard he was. As I rubbed him harder and faster, his licking got more intense as my juices wet his face.

I turned around and slipped a condom on him, and he fucked me hard, first with me on top, then from behind. He was so huge he had to hold back not to hurt me. But he couldn't cum. "Tell me when it's enough," he whispered in my ear.

As I rolled onto my back, exhausted, he peeled the condom off his still-throbbing manhood.

So it was hardly a surprise this morning when he grabbed me for round two, just as I was leaving to jump on the bus to work, of course... I ended up having to drive, and still being a little late. But as I sucked every drop of cum out of his cock, him grabbing my head and thrusting into me, I decided it was a lot better than getting soaked outside by the rain.

It's strange to see how the dynamic of our relationship has changed just because of the antidepressants -and he's still quite depressed! Watch this space for further adventures when they actually start affecting his mood...

PS! I apologise for the fact that all of my headlines are Robbie Williams inspired at the moment; best not to ask.

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Overdose at Christmas, give it up for lent..

Are you a good Christian? I'm certainly not, but I do like giving something up for lent. Who knows, maybe God is up there somewhere and will help my personal growth especially during this period as I hope and pray.

Lemon and Sugar by The Department
At Christmas, I vowed that it would be the last year I celebrated the holidays in a rented apartment.

Since then, I've obviously been busy convincing J that buying a house is a good idea. Doing a quick blogsearch on "house", you'll see that I've been quite obsessed with the idea.

It's for a lot of reasons, mainly
  1. I want my own house
and
  1. I want commitment

Obviously there's the economic aspect as well, but you know, J's Girlfriend has never been to good about the whole money thing. She leaves that to J, which seems to work well, as she's hardly ever broke anymore.

Anyway. To make a long and tragic story short, the nagging hasn't gotten me anywhere. After the big bust-up last week, I decided that for lent this year, I'm going to stop nagging J.

I've stopped asking if he loves me, stopped asking if/when we can buy somewhere to live together.

And it's worked wonders. We're much happier, we haven't argued since, and we've had sex two days in a row, initiated by him.

This could of course also be partly due to his antidepressants kicking in; both the happier him, less irritable, and the "raised" libido.

This is a bit worrying, I realise, as he's clearly happier in a relationship which is all about the blowjobs and romance, and less about the practicalities.

But, of course, lent is only on until Easter. So we shall see then.


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Sunday, 25 February 2007

Love saves the day

Mantjiesfontein hotel bedroom by Wildebeast1


It's been a rough few weeks chez J's girlfriend & reluctant boyfriend.

At first there was the almost-breakup, then I was sick all of last week (the week *before* the release of Final Fantasy XII, oh cruel world!!!).

And because I was feeling tired and vulnerable, I couldn't help but fall into a second run-in with my loved one, who admitted to my relentless nagging that no, he doesn't feel ready to get a joint mortgage after all (before Christmas there were encouraging noises).

There was more crying and me saying I was fed up with everything, which of course led to the standard J clinging to me and saying everything is going to be fine. Have your cake and eat it...

At any rate, I decided post-tears that what we needed was some romance, to relax and spend my precious day off together, alone somewhere.

We settled on London, and I booked a hotel the next day (very nice, posh hotel as J of course woudn't hear of bill sharing) and on Friday evening we were on our way.

On the way, we had some lovely food on Edgware Road in little Beirut; my God how I miss living in central London sometimes.

We bought some magazines and a paper, and spent the rest of the evening naked in bed, reading to each other and him giving me foot rubs etc.

Due to his antidepressants there wasn't much in the way of sex, but it was an absolutely lovely evening. The hotel was really nice, homely and luxurious at the same time.

We spent the Saturday walking in Kensington Gardens between showers, nipping in and out of shops (buying nothing) and went out to eat and to the cinema, like a real couple.

I know that when I say "real" I mean "new". It's so easy for romance to slip between your fingers when you have no time, or energy, to just be, when everything has to be tied up to career, money, plans.

But both J and I really love this kind of thing, to take time out. He told me that although he might feel worse again back at work, I'd made him feel so much better by going away with him.

And these things, the fact that it's so good when it's good, is what makes me hang on in there. I've always been a better mistress than girlfriend; when things are special occasion and romantic I'm at my best. I like to wear dresses, to walk around swanky hotel rooms in the buff. When I have to nag to get my way or make actual plans, I easily get impatient when things don't work out to time.

So yes, things haven't been resolved overnight. But we're still together.

Now if you'll excuse me while I ignore my boyfriend and turn to the PlayStation for the next 180+ hours...


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Sunday, 18 February 2007

The bi-monthly near-breakup

It's the best TV show. No ifs and buts about it... And ASH is hot. Don't give me that British Nescafe crap
I Love Buffy. No, really. You wouldn't think it... well, yes, you probably would since I'm pretty much a self-confessed geek.

This song describes spot on exactly how I feel about J. No, not the "wish I could play the father" part, as I don't in any way want to play J's parent (it would be especially sick considering how badly I get on with his mum).

No, I mean the part where you so desperately wish you could help someone feel better, but really you know deep inside that you're just in their way; you have a sneaking suspicion they might be better off without you.

The bust-up came on 15 Feb, after a range of minor hiccups on 14 and the fact that we've barely seen each other since Christmas due to our work hours. Ironic, I know, given that we actually both work in the same building and live in the same house.

The bust-up was the same as always:

  1. I say "I don't feel our relationship is going very well." He agrees
  2. I ask for how much longer I have to put my life on hold (house, kids etc.). He says he doesn't know.
  3. I ask if I should just leave, and he says he thought we agreed that we wouldn't decide until after X event (differs as the deadline obviously keeps shifting).
  4. I ask why, when he evidently doesn't find me attractive anymore (he says he's not very interested in sex at the moment; this often preceeds the bust-up) and he seems distant and not interested in talking to me. He says he's trying, and that it's all his fault.
  5. I say that it can't be all his fault and that there must be something I can do. He says I don't mean that and we both know I'm a perfectly nice girlfriend to have.
  6. I push him on explaining how he feels. He shuts down (sometimes cries).
  7. I start crying. He immediately feels awful and tells me how much he wants us to stay together.
  8. We make a plan to improve things; usually to spend more quality time together, have more sex, go to bed earlier and do more stuff.
  9. Row over.

It's strenuous. And possibly pointless, since we keep doing it (we only properly broke up once, for about five minutes). But maybe it serves a function.

Today I woke with a horribly sore throat; J brought me a warm drink in bed and offered to go into work in my place (which I graciously declined). He came to bed to give me a cuddle, sporting a raging hard-on (which my throat was too sore to take advantage of; I know, the PAIN!! The WASTE!!).

And he kept talking about how nice it was outside today (which obviously I didn't see since I was in bed the whole time), so maybe the anti-depressants are kicking in.

Maybe there is hope.

If not, there's always the next row in a couple of months time.

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Monday, 12 February 2007

Lifesaver

By jimmytofu


What I need, is a lifesaver. Although according to my counsellor, I should be my own lifesaver.

I mean, am I really meant to stand on my own? I checked at the age of 19 that I was capable of that (by moving abroad, learning a new language from scratch and generally spending all my time alone for the best part of six months) and since then I haven't bothered trying.

We are sociable animals, and I don't see why I should have to stand on my own.

Except I kind of do. I realise fully that the reason I'm always so restless is that I have no peace within myself. And, of course, that I haven't had a day off for over two weeks, which would probably make a Buddhist monk lose their inner calm. But anyway.

I have thought and thought about this over the last week; I have tried to take moments out to be aware of myself, and to listen to myself. It's been hard to stop my mind from racing. Often when I'm overworked I go into a sort of hypomania, miraculously surviving on 5 hrs sleep per night.

Metal Babble asked about passion. I discussed this too with my counsellor.

I've never felt passionate in life, apart from about men (and boy, have I loved some wonderful/awful people with every fibre in my body).

Why this is I don't know. I've always been envious of people like J, who can spend all day in front of the TV watching rugby1, or people who can tell you the name of every obscure Iranian politician because they care, or simply people who *really* love knitting (I like knitting but I prefer to watch TV at the same time).

Maybe it's a lack of confidence; better to have not loved and not lost? But if that was the case surely I'd also apply that to my love life, and I most certainly have not.

I have always dreamed about becoming a writer, but I've never actually felt passionate enough about something to sustain my interest to write about it for long. I write excellent sketches but I would struggle to write a well-formed short-story.

Or maybe what I could have been passionate about was stamped out in early life. I could have been a typical girly girl I think; I loved horses and ballet, or rather the idea of it. I wasn't able to pursue either as my parents didn't have any money. I'm not bitter about it. But sometimes I wonder.

And I think that Metal Babble is right; it's passion that keeps us going, passion is a life saver and a compass all in one. I feel passionate about my boyfriend, and about my friends. And about writing. So maybe I should do a dance class, or a creative writing course with the Open University.

When I have a day off, that is.

But then, of course, I'd be violating my counsellor's advice to "do nothing".

It's all very tricky at the moment.

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1Although he did take time out to shag me between the two games on Saturday; and I have to say I've not experienced him that horny since the early days of our relationship. Despite his football team losing! I'm a bit worried that it was all the watching of men apparently trying to dry hump each other on a pitch that had turned him on..?! But never mind, the sex was great so I'm not gonna complain, am I!

Saturday, 10 February 2007

Music and lyrics

I really seem to be in the philosophical corner these days; what's with that??! At any rate, Metal Babble suggested the follwing exercise when I was complaining about being ordered to find myself:

Maybe I just need some music to go with my lyrics
"Try to picture your life without everything that you consider relevant at this point in your life - What do you see...? what can you live with our without?"

Right. So, at the moment what seems relevant for me is to find a new full-time job for when I leave my present one (which keeps getting put off because I'm apparently just that invaluable, but that's a whole different story).

And then there's J. I really need to sort stuff out with him. But there is no incentive to do so since everything is going along just nicely, OK so he doesn't love me, but he took me to see Music and Lyrics today, which surely must be a sign that he's willing to sacrifice his sanity for my pleasure for 90 min.

If I wasn't looking for a job, and it wasn't for J... I'd be the same person. But I'd move home to be closer to my family and other friends, no doubt about it.

I don't know what keeps me from moving home.. I see, through a glass, darkly, that I want to become a psychologist for a few reasons I don't like thinking about.

I keep telling myself it's because I want to make sure I have an interesting job when I get home. Which is part of it. But I also like the thought of adding "Dr" to my name (I'd be the first in my family ever to do so), and the money, the prestige, the security.

I've always pretended not to be interested in any of those things, and on a personal level I do truly think that recognition and attention is more important to me than money. But money and status is no bad thing either, I guess.

Part of me wants to be able to show "people", whoever they are, that I arrived, that I could make it. I realise that many people around the country would be more than happy to step into the job that I have now, but for some reason it's not good enough for me. I am also well and truly bored, as I keep saying to people, but that's only a part of it.

None of this explains, though, why I don't ever spend any time "doing nothing" by myself, as suggested by my counsellor (sitting in the park looking at nature apparently counts as "doing something", MB! I know, odd). I guess I feel slightly ashamed of the reasons for pursuing the stuff I pursue, and therefore it's better to pursue it actively and at all times so I don't have to examine the reasons why.

Now how profound is that for a Friday night blog post. I'll discuss it with my counsellor and report right back to you...

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Friday, 9 February 2007

Now you see me... :: Part one

I was visiting my friend A in London. It was one of those ridiculously hot days, where nobody knows what to do with themselves in the city, far away from beaches and cooler countryside; where people pass out on the tube and the dogs of the homeless pant on the street corners.

See view by johnyblaze
Two weeks ago, I had dumped my long-term boyfriend. I hadn't really loved him anyway, but breaking up always means upheaval. A was sympathetic. "Nothing gets you over the previous one like the next one," she said, and talked me into staying with her for a week. She also knew that I wasn't very good at going without my daily shag, and that I might end up falling into my ex's bed if we were too close to each other as I hit sex withdrawal.

It turned out to have been a good move. My tiny flat would have been a killer in the heat, but A, who had made some financially sound career moves in her life, now lived in a top floor mansion flat overlooking Hyde Park.

The morning after I had struggled with my suitcase to her doorstep (where it was immediately taken over by a rather snotty doorman who clearly thought I was out of place in the establishment), I woke with a blasting headache. My room was already suffocatingly hot. I opened the window, leaving the curtains closed, and still half asleep, I grabbed for my little black bikini top and a mini skirt in my suitcase, dying to get outside.

Part of losing a boyfriend also means losing other stuff. I'd lost at least five pounds in just two weeks, and had also lost all my body hair save for a tiny landing strip. I'm sure the beautician must have known I was a newly single person, as I had asked for just about every treatment in her book. The weight loss had paid off as well, as the roundness of my bum looked fantastically bouncy and my stomach looked toned and tanned.

I threw the french doors open in the lounge, and to my relief, I could feel a cool breeze from the park stroking my body. I grabbed a glass of ice water (A of course has an American-style fridge with an ice cube maker) and positioned myself on one of the chairs on the tiny balcony outside.

Above me, the sun was almost directly overhead, and despite a little parasol in the corner, the wood was shockingly hot as I sat down on it. I leaned back and felt the warm seat press against my bum. I could hear the cars down on the street, but not see them, the treetops looking almost like an ocean in front of me.

As I rubbed suntan lotion on my smooth legs, I tried to ignore how much I was longing for someone to do it for me. I hadn't been touched by a guy for over two weeks, which was pretty much a personal record in the last decade. How was it that all my fuckfriends had gotten married all of a sudden? I thought about my last encounter with one of them, M, five years ago; his delicious, smooth cock and washboard midriff. I didn't even know where he was anymore; what a shame.

I looked across to all the other balconies; there was nobody there. The sad thing about having a fat flat in London is that more likely than not you'll be working so much to afford it that you will hardly ever spend any time in it. But good for me.

As I worked the suntan lotion up my thighs, I felt myself moisten at the touch. I love wearing no underwear. I managed to avoid touching myself, and worked across my belly instead. As I felt my hand brush against my bikini'ed breasts, however, I couldn't resist slipping a hand inside the tiny black piece of fabric covering the left one. My nipple, despite the heat, was already hardening, a process speeded up by my slippery fingers.

I closed my eyes and thought of M again, and almost without noticing, my other hand was moving towards my swelling crotch. I slipped it inside my bikini bottoms, and let out a little moan as I touched the lips. I couldn't believe how wet I was already.

Bringing the second hand down to stroke my clit, hard like an uncooked pea between the soft folds of flesh, I also put a finger in my mouth, remembering how M's cock used to taste when I sucked him after he had been inside me.

I wanted more than just my hand; my pussy was screaming to be filled. It was hard to stop stroking myself, but I halted and got up from the chair to get my vibrator from the suitcase.

Continued...

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Now you see me... :: Part two

Back to Part one

I kept rubbing my wet crack as I went inside to get the vibrator, another recent purchase. It was a gift from my girlfriends to keep me company since splitting up with my boyfriend, as the old one reminded me too much of him and had to be binned.

Despite the colour, it was shaped like a sizeable cock, smooth and veiny, and from being in my hot room it was almost as warm as the real thing. I hurried back outside and repositioned me on the chair, one leg resting on the table.

It was then I saw him. Two balconies further over, a guy had appeared since I went inside to get my "friend". He was wearing speedos, and was leaning back on his chair on top of a towel, sunglasses on and reading the paper, a cold pint sitting on the table next to him. Damn. I was so horny my pussy was about to explode, and here was someone ruining my plan. It was way too hot to go inside again, too. What to do?

I positioned myself sideways on the chair, and put my hand inconspicuously in my lap, my middle finger frantically pressing on my clit through my now soaking wet panties. Dropping the vibrator to the floor behind me as discreetly as i could, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Even with so little stimulation, I could feel a climax building, and desperately wanted to push the lovely hot vibrator to my longing cunt. I bit my lip to avoid moaning, rubbing my clit hard and fast.

Suddenly, there was a rustle. I jumped, and immediately stopped rubbing. Had he seen what I was doing? I looked over. No. He had fallen asleep! His head was leaning back towards the wall, his arm hanging limp by his side. What I'd heard was the paper falling, it was now fluttering in pieces to the street below. I noticed now that the paper was gone that he was not at all bad-looking. He was so tanned he couldn't possibly be British, and toned too, a towel draped over the second balcony chair indicated that he may have been swimming somewhere.

What luck! With lighting speed, I grabbed the vibrator and turned it on. My pussy juices covered it as I pulled my panties to the side and rubbed it on my longing clit, closing my eyes again. I realised that having the man over there, even though he was asleep, was turning me on even more. Part of me wanted him to se me, legs spread with the huge cock toy rubbing on my swollen, shaven pussy. I wanted to make him hard, to rub his own cock watching me.

I closed my eyes again, the vibrations made my pussy tight and hot, I could feel sweat trickle down between my breasts, as I felt the orgasm building again.

Pushing the vibrator hard to my clit, the spasms began building in my crotch, washing across my body in waves. Unable to hold back a moan, I thrust the vibrating cock inside my incredibly tight hole, bucking against it with each wave. It felt incredible. I spread my legs wide open, pussy juice gushing out of me as I fucked it frantically, its hardness filling me up all the way.

As the orgasm waned, I pulled the vibrator out, resting it on my spasming clit a little longer, before almost instantly falling asleep.

Continued...


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Now you see me... :: Part three

Part one
Part two
When I woke, my body still limp from the orgasm and my headache from the morning no better, I didn't at first know where I was. As I opened my eyes and felt sunglasses on my face, I remembered the guy from across the way. I remembered him because there he was, standing up on his balcony. It took me a little longer to realise that he was about to give me a show in return.

He was facing me now, his shapely, strong legs quite far apart. Thanks to the glass walls on the balconies I could see his hand working the front of his speedos, slowly but firmly. To my amazement I felt myself moisten again despite the earthshattering turn I'd just had with my vibrator.

I realised that I had to pretend I was still asleep. But yet I wanted to turn him on and tease him some more. I shifted slightly on the chair, and my theory proved true. He immediately stopped rubbing what I could now see was a sizeable bulge. He looked disappointed as he pretended for a moment to check something out on the street below.

I moved again, pulling my legs apart so that my skirt slid up. He could see straight into the pussy I'd just worked so hard. I wondered if he could see the renewed wetness glistening in the sunlight. He waited for a minute, then turned his head to see that I was still "asleep". I could see his hand gripping the bannister harder as he saw my wanton wetness.

Immediately he started rubbing himself again, harder now. I was quietly begging for him to pull his pants down to give me a full view of his hardness. I could tell from his rhythm that he wasn't far off from being unable to resist anymore.

And my prayers were heard. He pulled the front of his speedos down to reveal an impressive specimen, dark with blood and the head soaked with precum as he pulled the foreskin all the way back, caressing the tip with his other hand. I could see him staring straight at my pussy as he wanked faster, faster, his chest heaving.

He bit his lip, mirroring my move I'd done earlier to keep myself quiet. He was about to shoot his lovely hot load right in my direction. It was such a turn-on. I couldn't help myself, I had to do something. I was just hoping he was too far gone to be able to stop once I joined in.

I brought a hand to my chest and pulled the bikini top to the side. He didn't even flinch. He wanted to see more. I pushed my nipple to my mouth, and just the feeling of my tongue on the areola almost made me cum again. I flicked my tongue around the rock hard nipple, and leaned down to pick up the vibrator again.

This time, I imagined that it was his hot cock that I could see being worked so expertly in his hand. As I spread my legs wider, I started fucking it again, rubbing my clit with the other hand.

He was gripping onto the balcony now, wanking as fast as he could, his mouth open. I could hear him groan. He was cumming, and I wanted to join him. I stared at his cock as thick, white threads of cum shot out towards me. I wanted to feel it on me, to taste it, and the torture of not being able to turned me on even more. As the vibrator hit my g-spot, I made no attempt to hold back, moaning loudly as another orgasm engulfed every nerve ending. I closed my eyes and pretended it was his beautiful cock in me.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still staring at me, cock in hand. But he was smiling now. I smiled back. I could tell A it really had been worth my while making the trip down to London.

***THE END***

Thursday, 8 February 2007

Finding myself

Singing in the rain by Mindfulness

Apparently I need to find myself. Or so at least my counsellor told me today.

And in a way I agree. I've never been a very still person. I've always liked to be chasing the rainbow, and when I get there, although I appreciate the achievement, I always spot something else, more elusive that I want instead.

This is probably partly why I've managed to stay for such a long time with J; the fact that he's completely emotionally unavailable (me: "I love you." J: "..."). In other words, he's always just out of reach, and I guess a part of me likes it that way.

"You seem to be searching a lot for external stimuli," my counsellor said. "What happens when you are just with you, doing nothing?"

At that very moment, I realised that I have no idea whatsoever about what she means by doing nothing.

I struggled with the concept of "being alone and doing nothing" for a while. It turned out that going for a jog or to the cinema or reading a book or meditating or staring out the window over a cup of tea does not count as "doing nothing".

I think what she meant, in the end, was something along the lines of mindfulness, ie. being mindful of yourself and your perception of the surroundings.

Which is weird. Because although I'm not completely mindful as often as I should be, I mean, who is, sometimes I have to concentrate on driving, dammit; I am certainly more mindful than many other people I know.

I always know if I'm happy or sad, hungry or full, warm or cold; I notice beautiful sunsets and caterpillars trying to cross the road.

Would being more mindful make me feel more at peace with the world? Or is it something else?

I openly admit that I really need recognition, I need to be needed. Not because I don't have faith in myself, but just... because.

I'll mull this over until I see her again next week. But I really think I have to ask what "doing nothing by yourself" really means.

Bonus Technorati tag: mindfulness

Wednesday, 7 February 2007

Familiarity breeds... familiarity

Lately, to my horror, I've noticed that my sex drive is going down. I don't know how this can be. Or rather, it's not that I'm not horny, it's more that I'd be contented with fantasies and my vibrator rather than J.

Love by Digitain3k0

I still find him attractive. But I guess I've just been conditioned into thinking that asking for sex means I won't get it, so my libido is steering me away from the disappointment.

And I know I'm attractive. I've the kind of boobs other women have breast implants to achieve (not crazy oversized US ones, I mean cute natural perky ones). I shave and wax... And he claims he finds me attractive. But it's plain to see I fail to turn him on. How can I fix this? How do I become alluring while we're still living together and seeing each other's toothbrushes and dirty laundry every morning?

J and I are nearing our second anniversary. Personally I can never remember what day it is, but I know it's near Valentine's day. Fortunately J is the kind of guy who never forgets an important date (yes, girls, there was a reason I chose to put up with no sex for three months...).

I've always had a high sex drive, ever since I discovered masturbating at 11, and probably even before then. In my previous relationships I've always had sex at least every second day, and mostly once a day.

With J, I'm lucky to get once a week.

OK, so maybe we're getting old. I won't be in my 20s for that much longer. However, that shouldn't be an excuse. J claims he just "has a lower sex drive", which of course I think is bullshit as I've never encountered a man with a low sex drive before, ever.

I know it's partly linked to his depression, but I actually think sex is good for him. It makes him relax, it makes me relax, and we always argue less when we shag more (see my old post about no sex making you cranky).

And we're very good together in bed, I think sometimes better than we are out of bed. Our bodies just fit together really well, I've no other way of explaining it. He's got the size of cock you want; fulfilling but not painfully so, and not too large to play with. His stomach fits into the curve of my spine when we spoon. His hand is just shy of the size of my boobs. And so on.

So what to do? Wait and see? I've never been very patient, you know... Tips received with thanks!

Bonus Technorati tag:

Tuesday, 6 February 2007

Tired now

I haven't seen J properly since yesterday. It feels weird.

Work has been crazy lately. They're even more understaffed than usual, and because I'm so nice (yes, dear readers, I really am), I can't say no when they ask me to do extra shifts.

I am clearly working way too much at the moment, all I want to do is go home, go to bed with J and snuggle for a whole day without sparing a thought for all the stuff I "should" be doing.

Last night I made him sleep in the guest bedroom. He's basically slept very poorly lately, and kept me awake all weekend. I *really* cannot function without my beauty sleep, and we agreed it was for the best as we keep waking each other.

It will be very odd when I change jobs and we're not in the same building anymore. Because I'm on an evening shift today, we only had a very short overlap, but usually we're in touch several times during the work day.

In the morning, when I wake and he's not there, I call to say good morning. In the evening, when I'm not there, he calls to say goodnight. And throughout the day we'll come by each other's desks bringing chocolates from the vending machine or to go for lunch together.

I realise this doesn't happen in the average relationship, but now, when I haven't really seen him properly for over 24 hours, I really miss him! Pathetic, really, isn't it... I'm clearly not cut out for long-distance relationships.

Sunday, 28 January 2007

Freedom Is Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose

When I was surfing on Flickr today looking for a pic for my next piece of erotic fiction, I came across the phrase above.

Originally by Roddh
I had never heard it before, but how true it really is.

It reminds me of when I went to church after my grandmother died. I'm not a very "good" Christian, and usually limit visits to funeral and Christmas.

My grandmother had a tough life; her husband and son both died from an uncureable disease, and she also cared for her grandparents and parents until they passed away.

The priest told the small group of people who were there to pay her the last respect that we should be grateful for the burden laid upon us by God. "Without a burden, we feel there is no use for us," he said.

Of course that becomes completely absurd if you think about the kind of strain that's laid on people's shoulder the world over; Palestinians having their children shot by Israeli soldiers, Iraqi suicide bombers targeting poor day labourers and African Aids orphans starving to death. Needless to say these people would much rather be unburdened.

But in an emotional sense, what the priest said is true. Without anyone depending on us, without any responsibility weighing on our shoulders, we're just blowing in the wind, pointlessly.

A mother doesn't wish to be freed from the burden of caring for her children, not truly. As a lover you don't really want to be freed from your partner, even when they long to be single. And if you break free, leaving their formerly loved one behind, it usually means that you had nothing to lose in the first place.

Maybe that's why I stay with J, even though it's hard. Whenever I've been in easier relationships, I've not weighed down enough to want to stay. Yes, of course sometimes the burden of supporting him through daily life it's almost unbearable, but I love him.

And the Christian part of me thanks God that I've been allowed to meet someone for whom I'll gladly give up my freedom.

That's it, I give up

I hope you're happy now, Blogger. I've reverted to my classic template because the broken-ness of my "new" one is giving me an ulcer. Yes, that's right, an ulcer.

It's horrible. The blog displays properly, but when you look at the code, the sections are all scrambled, which means I can't implement any of the things I'd like, such as peekaboo comments. And before you ask, I've tried


  • Resetting the widgets

  • Choosing another (original) template

  • Uploading an older template

  • Changing the code by hand

And nothing works! No matter what I do, the changes don't stick. Someone has suggested to me that it might be a server problem on the Blogger end of things, and of course, although I've repeatedly contacted them, there has been no reply. Arrrrgh!


I realise Blogger is a free service, but clearly Google is making money off us poor bloggers, or it wouldn't provide it.


Call it a symptom of OCD, but I really can't bring myself to blog anything until it's fixed. It gives me writer's block. I hope you're happy now, Blogger.

Friday, 26 January 2007

Losing a life

And when I got to work this afternoon, I was chatting to my colleague who had been away for a few weeks, ill. I asked her if she was better, and she made a "so-so" facial expression. I asked her what was wrong. She said she'd lost her baby.

By Thtstudios
What do you say to that? Is there any appropriate response? I told her I was incredibly sorry, and asked her what had happened.

She didn't go into detail, just said it had been incredibly physically painful and that psychologically speaking she was of course still recovering.

She hadn't been very far gone, so hadn't told anyone at work. Which I guess takes off a bit of the pressure of people coming over and asking you if you've painted the baby's room yet etc.

Still, I can't imagine what that must be like. It's the way she said "my baby", so clearly showing that this to her was already a fully formed individual with a place in her heart.

I never think about how this happens. I sometimes (quite often) worry that I won't be able to become pregnant as my periods are incredibly irregular, but I rarely worry about miscarriage. About 1/3 of all pregnancies end that way, but usually it's too early to notice, within the first couple of weeks.

I feel incredibly sorry for my colleague, but as I stated earlier, I don't really know what to say. Maybe there is nothing to say..

Bonus Technorati tag:

Monday, 22 January 2007

What shall I do for my man on Valentine's day?

Please readers, suggestions are welcome... I realise that Valentine's day is still almost a month away, but I came across this photo on Flickr and really felt it described just what our love is like.

By iz'sourceon Flickr
Or love in general.

I mean not crazy, I'm 17 and will die without you kind of love, but real, lasting love that you get in relationships like the one I have with J, where it's sometimes a struggle, but you're hoping to build a life together.

It's the kind of love you get when your lives are tangled up together for more than just Sunday breakfasts. When romance isn't like a red rose, singularly attractive all the time, but like this; an accidentally formed surprise of red string in a tangled, blue surround.

Or maybe I'm just being pessimistic.

But it's gone well with J and me lately (maybe that's why I've blogged about it less?). And for me, this is fine.

I love of course grand gestures and candlelit evenings, but I like even more to stick one ice cold foot under his hot duvet when he's already asleep and I creep in after a late shift.

There are maybe no surprise trips to New York, but he wants to take me to the seaside in March, just because he says I've been working too hard and he knows I like the seaside.

"You're not interested in the flowers," he says. "You just want me to put out." How true.

And I think he's pre-ordering Final Fantasy XII for me as a present, even though that means I'll hog the TV for at least the next three months. Is it any wonder I love him?

Bonus Technorati tags:

Thursday, 18 January 2007

My blog is broken! Emergency!!

Boo-hoo.. Now can you cope with seeing a woman cry? I thought not! So help me, goddammit! Yes, people, that's right, my blog (not my heart for once) is broken!

It's really, really annoying.. More annoying than spending two hours looking for a dropped stitch in a lace shawl (which I did earlier on today, so I know what I'm talking about, people!)

Basically Blogger will not allow me to reset my template completely to remove erroneous code.

Somehow some of the sections got screwed up when I was editing it, and I've tried everything; resetting the widgets, choosing a new template, manually fixing the code...

But whatever I do, the changes won't save and the wrong bits of code get re-inserted. I am at the end of my tether.

It's keeping me awake at night. It's making me lose my libido. Yes, dear readers, it's that serious.

If anyone has any insights which lead to fixing, Yours Truly will... well, something you'll want. A lot.

The original mistake seemed to be that my drop-down comments weren't working anymore. As you see I've managed to reset them to their original "linking to an ugly page" state. But I want them back.
Bonus Technorati tag:

Sunday, 14 January 2007

Don't leave without a word! That's an order!

Apparently it's national delurker week, according to this sassy lady.

Want to stage your own delurk; look no further
Delurking week; started by Papernapkin
And if fact, I am wondering if that's not such a bad idea. It's funny; whenever I post erotic fiction, I get masses of hits (people searching for a lot of odd things. Some good ones from yesterday:

  • "stockings and suspenders"
  • "her arsehole"
  • "spanking surprise"
  • "hymen regrowth" (HELLO??!)
  • "pumping rock hard"

And, my favourite, "gspot". Mate, if you feel you have to look online, you're extremely unlikely to find it. And anyway, the gspot is on the inside, so I doubt you'll even find very good photos of it.

So, you boys (I'm assuming it's mostly boys, but maybe I'm being sexist here), all of you who spend two seconds on my site, dissapointed that I'm not posting live footage of my pussy, pls take a moment to leave a cum stain / comment.

Not to mention those of you who trawl through the whole Erotic Fiction backlog; I mean, do you like it? Do you want improvements? I think it's somewhat thankless to read that much without letting me know what you think. What say you?

And lastly, I want to know, why are you looking for "her arsehole" online? Is it because your real life lady wont let you? Or maybe you don't have one...

My ex boyfriend was a huge consumer of online porn, and his excuse when I confronted him (I was disappointed he wouldn't do it with me; I loved it when he filmed me sucking him, but watching seemed to be a sole pleasure for him) was that "it helped him wank faster". That's when I realised he was too old for me. And, his second excuse was that "I hadn't been giving it up lately" (I'd had a busy week at work). Needless to say he was dumped as soon as I could muster up the courage to break his heart.

I mean, even after three years together we were shagging at least every second day, but mostly every day. So, he had to go three days without. Tough luck. When going through his downloaded porn I discovered he had a penchant for degradation of women (he liked videos of people cumming in women's faces then telling the girl to fuck off). Nice.

So, all you boys, get your girlfriend down and enjoy it with her. Make her masturbate to porn with you. It'll guaranteed be more fun than lurking on my blog.

Bonus Technorati tag:

Friday, 12 January 2007

Robbing the cradle

When we first met, I didn't know what he looked like. Or what his voice sounded like. I only knew that he was a fast typist and that he couldn't spell "definitely".


Crotch and Boot
by Mo
He contacted me on IRC, which I had stopped using years ago, for a chat. "Are you horny," he said, no questionmark.

I wasn't, but for some reason I went against my usual instinct to reject all random requests and said "yes".

After thinking for a moment, I added, "are you?"

"Yes" he said. "ASL?"

I told him I was in my late 20s, in Britain.

He said, "17, M, US".

And indeed he was. But I didn't find out til later. All set for Scene 1, me in bed, randomly surfing, him in the basement game room on the computer, his older brother watching TV in the background.

JGF: "Tell me about yourself."

M17: "I've only had sex twice,"

JGF: "Did you like it?"

M17: "Yes"

JGF: "Are you any good?"

M17: "I love to eat pussy"

JGF: "Is that so.. How about having your cock sucked?"

M17: "I've never tried"

JGF: "Really? I bet you'd like it.. I give awesome blowjobs"

M17: "I think my cock is too big"

JGF: "No such thing"

And so on. "I have a huge hard-on," he said after a while. I could feel myself moisten, thinking about him sitting there, his supposedly large cock oozing pre-cum in his boxers underneath the desk.

I told him to jerk off. "My brother is here," he said. "Are you horny or not," I challenged. "Only if you do to," he said.

Without getting out of bed, I leaned over to get my "jessica rabbit" from the bedside drawer. "I'll pretend it's you," I said.

As I rubbed the cool vibrator on my swollen, slippery pussy, I imagined him, tanned, toned and horny, trying not to moan as his brother watched CSI at the other end of the room.

"I'm licking the head of your cock," I said. "Sliding my mouth slowly, slowly down your shaft, all the way to the base... Oh, I'm sucking you so hard, you taste soooo goood... Mmmmm..."

He didn't reply. After about a minute of non-replying, I closed my eyes and imagined him, rubbing his moist, throbbing cock, cumming all over his hand, imagined licking the salty stickiness off him. As I came, I thrust the vibrator into my hungry vagina, letting out a load groan and fucking it, making myself come a second time.

Then, five minutes later as I was about to pay my gas bill, he was back. "Sorry," he said. "Had to go to bathroom to cum Came twice!! You're the hottest girl Ive ever met"

"Or not met," I helpfully pointed out.

"I'm coming to London with my parents in a month," he said. "Can we meet?"

To be continued...

Bonus Technorati tag:

Robbing the cradle part II :: Hotel encounter

***Back to part I***

I don't know why I arranged to meet him. Maybe because he contacted me a month later, again on IRC, saying "Im in easy internet cafe Bond Street Are you free?"

Maybe because the photos he sent were so average snapshot looking, yet he was... well, a hot 17 year old. Apparently he was on the "varsity" football team, and although I have never been into sporty types, I could tell even from the pictures of him wearing T-shirts that he was quite the hottie.

Maybe because I had a day off.

Maybe because I was dying to see that cock I had fantasized about since the last time we chatted.

"I'll meet you at Trafalgar Square in an hour," I said. "Stand at the base of Nelson's column; look American."

I figured that if we met there, I'd be able to get away if he turned out to be a 45 year old pig or the like.

I quickly showered, and put on my one night stand pulling pants; a pair of black silk French knickers. I considered not going all the way with suspenders and seamed stockings, but then I thought, hey, this kid's come all the way from America; I better give him a good one... I put on a lacy bra to match, and wrapped up in my long camel winter coat and a pashmina to keep my neck warm. I grabbed a holdall and filled with the necessary props, so excited I almost forgot to lock the flat on the way outside.

On the tube, I felt the silky lining of my coat against my skin; I could feel myself moisten just thinking about the things I could do to him and the thought of his tongue on my hot crotch...

The ten stops to Charing Cross seemed to take forever. I couldn't wait. I put my large holdall on my lap, and managed to sneak my hand inside my coat behind it. Closing my eyes, I let the rocking of the tube tease my fingers against my slippery clit, it was hard like a smooth hazelnut already and I had to bite my lip not to moan.

And then, as I exited to Trafalgar square, unbelievably, he stood there. Trying not to look nervous, wearing a long-sleeved blue tee underneath a short-sleeved white one, oversized baggy jeans and holding a Jan-Sport bag in his right hand, a camera around his neck, looking every inch the tourist.

I walked up to him. "Matt?" I said. He jumped about five foot in the air. "JGF?" "That's me," I replied. "Want to show me your hotel room?" He nodded, listlessly.

I hailed a cab and we both got in the back. "So, how are you enjoying London so far?" I asked. He said he liked it, trying to sound as blase as a 17-year old could, made harder obviously by the fact that he felt compelled to throw in comments about his annoying parents who wanted to do cultural stuff.

I asked if he'd been introduced to English girls yet, and he looked me straight in the eyes for the first time. "I'm so goddamn horny, JGF, I've been thinking about you since I got here. I want to lick your pussy so bad. I've been jerking off twice a day thinking of you. And you're even hotter than you looked in the pictures." His rather posh yet unmistakably East Coast American accent ran like melted honey down my back. And I remembered how, when you're 17 and away from home, you can say anything. Do anything.

As we pulled up outside his hotel, which lived up to his accent more than I'd hoped, we were chatting like old friends, although I was unable to retain any of what he said. He was just telling me that his parents had taken him to see Chicago the night before, and that he found the display of suspenders ridiculous. "Noone actually wears those, do they," he said as he paid for the cab and walked towards the door was held open for us.

Well, almost noone.

To be continued


Bonus Technorati tag:

Robbing the cradle part III :: Coming to get ya

***back to part I***
***back to part II***

As we entered his spacious double room, Matt immediately went over to the TV and turned it on to one of the music channels. He then made a beeline for the mini-bar. "Drink?" he said, his nervousness more tangible now.

"Please," I said, more to make him feel comfortable than because I wanted one. He quickly knocked back a large whiskey composed of two mini-bottles, while mixing me me a rum and coke.

As he handed me the drink, I could tell he already had a hard-on, he tried awkwardly to hide it, but the front of his jeans were bulging in a give-away tent-like fashion. Even in my high heels I was a good head shorter than him. Tall men. They'r nice sometimes.

"Your cock does indeed look a good size," I said. He jumped, spilling a little coke down his hand. I grabbed it, putting his finger in my mouth. It was salty, slightly rough as I swirled my tongue around it and sucked hard. "Oh God," he said, blushing.

"We don't have to do this," I said, suddenly awkwardly aware of his young age. "I can leave. Or we can just chat and have a drink."

"No!" he exclaimed. "Please stay... I just... I just don't know what to do. I've... I've never..."

Oh. My. God. Mr Hot Young Football Player was a virgin. Sex twice my arse. It made me want him even more. His pink, soft upper lip, protruding slightly further than his lower one in that "please kiss me now" fashion, quivered slightly. It was clearly a sore point. And despite the red haze that was gradually covering my eyes when I imagined his firm buttocks and flat stomach inside his clothes, I wanted to make this good. I wanted to make it last for him.

"Don't worry," I said. "You're so hot, just show me how horny you are. I'll do the rest."

I sat down in one of the cream coloured huge chairs in the hotel room with my drink, and simply said, "Now strip".

I can't remember what music was playing, but he rose to the challenge in more ways than one. Fortunately he remembered shoes and socks first. As he pulled his T-shirts over his head, I held back a gasp. He was even better than I had imagined, every muscle in his chiseled torso defined, but not in a pumped up way, simply the way you look when you're 17 and like playing football a lot. His chest was smooth and tanned in a way that indicated he'd recently been somewhere sunnier than London.

"You're so hot," I said. "Want me to take something off too?"

He nodded as he dropped his clothes to the floor.

I stood up, and walked over to him, leaning in to his neck, grabbing it with my right hand.

"Take my coat off, gorgeous" I whispered, licking his earlobe. I could feel every hair on his crew-cut neck stand up. I stepped back slightly, and as he unbuttoned the top three buttons of my coat to reveal my breasts straining to escape from their nothingness of lace, I could see his hands starting to shake. "You're not for real," he said. "You're gonna rob me or something."

Yes, of your virginity, I thought, but didn't say it. Without a word, I turned around and walked back to the chair, slipping the coat down my shoulders to reveal what little else there was of my outfit. I could hear him gasp behind me. "Now get rid of the rest of your stuff," I said as I sat down in the chair to enjoy the show.

As he unbuttoned his jeans, he had to lift them over his erection to get them off, I could tell it was so sensitive it hurt him to do it. His white cotton boxers could do nothing to conceal it, I could see a damp patch of precum on his crotch, and as soon as his jeans fell, the glistening head of his cock protruded from the front opening.

His cock was amazing. It really was large. Not porn sized huge, but way above average and most definitely in the top five I've ever seen. Not only that, but it was beautiful too, unlike most Americans he wasn't circumcised, although the hardness of his erection as it reached across a mass of damp dark blonde curls towards his bellybutton had stretched his foreskin out smooth already. The shaft, dark with blood, was smooth and straight, and I could practically see it throbbing.

"Are you ready to cum?" I said. "What do you think," he answered.

I decided that I wanted to see if I could make him cum without actually touching him. I'd only managed that a couple of times before in my life, but I could tell Matt would be up to the job. There's nothing that turns me on more than seeing a cock pumping out its hot juice all on its own. "So let's see how you like pussy eating," I said. I leaned back in the chair and slowly moved one leg over the armrest to reveal my by now almost painfully wet slit.

By now Matt was clearly so horny he had forgotten to be shy. He was over in the blink of an eye, kneeling down in front of me and putting his soft lips to my wetness, shaven for the occasion.

He started french kissing my pussy like a pro. Clearly his tongue was doing its best to catch up with his cock, it was long, firm, supple, as he immediately started circling it around my clit, letting out little moans of impatience as he dug his hands into my buttocks. He hadn't been making this part up. He loved eating pussy. Unbelievably, I realised I might beat a 17-year old boy to cumming. Suddenly, he thrust his tongue deep into me, lapping at my juices.

It was only with an enormous amount of self-control that I managed to push him off me and drag him to the bed. "Please, sit on my face," he panted as he sat down on the edge. "I want you to..." I pushed him back, but instead of giving him the pleasure of my pussy face to face, I swirled around and positioned one leg on each side of his head, my lips poised right above his tempting erection.

As he resumed licking and sucking my clit, I begged him to use his hands too. He thrust three of his fingers inside me, and I started wriggling on them till he hit my G-spot. It was too much. The sight of his deep red cock head bobbing in front of my face, already smelling of sweet cum, tipped me over the edge.

I screamed out loud as I felt pussy juice gush out of me. I pumped rythmically on his fingers, and felt him withdraw them to replace them with his tongue. "So good... you taste... so... GNNNHHHHHH!!!" He grabbed my head, and I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to take him in my mouth and suck him dry. I wanted to feel his cum squirting out all over my lips.

I reached my tongue out and touched the tip of his shiny head, and he bucked against me uncontrollably, moaning and panting obscenities, sticky strings of thick cum covering my tongue as I lapped it up and he kept licking me and I could feel myself cumming a second time, and unable to hold back I took him in my mouth and sucked hard, his rock hard manhood stifling my moans.

To be continued...

Robbing the cradle part IV :: It ain't over till it's over

***back to part I***
***back to part III***


Matt licked hungrily at my pussy as he continued cumming for what seemed to be like a lifetime. The feeling of his mouth attempting to devour me at the same time as his cum filling my mouth was delicious. And for him, at his young age, it must have seemed to go on forever. Ten seconds is a lot when you're 17.

As his magnificent cock spasmed against my throat for the last time, he stopped, I could feel his head drop heavily against my leg on the pillow. I continued to suck him more gently until his cock started shrinking slightly, then rolled off him, licking his precious drops off my lips.

His cum tasted sweet and salty, some of the best I'd ever experienced I thought at the moment. In the afterglow of an amazing orgasm I felt tender towards him, and moved up to the head of the bed, stroking his dark blonde wisps of hair from his forehead. "Glass of water?" I offered. He nodded barely, his eyes still closed.

I got out of the bed, grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom. "Water's in here," I called. All was going to plan, but I wasn't entirely sure Matt was ripe to lose his virginity yet.

As filled a glass of water and turned on the monsoon-style shower, trying to ignore environmental warnings about London's water shortage, I heard him shuffle across the floor. His cock, completely unerect now, hung still impressive between his legs. He looked shyly at me. "I hope I did OK," he said. "I thought I was gonna pass out there. That was, that was..."

"No need to talk," I said. "Let's rinse off." We got in the huge shower together, and I felt a sudden urge to kiss him. As our lips met, I could taste my cum juice on them still. He was as good a kisser as he was a pussy eater.

I'd been right to doubt his readiness to fuck. Almost immediately as my hands started exploring his young body, I felt something hot thrust against my clit. His cock was getting ready for some more action. "I'm sorry," he mumbled between kisses. "I think I'll be another five before I'm ready to..." I decided not to tell him how that interval would most likely dramatically increase over the next decade.

His mouth worked its way down my neck, rapidly progressing towards my breasts. My nipples were rock hard despite the hot shower, and I wasn't sure if it was water or pussy juice trickling down the inside of my legs. I couldn't wait to feel him in me, but if he was already hard again after five minutes, I'd better find another way to make him cum first.

He pressed my boobs together as if to make them merge, taking both nipples in his mouth and licking them frantically. I slid a hand down his wet, hard belly, and was not surprised to find him so hard my hand almost acted like a wedge between his belly button and cockhead.

He moaned almost as from pain I pulled my tits from his lips and shifted behind him, pressing him to face the wall. With a bit of soap on, I pushed up behind him and slid my tits up his back, grabbing his wrists and forcing them to the wall. He was like putty in my hands, moaning again, louder this time. I turned his head towards me and we kissed again as I pulled him down on the floor, switching the shower off to avoid drowning.

The shower room was like a sauna now, all steamed up and hot. His body, sweating and flushed, was like a statue of youth as he lay on the floor underneath me. I could feel him grabbing for his own cock, unbearably horny still to shy to overcome the barrier to beg me to touch him. There would be none of that. I wanted to treat that hot, throbbing hardness all by myself.

Gently but firmly pushing his hands above his head, I rubbed my tits on his face for him to lick some more. He immediately started bucking against my thigh, as hard as when he first undressed for me. I couldn't believe he'd cum less than ten minutes ago.

I would give him a ride no American high school girl was ever likely to replicate. Licking my way down his ripped torso as he writhed in pleasure, almost giving in to the temptation to suck him for some more of his sweet cum, I gently spread his legs.

His arse was clean and dark pink, as virginal as the rest of him I was guessing. Prodding it with my tongue, it was firm and tight, and incredibly arousing. He grunted in surprise, but was too turned on to stop me as I penetrated it with my tongue. The sensation of my gentle tongue thrusting was too much for him. "Please, jerk me off, suck me, do something, I can't take it, you're too much," he panted.

I leaned over him, and not even needing to lube my tits due to all his pre-cum and our sweat, I took his lovely cock in my cleavage, incrasing the pace to match his frantic thrusting. His eyes, dark and wide open, stared at his shaft as it rubbed against my firm babies, squeezed together for maximum friction.

I decided he was ready for the full treatment. With my free hand I reached into my bag and pulled out my vibrator. The temptation to use it on myself was huge, but I wanted to take him all the way first. I squeezed some lube on it before switching it on. I pushed it gently to his moist arsehole, and it slid in.

With a slow movement I started fucking his arse with the tip of the vibrator while continuing to work him with my tits. His moans and grunts became gutteral, almost animal-like. To my amazement he pulled his legs up a little, pushing against the vibrator, wanting more.

"I'm gonna cum," he groaned, "I'm gonna cum so fucking hard all over those tits, do you want some cum, I need to cum..." I wasn't convinced he was even talking to me and not himself, but I didn't want to miss the money shot. And that sweet cum would not be wasted on my tits.

I bent my head down and devoured as much of his cock as I could take, even pushing it to the back of my throat I couldn't take all of him. "Yeah, yeah, yeaaaahhh..." he urged. I could feel from the throbbing that he was about to shoot his load any second. I pushed the vibrator all the way into his arse, and he came, even harder than last time, into my mouth.

I fucked his arse vigorously, he pulled his arse wide open with both hands on the bathroom floor as I sucked him. As he uttered a last, gutteral "Yeaaaahhhh", I felt his cum pump up through his long shaft, landing on my tongue and shooting hard into the back of my throat again. I couldn't help myself, I pulled the vibrator out of his no-longer-virgin arse and put a hand to my pussy, rubbing my marble-like clit to orgasm, collapsing on top of him with his softening cock in my other hand.

We lay there to catch our breath for a while until it started getting cold. Without a word, we both got up from the floor and went to bed. I think I passed out for a little while, sweet, post-coital rest where you dream nothing and smell the earthy scent of sex even as you sleep.

TO BE CONTINUED

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Robbing the cradle part V :: Take it home

***Back to part I***
***Back to part IV***

I woke not knowing where I was, my head heavy, the humming of the air conditioning the only sound in the room. As I started coming to properly, I sensed Matt's hard stomach pushed against my back, his hands caressing my tits.

I felt a rush of blood to my crotch as I realised that what had woken me was his scrumptious boy erection jutting against my already moist pussy. Was he ready to fuck me properly? As he rubbed the smooth yet veiny shaft against my clit, I realised I didn't care. I wanted him to fill me up, to feel his throbbing in my tight cunt.

"Make me cum," I whispered, my voice still sleep drunken. "You feel so good," he sighed. I realised he might have been doing this for a while before I woke up. Reaching between my legs, I felt the moist stickiness of our sex juices as his cock head bobbed against my palm. He moaned a little again from the added impact as I pushed it against my swelling pussy. He increased his thrust, and I closed my eyes, riding his cock quickly to sex heaven.

As his fingers continued to fiddle my breasts, I begged him to squeeze them harder. "Come on, big boy," I moaned, rubbing my palm on his cock head, so hot and wet. He grabbed onto my waist and thrusted harder from behind me. I felt the orgasm built in me, my breasts swelling in his hands as he licked at my neck.

He was lasting longer this time, just as I'd planned. Even with the friction from my thighs he wasn't at the verge of cumming. Feeling his hardness, not just his cock, but his whole body, drove me crazy. "I'm gonna cum, baby," I grunted through gritted teeth. He moved a hand down to my crotch.

"You feel so good down there, so smooth," he muttered. The touch of his hand on my clit along with his cock was what was needed. I came again, and as I felt my cunt spasming, I steered his hot cock inside me. He didn't stop rubbing me, his hand moving in time with his thrusting.

"Oh god," he moaned, loudly all of a sudden. "Your pussy feels... so hot... You're so tight baby, yeah baby, please baby..." He filled me up all the way, having to push hard inside me with each thrust as I shot towards oblivion, my cunt exploding around him, pumping and sucking.

I turned around to starfish him, pulling his smooth thigh to my clit. It was still sensitive, and I knew I could cum again in a sec. His hands grabbed for my tits, for my waist, my belly, frantically. His eyes were open and his pupils huge. "You're so tight, you've got such a tight pussy," he groaned. "That's how hot you make me with your huge cock," I panted as I felt a second orgasm follow hot on the heels of the first.

Pushing him onto his back, I straddled him, and looking down saw my slim body being pierced by his huge rod, I rode him like a birthday pony. "Let me taste you," he begged. And as I was cumming, I moved up and straddled his face, his tongue lapping up my pussy juices again.

I felt his arms moving frantically, and turned around to see him jerking off while licking me, slurping and groaning as he went. I wished we had more time together, watching him jerk off was almost as much of a turn on as sucking or fucking him, his pale hands working his dark cock at speed. I couldn't hold back and came so powerfully I thought I'd pass out. My gushing saltiness made him want more. "Let me fuck you some more, I can't hold back any longer," he begged.

I wanted to be fucked more by him so badly, to be fucked too deep to think about anything else. I turned around on all four. "Come take me with your hot cock, baby," I said hoarsely. He mounted me and pushed his cock into my still tight pussy. I let out a loud scream as he filled me up all the way and then some.

My body seemed to accommodate him perfectly. He grabbed onto my waist and fucked me with such resolve you'd think he'd be told he'd never be able to do it again ever. His cock was so thick it almost rubbed on my clit, his balls smashing against the sensitive part of my oyster with every thrust.

As I felt him grow inside me to the point of no return, I thought I might burst from being so filled up. "I'm cumming in your tight pussy," he said in a surprisingly clear voice, and as the word "pussy" passed his lips, I felt his cock explode inside me, his body arching towards me as he thrust the end of his cock to the very depths of my cunt, he continued fucking me deeply as he came, and what could a girl do but join him. For his first fuck, I felt I hadn't done so badly.

Of course, Matt never did get to see a lot of museums and sights that holiday, although his parents certainly thought he did as he excused himself every day to see "the Tate Modern" or "take a bus tour" while I slinked away from the office for "lunchtime meetings".

As he returned to the US, I could see in his eyes that in his sweet 17-year old way, he was coming to see me as a kind of sex goddess. I, of course, could entertain no such fantasy.

Although I felt warmly towards his sweet ways, not to mention the single diamond necklace he gave me on his last day there to adorn the cleavage that had given him so much pleasure, my heart could not be won away from my boyfriend, even by his hard body and lovely cock. And what would a girl like me do with a 17-year old high school boy?

So when he left, I changed my ICQ ID and never checked the old one again. He left only knowing my first name and my bra size.

But I've saved his phone number in a special place in case I ever have to go to New York on business. I've never been there, so who knows, I might need a local guide.


*** THE END ***

Nature vs. Nurture (aka terrifying child scenario)

I'll deviate a little from my regular path today to say that: One of the advantages of blogging anonymously is that I can say, my dear friend M, your kid scares me shitless.


...ooor maybe *NEVER*...

Hyperactive Children by HolyHolySnappers

He's about 5, and today when you came to my house for dinner, he
  1. Almost kneed our friend in the balls by jumping onto him
  2. Headbutted an 18 month old baby
  3. Broke (yet another piece of my favourite) crockery
  4. Threw a medium-sized rock at the head of the third child there, causing a bleed and a large bump


I realised today that our other friend A thinks I hate children. I don't. It's just that whenever he sees me around kids, it's around your son.

He's terrifying. He kicks, hits and bites, and even though he's rather little, it can be quite painful. He almost took J's friend's eye out about a month ago. I feel I get more mutual, constructive interaction with the above mentioned baby as well as with our other friend's three year old, than I do with your son.

He is not necessarily malign, but completely lacks impulse control and shows most of the signs of ADHD. He doesn't make eye contact and gets incredibly riled up when eating sugar or by commotion (such as a party). Get it sorted, before you know it he'll be 14 and too large to handle.

Phew. Good to get that off my chest. The point of this whole malarky is that my mum is really worried that I'll become that kind of parent that want their kids to be a certain way, and won't accept it if they're different.

Sometimes I fear that's actually the case. I desperately want kids who respect other human beings and are curious about life, kids who realise they have to work hard at whatever they choose to take an interest in life to achieve something. So you want to be a ski bum, that's fine, but you have to work hard to become good at skiing. You want to be a footballer, fine, but don't just sit around on your arse and talk about it. Dreaming is fine, but hard work is better.

I'm not saying it's not a little bit down to the parents, but I'm coming to believe that in the end, you get what you're given. You can't shape children in your own image.

My parents have three kids; we're more different than you can imagine. When I was my sister's age, I was emigrating abroad on my own. She's still living at home and has no desire to face the fact that food doesn't grow in the fridge. Last time I went to visit she screamed "whore" at me at the top of her voice because she thought I insulted her boyfriend. Noone else in my family ever raises their voice. I don't know where she takes it from.

What do you do when you have a kid like that? My parents have really done their best, and of course my mum claims to love us all equally, but I can see that it really hurts her when my sister screams "whore" at me and "I hate you you fucking bitch" at my mum. And, of course, I hate my sister for being so lazy and useless and causing my parents so much grief. But that's another story entirely.

What would I do if I had a kid like that? I would probably become incredibly strict and apply behavioural methods to attempt to never reinforce any negative behaviour.

But, of course, when it comes down to it, you have only so much to give and at some point you end up plonking them in front of the TV or buy them a bar of chocolate just to get some rest.

Would it be different if it was my own child? I hope so, because if not, I don't know if I should really go there.


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Tuesday, 9 January 2007

Snow angels...

I'm back after Christmas, J and I had a wonderful break where he felt better, thus I felt better, and there were lots of laughing and cuddles and sex and socialising and all the other things I vaguely remember that relationships used to be all about before I had a depressed boyfriend.

It's like snow angels; never really there so never really gone
Making Snow Angels by dcvr.
Of course the effect of that holiday is rapidly wearing off, and he just now contacted me because he's having a small panic about not being able to do something right at work (I actually couldn't cope with talking to him about it; I've realised it just makes me depressed too; hopefully he'll find a new therapist shortly).

But that's not really what's on my mind anyway.

Over Christmas I met my First Great Love at a party at a mutual friend's house. I was ralking to another friend of mine whom I hadn't seen for ages, and I was so engrossed in the conversation that I didn't even notice that FGL arrived until I looked up and spotted him over my other friend's shoulder as we were chatting.

My reaction was shocking. My heart dropped to my feet like a rock and started racing like an alarm clock on speed. I felt dizzy. I was suddenly very aware of myself, and made a huge effort not to look at him as I felt I needed a moment merely to cope with his presence in the room before even beginning to think of how to address it.

I did what any sensible 14-year old would do and completely ignored him until he came over to talk to me.

As he sat next to me in the sofa, our thighs touching through my net stockings (I openly admit having made an extra effort to look stunning as I suspected he would be there), we talked about our lives since last time we met (amazingly about two years earlier... old love never rusts).

And I realised a few things. I realised I still miss him and the closeness we had, even though our conversations now are just a shadow of those we used to have. And I realised I will always feel this way. If two years and a massive crush and excitingly emotional relationship with J, whom I love dearly, can't do a thing to fade the memory of FGL, nothing can.

And lastly, I realised that sadly, even if we lived on the same side of the globe, I could never relate to him just as a friend without slowly crushing my heart in the same way I used to over a decade ago.

I told him I was feeling depressed, that I was homesick.

"You can do anything," he said about my career change. "If you put your mind to it, of course you can do it."

Then, putting his hand on my arm (electric shock for me, of course..): "But why do you want to do something different? I mean really?"

"I just want to come home," I said, suddenly feeling incredibly emotional.

"Then just come home," he said, looking straight at me. "Everything will work out."

Of course, I can't just come home. I pointed out J, my job situation etc. etc. But he's right. I need to go home. It's the only thing that would get me out of this mess and back on track. I think that's why I love him; when he says something it seems believable, achievable (if I could do the same for J, things would be great). He'll make a great therapist one day, that all female clients will fall madly in love with.

Later, I chatted with his girlfriend about the new flat they've bought together and about how it's going with his son. She's a very nice girl, she really is. They're lucky.

There was no alley love making, of course.

At the end of the evening we said goodbye and he disappeared out the door with his girlfriend.

But as my childhood sweetheart said when I discussed it with him a few days later, you can never get away from the one who got away.

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