Archive for April 21, 2013

One night long ago in a scummy hotel room

Whispers in a darkened hotel room. We’re at the beach. All of us, for a weekend at the end of summer. It’s mid August and college is looming large, a bear that’s going to maul us.

He and I in one bed, a single friend in the other. Can she hear us? Of course she can.

Whispers. Giggles. Kissing. Lots of kissing.

It’s exciting to have an audience, and it’s conflicting. We want to make noise but we cannot.

Sucking, licking, clothes off, everything but.

Does she know? Is she asleep? No way. We are so hot we’re on fire. So is she, we can feel her.

I want to ask him for something. I really want him to lick my pussy. Yes, I do. I want it with every fiber of my being. This after literally hours of unreturned blow jobs. I muster my courage and whisper to him. No, he says. No? No. No. He says he’s not mature enough. What does that mean?

Thirty-five-year-old me has a few theories. But 18-year-old me was closing fast. Zipping up like a jacket. And I’ve been that way ever since, in spite of limitless pussy licking from Mark. He’s good. But until recently, I couldn’t really feel it.

Why I like reality

I try to be authentic. I’d like to think that with me, what you see is what you get. Lately, I’ve been the polar opposite of that, though.

I like to be in my body. I enjoy it a lot. I enjoy its strength, and I like how much I can count on it to do what I want it to. I’m not into self-denial, and I like eating, watching, feeling. I am very sensory.

Also, I give it to you straight. In conversation, I am going to tell you the truth, even if it’s hard. For me. For you. I try to challenge people with the truth, where I can do it without hurting them too much. I like to be a sounding board, a pushing off point for people. If I have any clue about something, I will share it with you. I am generous with my knowledge.

And I know reality. Reality — all around me. Where I am. I see it. I feel it. I like it. It’s comfortable to me. I want to spend my life in it. But it makes me lazy. I want to sleep in. I snack a lot. I don’t write. I don’t create, not in the original sense. I don’t think about myself, I think about others. Others, who I see. Who I intuitively understand. I can help them see themselves better. It has always made me happier than anything else. It’s just who I am.

If you want to know me, if you want to be part of my life, I must know you in reality. That’s that.


Welcome to Manistan

I fucking live in Manistan. No. Manistan is my bedroom. Sure, it’s all soft and cozy and beautiful. But FUCK. It is Manistan.

Have I ever been raped? No. Have I ever been hit, slapped, tugged, pulled, or bitten? Nope, not really. But here’s the thing. Even if I wanted it, even if I begged Mark to do even the slightest thing to me, to use me somehow – I mean, even to HICKEY me — he would not be able to. I don’t know why.

I am a perfect fucking china doll in Manistan.

I can’t talk. I can’t be too loud. I can’t be too wet. I can’t show too much enthusiasm for what he’s doing to me, or what I’m doing to him. There are too many rules to count.

When I break one? All bets are off. Does he try to make it up to me somehow? Not usually. He shuts down and tells me it’s all about him. Not what about him, though. That would be too hard.

Out of the bedroom, things are completely different. We are best friends. We have fun, we laugh all the time. I can do or say whatever I want. We give each other space to do our own things, we enjoy doing a lot of things together. No one we know would believe that you need a passport to get into our bedroom.

Now, I love him a lot. But I just can’t sleep in Manistan anymore.

How I like to suck your cock

I like to start when you’re already hard (from watching me or rubbing yourself through your jeans or pressing your hips against my ass or my pussy) I love to see the shape of your cock bulging against your jeans.

I love getting down on my knees in front of you, the new mirror behind me, you towering over me. First, I press my mouth to your bulge, rub my face against it, my hands, all over you. I love to smell your salty boy smell on your jeans.

I really can’t bear to go any further until my shirt is off, so I pull back a little and lift it over my head. Sometimes I like to leave my bra on for you, but sometimes I need to rub my nipples against your rough jeans. Which do you prefer, I wonder.

Finally, I’m ready to undo your belt, unzip your jeans. I pull the tip of your cock out, so beautiful especially when it’s wet, and suck it just a little while I help you get your clothes off. I don’t like to stop once I start, my mouth doesn’t like to give up your cock.

Once you’re naked, I run my hands up your calves, hard, and over your knees, your thighs, until I reach your cock. I love to squeeze the shaft, to run my fingers up and down one by one, shoving them in my mouth while I suck the tip of your cock, not too hard.

I like to glance up at you briefly, and see your eyes boring into me, watching your cock disappear into my mouth. Mmm… Now I move my fingers lower as I slide your cock to the back of my throat. I love to feel the tip rubbing against the top of my mouth. I think I could come that way.

I keep going, rubbing, sucking, moaning on your cock until you come, throbbing, crying out, filling my mouth and throat until I have to swallow or I will choke. I love to taste your salty, bitter, sweet come, to feel it in my throat and know that I did this to you. Me.