Tag Archive for Sex

Some things that I like

Being pressed against a wall

You pinning my hands over my head (not too hard)

Your beard against my nipples

Your teeth against my nipples

Fingers in my pussy

Breath hot on my neck

Your hard cock

Hard thrusting



Your come, all over me

Got it?


(September 2010)

I’m alone in our hotel room. The kids are asleep next door, and you are out. With whom, I have no idea. I can hear the drumming from the street below and the beat is waking me up in a new way.

I want to be out with you. Or without you — leaving you behind here in the cavernous hotel room prison. Time’s going too slowly, dragging its feet on the sidewalk below. You can’t see or feel from a lonely hotel room. I want to get out into the city at night.

This trap magnifies my wanting. It makes me hate you, even. Yet I know what hating does to a person, so I turn it around. All of my emotions, all of my wanting pools in my center. My pussy starts tingling. The wetness feels like the cool night air to me, the throbs come in time with the drums.

I want to go out, to search for you, I want to find more than I’m looking for. I want too much. But I must wait with the sleeping kids, so I do. Hours pass and finally you come. I don’t speak. I pretend to sleep until you lie next to me, then I come alive, pouncing you.

I’m hungry — starving — and you are all I want. I grab you, I lick you, I bite you. You love it. You have no idea how jealous I am, no idea of the wild ideas I have of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen. You claim credit for all my desire, you own it as you thrust into me, both of us nearly shouting in this anonymous hotel room.


I want to try something new. Don’t worry, don’t be scared. I really want it.

Before we start, I need to relax. Can you lick my pussy a little, softly on my clit? Slowly circle down around the lips, still softly. This feels so good. I might be quietly moaning.

After a while of this, I’ll be ready to begin. Use your right hand. Start with your first finger. Slide it into my wet pussy. This one will be easy. Put it in all the way, then pull it out a little. Again, please.

Now add your middle finger on your next upstroke. Keep sliding your fingers in and out, keep making me moan. I’m going to start thrusting my hips to meet your fingers, okay?

Go like that for a while. Use your thumb to stroke my clit, so gently, every fourth or fifth stroke. When you know I’m ready, go ahead. Pull your fingers out and add your ring finger to the group.

Slowly slide them in. It’s going to be tight. Don’t worry. It might hurt me a little, but in a good way. I’m going to be quiet now, concentrating on letting you in. I’m soaking wet and the top of my pussy and my g-spot are aching for your fingers.

When you finally have all three inside me, press upwards against me. I’m going to thrust my hips down on your hand. It’s tight, so you won’t be able to move your fingers as much as before, but even the slightest pressure is enough to push me over the edge.

Press. Release. Press. Uuunngghh. That feels amazing. Keep pressing, then release quickly. Again, please.

Am I ready for more? I don’t know. I might have come a few times already. If so, I probably am. Go ahead. Try. Can you add your pinky finger? I honestly don’t know. Go slow. If it hurts too much, I’ll say so.

Give it a try. If you get all four fingers inside my pussy, I may feel a sharp stretching. I may feel like my pussy is bursting. I may feel like I’m burning, on fire where your fingers are pressing. And underneath all those sensations, I will feel the sweetest pleasure I have ever felt. It will be so wonderfully conflicting.

Let’s try it, okay?

Insatiable desire

I want your desire to be insatiable. Mine is. I want to try to fulfill you in the moment, but I never want to actually succeed. I always want you to want more. More of me, more of others.

Why do I want this? I don’t know for sure. It’s just how I am. It’s my philosophy for my nonsexual life, too. I was more or less an only child growing up, to a single mom who wanted me to be EVERYTHING to her. I hated every minute of it. I then, by extension, found that I hated the idea of “best friendship.” I never found one friend who could fulfill me. I always wanted more. As an adult, I get different things emotionally from different people. I share a little, they share a little, and somehow the equation works out right. I’m no math expert, but I’m good at this kind of emotional equation.

Up until a few months ago, I never had applied the equation to sexuality. I literally never thought about it. I banished the concept from my mind long ago, when Mark and I first got together. Honestly, maybe even before that. But it goes for sex too, with me. Being ALL to someone scares the shit out of me. I don’t know how I went so long without admitting it to myself. But when I opened up that Pandora’s box last January, well, it’s the first thing that I pulled out. Trying to be everything to someone feels like setting myself up for failure. And if I am your only, and I fail you, where does that leave us?

More is sexier. It’s also scarier. There are tons of risks at stake. Emotional entanglement, STDs, jealousy, anger. But when it comes down to the basic reality of attraction for me, more just turns me on. I don’t want to be everything to you. You don’t have to be everything to me. You are good the way you are.

So go ahead, be insatiable.


Okay, this one is sexy

I came across this bathroom this week, and yeah, it was totally hot. It was sparse, elegant, and most important, clean. Extremely clean.

I know, I should have caught a little of myself in the mirrors. Next time.


Places that I’d fuck you

In the forest
On a beach
In a closet
In an alley
In a car
On a motorcycle
In a stairwell
On a balcony
On a park bench
In the library stacks
Wherever you ask

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



Listen to my body. Don’t ask me to tell you what I want, what I need.

Lie by me, both of us naked this time. Still yourself.

Feel your breath.

Put your hands on me while you give me your mind. Feel the heat building on my skin and the tension in my muscles. Mirror the heat and tension in your own body.

Run your hands up and down my body, over my calves, my thighs, my ass, my back. Grab my breasts, pinch the nipples. Make me gasp. Brush my pussy, feel its heat. Keep your hand there, still, gathering my wetness in your palm, still. Make me moan.

Drag one finger up inside me and feel how I am throbbing for you. Move only slightly and know that I want more. Mirror my panting. Feel that pleasure building in your fingertip, and feel the invisible cord that connects it to the tip of your rock hard cock. Burn for me as I burn for you.

Pull your finger out, dripping, and run it over my face. Make me see, feel, taste what you do to me. Grab my hands, hard but not painfully, and pin them over my head. Always force me, never hurt me. Listen to my body. It will show you how.

Do you like this position? Yes? Tie me. Do it loosely. I don’t want to hurt. I want to be wherever, however you like.

Return your hand to my pussy. Rub, enter, thrust harder now until I have to move with you. Are you hungry for me? Trust your hunger. Taste me gently, use your whole tongue, flat against my lips, then drag the tip to my clit and press hard. Feel the way. My body will show you. Use your pleasure as a guide. Eat me like you are starving. Cry out. Get lost inside me. Your pleasure is my pleasure.

I’ll be crying out by now; let my cries guide you. Can you hear me with your cock? Is it answering my cries with its throbs? If yes, then it’s time. Move over top of me. Let me see your beautiful body, complete, about to be mine. Hear me shout fuck! Hear me scream yes! Hear me shout your name. Language is almost gone from me but I can manage that.

Answer me with a grunt. Deep, from your chest. Pin my arms again, not too hard. Don’t distract me, only make me know I’m yours. Splay my legs apart with yours and — quickly now, no more waiting — plunge your cock inside me.

Our pleasure will be so intense that the world will be obliterated. Thrust inside me now listening only to your own body. Trust that we feel the same thing. Breaths are gasps, skin is fire, nothing matters but the approaching explosions. Thrust as hard, soft, fast, slow as you like. Trust. It’s good. No, better than that. There will be only this. This.

Look at me. See my eyes, wanting you. See me smile. I’ve never felt like this before. No matter how many times we’ve done it before, no matter how many attempts at repetition, this time is singular.

Know. You. Are. Perfect. For an instant.

Then come. Come hard, don’t hold back. Own your pleasure and give it to me as a gift. Don’t breathe. Don’t speak. Just come. Let me feel your cock convulsing in delicious bursts inside me. And I will answer you with my own orgasm, so complete, so immense that I will shake from head to toe. I will moan and whimper unintelligibly because you have taken my words from me.

Don’t ask. Please don’t ever ask. Only feel. Only do and trust.


I love it when we leave the light on. I love how the glow plays with your skin along with me, pooling itself in some places, casting shadows in others. I love that the light creates a map superimposed on your body, illuminating paths always there but usually invisible. I love how the curve of your shoulder shines and how the hollow at your throat hides from my tongue. I love to chase the light along your skin, pausing in the dark places to tease you. I love to make you tremble with wanting. I would love to make you beg, but I haven’t succeeded yet. I love how the light makes my wet tongue tracks glisten, highlighting my route. I love how hard your cock is while I’m doing this, and I love to watch as a puddle of desire forms a lake in its shadow on your belly. I love how excited you are by what I am and am not doing. I love your moaning. I love pushing you from the light to the dark and back again with only my hands and my tongue as tools. I love to play in two dimensions, neither of us ever entering the other but only traveling the topography of our bodies. I love this journey of secrets.


Can we try again?

You asked me to write about my senses. I liked the prompt, but I made a mistake. Your silence is calling me out on it, so let’s give this another shot.

She wants him alone in a small, dark room. Small because she doesn’t need much space for what she wants to do. Dark because she doesn’t want to be distracted by sight. She wants to feel.

She wants to feel how hungry he is for her. She wants to feel how strong his desire is. She wants to feel the solidity of his body, pressing her against the wall, pinning her down on the bed, holding her down. She wants to feel how hard she makes his cock, how slick and smooth it is thrusting inside her, and how it pulsates when he comes.

She wants to hear him say her name, hear him tell her exactly what he wants her to do. She wants to hear his breath quicken until he is panting and then gasping. She wants to push him to the edge where language fails.

She wants to taste him. His mouth, bitter. His skin, salty. His cock, musky. She wants to smell the animal scent of their mingling pleasure and know that it is unique. The smell will take her someplace new, not just to her, but to him and to the universe.

She wants him to do whatever he likes with her in that small dark place, and she wants him to leave her different. Knowing.