Obsessed

Lately all I can think about is orgies. It’s bizarre because I’m such a monogamy freak, but I really really really want to go to one.  And play. With lots of different people. And meet other people who like to play with lots of different people.

Now I just gotta figure out how to get invited to one.

I mean…to clarify the monogamy thing…. I’m single. I shop around. I have multiple partners. I do my thing when and with whom I want.  I don’t play with nearly as many women as I’d like, which I attribute to women being less forward in general with their advances (myself being a prime example).  

I think an adult party would be a great place to feed my ravenous appetite and meet some nice folks who, unlike most of my current friends, don’t treat sex as something you only do if all nine planets happen to align.

My Babeland top 10 Wish List:

Always Aroused Girl’s most recent post on the Babeland Blog inspired me to do some wish list shopping. I’m a little strapped for cash lately, but I could really use a new toy or two to keep myself entertained. And, (i hope i hope i hope) if I just happened to win AAG’s contest, it’ll be nice to have a clear idea of how to make the most of that $100 Babeland gift card!

Without further adieu, and in no particular order, my list:

1. The Club Vibe

I stumbled upon this when checking out what’s new in Babeland’s inventory. My partners tend to be spankers, and I can only imagine how much fun it would be to set this to “ambient” mode – Whack whack whack! Whee!

2. Innervibe Ring

I know, I know. It’s nine bucks. But it only gives you an hour of time! I hadn’t really considered purchasing one of these until recently when I saw a video of a woman using one on her fingers to make herself ejaculate. A woman after my own heart. Whether or not I get that gift card I’m quite sure one of these little cuties will be on my next receipt.

3. The Vibrating Mistress

This is a great example of what AAG (*ahem*) was talking about when she wrote about Multitasking Sex Toys, and for that reason I’ve wanted one of these for a long while now. It’s a silicone dildo that can vibrate or not, that is sized appropriately to feel good vaginally or anally, and – best of all it works with…

4. Babeland Beginner Strap-On Kit

Oh yeah. I’m not exactly a top, but I’m not exactly unwilling to try, either. I can think of a few girls I’d love to play with as well, including a really hot friend of mine who expressed some interest in fucking me with a strap-on. I really feel like the expense is the only thing keeping us from trying…and if that were no object, then I can’t imagine a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than getting fucked in her bed.

5. SaSi

Who doesn’t want a SaSi? Only the girls who already have one, that’s who.

6. Door Jam Cuffs

These are awesome. I’ve played with someone else’s and they are a MUST for any renter who likes to play with bondage. Also…

7. Under The Bed Restraints

Whoever came up with these is a genius, I tell you. SHEER GENIUS.  You tuck them under the mattress and then at an opportune moment you give a little tug and suddenly you have bondage gear ready and waiting.  They’re fantastic for those without fancy bed frames, or platform beds like moi.

8. Orchid G + Smart Girl’s Guide…

As if I haven’t read enough material on the G-spot, but I’m interested to see what this book has to say to me. And yes, I want the vibrator.

9. Smart Balls Teneo

Hehe. They said Smart Balls. Seriously though, I keep looking at these things and thinking “I should really get those things.” Who doesn’t want stronger orgasms? I do my Kegels like a good girl, but this would be like adding weights to an already good workout and stepping things up a notch.

10. DELIGHT!

Delight has been taunting me since my first trip into Babeland. At $130 it’s not exactly a steal, but after playing with the thing extensively in the store I’m very confident that it would be worth every penny. Not to mention it’s sleek, sexy, and charges itself in its pretty little case that would be so nice and nondescript under my bed… If you’re my secret Santa for Christmas this year, you’ll get me a black and white Delight.

So that’s my list. A blatant ploy to get <a href=”http://aagblog.com’s attention in hopes that she take pity on this poor little artist girl. I could really use that $100 of awesome.

Chauve à Col Roulé

I hadn’t heard from the Journalist in quite some time when I received his text message: “Oh fuck you, just come out already!”

I was out. I was having a bite and a beverage with a friend of mine by the river. Suddenly I thought to my recent dalliance with visual embellishment and I wondered if he had seen this blog. But the Journalist isn’t really the type to care if I have a sex blog…except that he’s not in it. We fooled around sometime last spring once and he’s been a little hotter in the pursuit of something further than I…I could see a possible annoyance with my blog if he’s not in it.

I wrote back: “Huh?”

Turns out he has another friend who shares my name, and got us mixed up, but he invited me to join them out nonetheless. I politely declined, electing to spend some more time with my friend…but I’d happily meet up with him later.

I texted him again after I took leave of my friend and finally we met up outside his apartment, in a quiet upscale neighborhood close to a boardwalk. We took a walk down by the water and had a really great time catching up. So often the men I see are less intelligent than me, or they don’t understand my professional interests or ambition…The Journalist is a refreshing change of pace. We both agreed that we really must spend more time together outside of booty calls.

Physically we’re not well-matched. His body is not really what I’m used to in a man, he’s more petite than me, although we’re probably the same height. I find his slight body rather fascinating, and he seems to have the same fascination for me – he took a long time admiring my “gorgeous body,” speaking with the same objective enthusiasm with which he speaks to me about his work to compliment my curves and tell me I have a great ass. I’ve lost some weight since the last time I saw him, and we both had a little chuckle when my dress just started sliding off on its own while we were kissing.

He’s not into the power exchange thing, but he knows I like it and he plays into it really well. He likes grabbing my hair and slapping my tits and ordering me around, but he does it lightheartedly. He delights in hearing me giggle and breaks up the seriousness of rough play with his weird brand of silliness. He reminds me a little of a boyfriend I had in college who couldn’t fuck me without making jokes all the way through–which I loved, because it taught me that self-reflexivity is sexy.

Anyway, the notable thing about playing with the Journalist is that he’s uncut. Now I’ve seen a lot of cock in my day, but he’s only the second time I’ve come across this phenomenon. It’s no skin off my nose (so to speak) whether a man is circumcized or not, but I have to say it really puts a hitch in my cocksucking confidence. I am confounded by the shroud surrounding the beast, curious about its shape – less mushroom, more zucchini. I delight in playing with the foreskin, experimenting, peeling it back with my lips and teasing the hidden tip with my tongue. I’m not quite as sure what feels good for him.

Last night I became a little wrapped up in my curiosity and experimenting and momentarily forgot that I was trying to get someone off. He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked my head up toward him, looked me in the eyes and growled, “Suck it like you mean it, whore.” I grinned back at him and dove back down to comply wholeheartedly, pushing his cock back into my throat, pulling back to bob my head on him a bit while I sucked hard and loud, slurping and smacking…it was so nice to have a dick in my mouth with its owner moaning uncontrollably with every motion of my lips, his hips bucking to fuck my hand, though he tried desperately to stay still to savor the feeling of my warm, moist tongue caressing his balls and his thighs–and then without any warning whatsoever I was lifted off the bed and flipped over onto my hands and knees. He bit into my neck while he jerked off on my ass and there was something so primal and delicious about that neck bite. I reached between my legs and watched him over my shoulder, staring at the ass he’d admired so fondly before.

It’s nice being able to bring myself to a climax while my lover comes on me. It’s nice, in that post-orgasmic moment, to be able to scoop up a handful of his cum and rub it into my breasts and down onto my belly and lick it off my fingers. It’s nice to watch him watching me play in it with that little exhausted smile of fascination they all seem to have when I do that.

Chasing the Grail

For about six months I have been on a quest for female ejaculation. I long for it flow forth from me with ease. I watch videos of other women doing it with a little, envious tear forming in the corner of my eye. I masturbate with the intent of finding that jewel within me which will allow me to achieve the most holy and baptismal of orgasms. I have studied the teachings of Internet gurus, I have purchased a vibrator strictly because of reviews from happy first-time squirters. I know the science, and I even know I’m capable!

Once upon a time–I think I was about thirteen–I was on the floor in my bedroom with my panties pulled down to my ankles. I remember the itch of the carpet under my bare back, the sight of my Barbie Doll collection on my dresser beyond my legs. My feet were lifted toward the ceiling, cotton panties stretched between them, so that I could better access my rosy cunt with the makeshift dildo I had created from a cylindrical magnet that had been a Christmas gift to me from some relative as part of a toy science kit.

I wasn’t a virgin, but my one time had left me hungry for more, and I enjoyed fucking myself regularly with whatever implements I could fashion, and my precocious mind was constantly discovering new ways to stimulate myself. I voraciously read any sexual text I could get my hands on. When I spent the night at my grandmother’s house I would burn through her collection of Harlequin paperbacks, rereading the steamiest scenes and doing my best to commit them to memory, the better to inspire the exploration of my own body.

This time, as I said, I was on my back, with legs raised, fucking myself hard with my magnetic toy, my young, inexperienced mind open and ready to accept any possibility. Then, without warning, hot white liquid gushed forth from between my legs as my body shook with an orgasm.

At first I thought I had peed myself. Although there was no one watching I was embarrassed, and any possible pleasure was pushed out of my mind. Curious, I dabbed at it with my finger, sitting cross-legged, my plump little teenaged body curling over itself to inspect the goo. I smelled it. It didn’t smell like piss. Gingerly, I stuck my tongue out and touched the tip to my finger…

It tasted good! Sweet and sour and salty at the same time, with a hint of acidity… I’d never tasted my own cum before, but I was certainly going to from here out.

I remember giggling to myself about the squirting as I dabbed at the carpet with a towel. It excited me, but I thought I probably shouldn’t try it again unless I was better prepared for a mess. The next time I laid down a towel. I slipped the dildo in and pumped hard. But it didn’t happen. Nor did it happen the time after that. Nor the time after that. Soon enough I met my first girlfriend and became caught up exploring her body – and then after her, my first experience with a dominant man presented enough lessons to challenge my growing sexuality. And eventually I forgot about my little quest.

Then, one day about six months ago, I was on the floor of my bedroom, so consumed with desire after a long, stressful day of work that I didn’t even make it to my bed before I dug a dildo out of my dresser drawer and shoved it into my jeans and up into my hot, wet cunt. I collapsed to my knees, kicked off my pants, then laid back on the floor, my feet kicking over my head, my panties stretched between my ankles, a collection of kitsch visible atop my bookshelf beyond. And I remembered that amazing, cleansing feeling that came with squirting and I pumped harder, changing my angle to better rub my G-spot with the nubs of the beautiful blue crystalline dildo. I came. I came hard–so hard I nearly screamed, but I didn’t squirt.

God help the man who helps me get there again. I’ll trap him between my thighs forever and never let him go.

Let’s talk about you and me.

It appears that most sex bloggers, including all of those I read, do not support monogamy. Most of them believe that it’s somehow unnatural or something. I suppose this means I am the minority.

After my faux marriage ended, I had the Consultant, who unknowingly awakened a previously dormant monster inside me that had an insatiable hunger for sex. The monster consumed me, and if I did anything it was only to feed the hungry beast. My offer was constant fucking, my only term was that it be exclusive. He confused my desire to constantly ride and suck his perfect, delicious, beautiful member with a desire to be his girlfriend and he ran away. When I couldn’t get it from him anymore I used what I learned from him – that it was undesirable to be monogamous.

I found a new plaything, dabbling around with others all the while. I was on a constant prowl, and no matter how much I got it was never enough. Then I met the Unmarried Man, and learned very quickly that I didn’t enjoy fucking someone if I couldn’t be the center of his attention. I began seeking lovers who fit that criteria…and then one of my admirers got hurt.

Oops. I felt like a real connasse. I decided it wasn’t worth hurting someone over sex that wasn’t that great anyway, since I wasn’t really totally into the people I was fucking.

Then I met the young one with the deliciously sick, twisted mind. Oh, his timing could not have been better! I was looking for someone to whom I could devote myself and still come out with a minimum average of three orgasms in a day. If he couldn’t be there himself he certainly made sure to provide adequate inspiration. And I was happy to be inspired–after all, I was under strict orders to cum when called! As I was drawn further and further into my admiration for him I severed all ties to other men. I became his, constantly under his doting supervision. The tighter his hold on me became the happier I was. And we both let it go on too far before he told me what I already suspected, that I wasn’t the only one. The crushing weight of the jealousy and the damage to my self-confidence that followed made me understand all too well that I am a monogamous woman.

I can see merit in “polyamory,” but to me it’s really just a synonym for ‘noncommittal.’ I desire commitment, especially if I’m seeking a partner with sadistic tendencies. I don’t want someone choking me unless we’re committed to each other. I mean, if he’s not committed to me, what’s to stop him from taking it a step too far and crushing my larynx? I know that sounds extreme, but seriously, I need to trust someone a lot to do some of the things I enjoy doing.

Now see here though – once I’m committed and partnered and trust implicitly there’s room for dalliance. Like… Say my partner asked me to have sex with someone else while he watched. Provided I’m attracted to that person, sure. I’d be game. But affairs outside of our coupledom? No way, Jose. If he wanted to be with another woman, I’d better get to pick her, and I’d better get to be there.

I’ll give up my power to him, but it comes at a price, and I don’t really think monogamy is that much to ask. It’s the only surefire way to make sure nobody gets hurt, specifically, moi. I should make the earth move under his feet anyway. I should be sa meilleure Jouissance!

Salut.

“I don’t eat pussy.”

He said to me: “Legs aren’t my biggest thing. I don’t eat pussy though, so that may have something to do with it.”

Excuse me? Good luck with that policy, buddy. I’m just gonna go over here…

It’s been a while.

Mes amis!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, non?. So much has happened since March. I dated the boy who was younger than me and, long story short, it failed miserably. Quelle Dommage. On to new and greater enterprises.

Today I return with a spring in my step and renewed confidence in myself as a slut (with standards). Only now I’m considering taking things to the next level. There is much research to be done on that front, so we’ll see.

The Heartbreaker

I’ve been with a lot of people. We’re talking mid-twenties when you add up my past romances, one-night stands, quick flings and a six-year-long vanilla relationship. Considering that six years was completely monogamous I’d say I’ve fucked more than my share.

Only once have I been with someone truly dominant who was also younger than me. I was twenty-one; he was nineteen. It was totally unexpected; it hit me like a brick wall the moment I saw him. I was terrified that he was too young for me, that I wouldn’t be able to compete with girls his age, that my natural maternal-caretaker instinct would conflict with the dominant/submissive dynamic in our relationship. It seems silly now that I was ever concerned by the age difference, when we were both in college, just a couple years apart, living steps away from each other. Three years is such an insignificant discrepancy, really.

Age was not the problem that made me tear myself away from him. The real conflict was that I had complete faith in him where he had none. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth if only he had shown some inkling of confidence, but there was…nothing there, no conviction of self-worth. He pushed me out little by little, even as hope burned inside me that I could show him how much he meant to me and how much potential I saw in him for greatness. He didn’t feel worthy to keep me but wouldn’t let me go either, and ultimately I just couldn’t bear being a servant in disuse. I told him I had to leave… I fought against it, hard, but I did it.

He broke the hell out of my heart. I felt like I had failed him…nobody understood, because they didn’t know the dynamic of our relationship, they only saw a guy being negligent of his girlfriend. I felt like I had done something wrong with my submission. I never really recovered before I took refuge in that six-year vanilla relationship with the next boy who came along. It was only after I had left him behind too that I came to realize my autonomy from that crushing experience and find a real self identity.

And now, suddenly, I have found another someone: truly dominant, younger than me by six years–totally unexpected, hitting me like a brick wall the moment I heard his voice. I feel like it’s beginning again; I worry that he’s too young, that I can’t compete with girls his age, that my maternal-caretaker instinct will conflict with him, not to mention the newfound independence I have reached after my quarter-life crisis. I can feel myself falling fast and hard, opening to the same intense devotion and severe vulnerability. I’ve already experienced the soul-shattering pain of loss and I’m resistant to total submission because it very nearly broke me. I’m not sure I can fully express my extreme terror at the thought of going through that again.

But letting go…oh it feels so good, and he…is just…perfect.

So here we go…

Merci, M. Échantillon

My last post came from my first “date” with Échantillon. He later treated me with a lovely selection of toys and equipment, though it came as something of a surprise, since he previously gave me very little inkling of the sort of thing he was into. I had a much better idea later, while standing on my tiptoes with my hands tied to a hook over the door frame.

I had a lot of fun with him, but when I saw him again things were a little…different. We met to see a movie, which got me all excited for hand jobs in the back row, but he picked a really good movie and then led me to a seat smack dab in the middle of the theater. I thought maybe he had his signals crossed, but happily got engrossed in the film, my feet on the seat in front of me and my arms wrapped around my knees. Then about halfway in, his fingers tiptoed along my arm and grabbed my hand. Okay… I let him hold it for a while, but then I got bored with it and started stroking his thigh, figuring if he was going to distract me from fine cinema I might as well make it worth the while. He let it go on long enough for me to feel him getting hard through his jeans, but then tsked me and threaded his fingers through mine again. After a little while I think my derrière fell asleep.

On our way out of the theater he suddenly pulled me close and kissed me. “Yay!” I thought, ready to walk over toward his place. But just as I was about to say “take me home so I can taste your cock” he insisted on dinner. Fine. I wandered around with him, trying to think of the quickest place we could grab a bite. He suggested arepas, since I’d never had them. Good, great…at least it sounded like it wouldn’t take long. While standing in line to order I furtively grabbed at his belt. He chuckled and brushed my hand away. I tried not to fidget impatiently while waiting for the food.

Meanwhile, he insisted on getting-to-know-you talk, asking me about my family and my job and my interests and telling me all about his new apartment (awesome, I can’t wait to see it), and blah blah blah blah blah. As I blah blahed back to him it dawned on me that he was having a good time just hanging out with me. I settled down a little, laughing with him as I bit into the ridiculously full (but delicious!) taco-sandwich-thing and making eyes at him as I licked guacamole off my middle finger. In my haste to get to the sex I’d kind of forgotten that dates can be fun too.

I’m not wholly comfortable interacting with men unless we’re going tête à tête between the sheets, although I never really realized it until sitting across the table from this one. Face to face across a tiny little table, I got self-conscious and started squirming in my seat a little. I recognized that he was a little nervous too, that he wasn’t totally sure if I liked him or not. I resisted the inclination to alleviate his insecurity underneath the table and smiled instead. I reached across and touched his hand as I said, “Hey, I’m having a really nice time with you.” And I meant it. Suddenly, like magic, he smiled back and said, “Me too. Are you ready to go?”