Encore une fois…it’s starting to grow on me.

I went on a date last night with a guy I’m just not attracted to. On dating I take the position that it isn’t always easy to ask someone out (hey, I’ve never done it), so generally I’ll give anyone a chance if he has the stones to ask. Besides, you just never know how it will go; people can surprise you.

This one didn’t, unfortunately. He was sweet, but he very obviously didn’t have an awful lot in common with me. He talked in absolutes, which always rubs me the wrong way…if I feel like I have to teach you to think objectively about the world I’m just not going to be that impressed.  He said and did nothing during the evening to lead me to think I could ever fuck him. Then, as we were winding down from dinner (which he didn’t even offer to get–I don’t necessarily want or need to be paid for, but I think it shows good manners to offer), we were walking through the park and bzzzt! I got a text message. From Barrel Chest. “Hey, sexy. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Thinking about your tight little pussy all week.”

My tight little pussy got excited at the idea of getting fucked as a cap to a bad date, and hairy though he may be, Barrel is damn good at what he does to me. I texted back and forth with him a little, telling my date I had a gay friend who was in the midst of boyfriend drama.  Barrel said he was tired and he’d see me later in the week, which I think was unnecessary psychology to get me to come over. After no small amount of negotiation (I played into his little ownership fetish and called myself his pet. I promised to be a good girl and go right to sleep. Yeah right.) I got my way and showed up at his door in short order.

We laid in bed watching The Office for all of ten minutes before his hands were roaming my naked body. I took the cue and began kissing his belly…he still hadn’t been exposed to one of my trademark blowjobs–long and slow and full of those almost-but-not-quite moments–that have never failed to make a man shudder and moan and beg for more. I could tell he was more than impressed, he was wowed. I love being able to do that to a man, especially a man who likes to dominate me. After fifteen minutes of torturously perfect licking and caressing and breathing I straddled him. His fingers wandered between my legs while I was slipping a condom onto him and his cock gave a little jump when he discovered how hot and wet I’d gotten from blowing him. I smiled and pushed him into me. I didn’t need him to go down on me, I didn’t need to come first. I just wanted to get fucked.

I got close to coming though, and I begged him to get behind me so he’d hit my g spot. He gladly did, loving that I instantly was on elbows and knees with my ass in the air. I squeaked with delight when he grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my face into the pillow.  He fucked me until I was ready to burst, playing with my ass and telling me how he liked it, how beautiful it was, how he loved touching it.  I knew how bad he wanted to fuck it, and I was close; I wanted to feel his body getting off so it would push me over the edge.  After a little hard-to-get (to get him harder) I acquiesced. He gave a gutteral groan of excitement and grabbed my hair again. “Don’t fucking move, little girl,” he growled into my ear and pushed me down.  I was quivering…I love it when they say crazy things like that…things that sound almost violent.  Down I stayed while he dug in a drawer to find a tube of lube.

He lubed up and gently slid in, caressing my shoulders and coaching me to breathe. Earlier I had told him it had been a long time since I’d been fucked in the ass–I knew I liked it, but I needed him to be gentle at first.  He said nothing about it, but very clearly was keeping my needs in mind.  After the initial split second of pain I remembered why I used to beg the Sailor for this. It felt delicious. As I relaxed into it he started fucking me gently, attentively checking in every time I whimpered (“Baby I’m fine, you just feel so good inside me…”). He gripped the back of my neck, kissing my ear and my shoulders and ordered me to touch myself while he fucked me. My brain was melting with the pleasure, but I managed to comply and very shortly came to an orgasm. He pulled out and did that thing again….jerked off watching me come. Half for effect and half because I could I brought myself to a second orgasm and he came all over my ass at my breathy invitation.

I want to see him again now…  I want to see if he’ll take the power play to the next level…like to the point where we need safety words and stuff.  I really liked some of the more intense, rough things he said and did this time and I think he could really take me to a new high with it.  I predict that the excitement would only be enhanced by his burly, strong physique and my uncertain, train-wreck-like fascination with him (I can’t really call it an attraction).  And I’m almost positive he’ll be into it–despite the game, he’s very eager to please me in any way he can.  So far he’s given me anything and everything I’ve asked of him.

I didn’t skip out unannounced this time, mostly because I felt a little guilty for skipping out on him the last two times. During our post-coital shower I told him I had to go early, I explained that I had brunch plans (true).  I explained that I always have a lot going on, even on weekends (also true), which seemed to make him feel better about my having run off on him twice.  He set the alarm for me and I fell asleep in his furry arms while he peppered my neck with kisses.  I’m still not sure how I feel about that part.

Quest-e que c’est, “my type?”

I worked an extra long, tough day on Friday.  Barrel Chest kept texting yesterday so I wandered over to his place for a shower and a rubdown. We drank wine out of coffee mugs in his empty living room (he just never bought wineglasses or furniture), and then he fingered me to a glorious soapy orgasm in the shower, slipping his cock into me when I “dropped the soap.” I scolded him for doing it with no condom, but I couldn’t resist moaning and squeezing my kegels to grip him. He apologized for being a bad boy and then hurriedly rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, urging me out of the tub.

He kissed my body at every opportunity while I toweled off (which here means I pranced naked around him and used my towel as an excuse to pose in various pin-up positions). We had a lengthy conversation about our religious and anthropological beliefs during which I teased him incessantly, licking wine off my fingers and readjusting my towel to give him glimpses of skin. When he’d been teased enough he ordered me into the bedroom where he dove between my thighs and ravished my pussy for two full hours, restraining me from any real reciprocation. I was having a little trouble relaxing enough to come, and when I closed my eyes the Consultant popped into my head. A tear came to my eye as I realized I missed his body. I missed the way he touched me and his incredible, perfect cock.  I felt such pressure to come for Barrel Chest that I let myself sink into the fantasy… And once I had lost myself in it I almost immediately felt my muscles flex and contract.  I had to restrain myself from screaming the Consultant’s name.  Barrel jerked off onto my belly during my post-orgasmic squirming again. I felt a little funny about not doing any of the work, but he assured me that he liked it this way.  Mmm, fetishy.

I woke at 7:30 am and, weirdly, suddenly felt disgusted by all his body hair. I scurried to the bathroom, feeling nauseous, but I was fine once I wasn’t touching him anymore. I got dressed, then tiptoed to the bedroom, whispering that I had stuff to do.  Despite his protests I blew him a kiss, waved goodbye and hurried out the door toute de suite.

I don’t really know what came over me. I had been able to overlook it before; why was it that the morning brought a very physical reaction to it?  It’s perfectly normal anyway… So what was my problem?  That, combined with my brain substituting someone I’m desperately (inexplicably) attracted to just so I could come…well I think it just means I’m not attracted to this guy. It’s a shame, because he’s really on my leash.

Oh well; if he calls I’ll probably go to him regardless…he has this weird, completely unsexy appeal.   But if he doesn’t I have a few tricks up my sleeve yet. I met someone on a dating site (a mite bit more respectable than the CL ads) who is all about the non-monogamy.  He’s terribly interesting and cute, so I’m going to give it a shot. I also went on a first date with a woman last night (it was fun, but very friendly, so we’ll see how it goes) and have another two boys possibly on the line…possibly. Alors, I’m turning into a regular farmer, cultivating sex partners all over the place!

At least I’m trying…it’s a lot more work than I thought it would be.

Try, try again.

I’m convinced I’m a slut. I just am. I want sex all the time, I think about it all the time… My mouth salivates at the idea of a hard cock. I’ve been around the kink block here and there and I’m itching to try some new things. I don’t want a monogamous relationship or a partner… I’m just not there in my life.

Instead I want to fuck…and laugh and play and be friends with the people I fuck. I want it to be fun. I want to care about them. I want to cream my panties over text messages and drop what I’m doing for a quickie and then fix my hair and go right back to my day like nothing happened. I want to make people tremble when they think about my lips on them.

So. When I put out my chat ad (the one that resulted in the dead fish), I of course had other responses. I was sifting through them and found one that sounded just like this ad that I’d almost responded to. I sent a playful email back and soon we were chatting. No picture exchanges yet, just straight imagination.

Mon dieu! when I say I’ve never come this hard by myself I mean it! The things he said…the delicious way he talked to me simultaneously like an innocent little girl and a dirty used-up whore…  After the chatsex (yeah it’s corny but it’s so hot) we described ourselves to each other. He was totally turned on by me, I could tell he’s not the type I’m usually into. But I’m expanding my horizons, so I played along, telling him how I thought “barrel chested” was sexy and that I liked that he was a real man. He responded well to that.  The conversation heated up again and it wasn’t long before my fingers had strayed down south again. When I was coming he begged for my phone number so he could hear me. I gave it and could tell when I heard his voice that he was jerking off to me. I put on a good show while he alternately called me a dirty little girl and praised me for my sexy moans and whimpers.

The next day we met at a bar. I was right; he wasn’t my type…he’s big and burly and hairy and manly; I tend to like more of les nerds classiques.  But I wanted him to fuck me anyway. There was something appealing about the idea of going home with him just to spite my own preferences. Plus he said he wanted to eat my ass. I’ve never done that and I wanted to try it, so I made him bring me back to his place.

It was fucking gymnastic…the ass play was nice, but I could do without it. His cunnilingual skills were much more impressive to me. He brought me way up and kept me there for about an hour… Then finally I was lifting my hips off the bed and begging for his cock. He, on his knees, lifted my hips, pushed it in and fucked me slow and hard, rubbing my clit with his thumb and ordering me to say filthy things until I came again. I went out of my mind and collapsed in a heap of sweat and cum and tears while he got off on watching my body writhe and listening to me whimper. I rubbed his hot cum into my breasts and licked it off my fingers and then passed out.

In the middle of the night I woke to his hands exploring my body again. I grabbed his hard cock and told him to fuck my face like he was paying for it. He took to the idea eagerly. He brutally abused me like a whore who overcharged him, pulling my hair, forcing his cock into my mouth, spanking me, calling me names, then made me deep throat him over and over until he couldn’t take anymore and shot his cum straight into my mouth while I greedily gulped it down. Then he kissed me long and hard, and we both fell asleep with his fingers inside me. I woke at 5 am with his big, hairy, muscly arms around me, snuck out of bed, put my dress back on and slipped out the door quietly.

C’etait magnifique.  Parfait.

La morte d’un poisson.

I feel so disgusting.

I finally put my money where my mouth is. I fucked a stranger.

I was really bored and put an ad up on CL, advertising an instant messenger chat. I figured I’d get my rocks off and see how it went…. After all you have to crawl before you can walk, right?

I got literally dozens of responses, but only one had a face picture (although I did get some submissions for unfortunate cocks) that was remotely cute….but damn, it was cute!!

I sent out a chat invite with a reciprocal photo, and the chat was on. It took a while to warm up to the sex talk, but once we did it got pretty hot. We spent about an hour, half of which was mutual masturbation… My pussy was engorged and dripping all over my nice clean sheets…my legs shaking as I touched myself, staring at his hot photograph and thinking about having a tongue dancing circles around my clit. Soon enough I typed in, “god I want to get fucked.”

“that can be arranged…”

We settled on me coming to his place; I got ready, sent a requested picture of my breasts (which have shrunk since I’ve lost weight! Boo!), and was on my way in a car service. I arrived at 1:00 am and buzzed in to his apartment. I was so nervous I was shaking. Then he answered the door…and my fluttering heart sank.

He was not the hottie in the picture…well…he was, but he wasn’t. He was shorter than he’d said. His head was too big for his body. He did not carry himself with the cavalier confidence of the guy in the picture. He opened his mouth. His voice was hushed and squeaky. He was all business. He did nothing sexy. He said nothing sexy. He was not sexy. I asked for a glass of water and he stood there watching me while I drank it. Unsexy. I tried to put on my bedroom eyes. Unsexy. I tried to flirt. Still unsexy.

I should have just given up then, but I thought about my goal…I want to be a big girl, like the Brainiac and Ethical and Sabina and Zoey! They’re my heroes! They wouldn’t give up until they’d at least come once, right? In retrospect I know this is not right. I know that my heroines would do nothing that made them uncomfortable. And I was.

I kept thinking about the consultant and how I just wanted to get laid by someone else so I could detach myself from him a little.

I went into the bedroom with him. I sat nervously. He kissed me. It was bad. I said I was nervous. He turned the light off. It helped. We took our clothes off…but it was totally unsexy. I tried so hard…I touched his cock. He made no noise. He said nothing. What the fuck?? How was I supposed to know how I was doing? I got bored and told him to lick me. He did, willingly (but not eagerly…which his lame ass should have been with someone as hot as me in his bed). I tried to come. I almost came. But I didn’t. I couldn’t get comfortable. I had been like a waterfall earlier, but now my cunt was like the Sahara.

I tried going down on him again, which I enjoy so much usually… I figured he could finger me while I did so. He was like a silent dead fish. Unsexy. I tried to get him to tell me what he wanted. Nothing. Dead fish. Unsexy. He put his hand down by my face, so I stopped. He said not to stop, that it was good and he wanted to come in my mouth. Okay… how the hell was I supposed to know that? Is that sign language for “I’m about to come can you please swallow it?” I took it. Reluctantly. He played with my pussy for a while longer. I tried. He started playing with my ass…then had waaaaay too much fun playing with my ass. At first it felt good, but after a while it was kind of annoying. He was ignoring my clit way too much. It was selfish, not giving. Dead (sel)fish.

I tried to work with it! I tried to enjoy myself! No dice.

He backed up and put on a condom. Apparently he thought this was going well. Okay…

I don’t know why I didn’t stop it. I thought about stopping. I guess I felt like it would be over in a little while anyway and that I could just stick it out. But after a while, I started feeling like a dead fish. He was TERRIBLE. Absolutely. Terrible.

Dead fish fucking a dead fish.

I stopped. He wasn’t done. I didn’t care. I just said, “sorry, this isn’t working…I was so wet earlier, really, but I’m just too nervous now. It’s not you. You’re great. I’m just nervous.”

In retrospect (again), I should have told him what a fucking horrible lay he is instead of perpetuating the horribleness. His future fucks would thank me.

I was fine the whole way home. Disappointed, my head hanging, kinda tired, but fine. Then, when I locked the door of my apartment behind me and was safely within the tiny confines of my studio apartment, I started sobbing the Consultant’s name. For some reason I felt like it was all his fault. Like if only he had never been so sweet to me…if only he had never charmed me and been so sexy and awoken this craving inside me I wouldn’t have had to endure that horrible dead fish fucking. I am angry at him for being the best lover I’ve had in a decade. And for taking that away from me.  I felt…defeated.

I don’t want to be this woman. I don’t. I don’t hate myself or anything. I don’t regret it, because it taught me something. But I just can’t do that again. Ever. EVER.

I know it’s not the Consultant’s fault or anything… I know it’s not. I know it’s nobody’s fault.

At least while I was on my way out I said the coolest thing I could possibly say to the guy: “I’m sorry… I’m just not cut out for this kind of thing. I thought I was a rock star, but I’m just some fool with a guitar, you know?”