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.

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.

La Retour

The Consultant came back into my life very suddenly. I caught him in a little online stalking and sent him an email… Suddenly I got a lengthy, apologetic letter in return that discussed how he thought I was looking for a committed relationship, and how he couldn’t do that for me.

Oh, les hommes and their silly assumptions about women!

I replied with a breezy invitation for some fun. After all, I want more than a good fuck, I want camaraderie too. Otherwise I’ll get bored. Oh sure, sometimes it’s nice to have a one night stand, but I really want someone on my speed dial who can be long term. Someone I can be friends with after we’re done fucking. Someone…well… cool.

We met up for a bite to eat, and it was like the first “date” all over again, only with more walking, since we hadn’t settled beforehand on a place to dine. I was engaged and interested in what he had to say, and nibbled at my food happily (waffles rock!), trying to throw signs across the table. “God you’re cute. Take me home.” He made a little joke about us having sex, but it only frustrated me. I couldn’t tell where he was coming from…was he not into me any more?

His signals were all mixed up. Mine were probably way out in both left and right fields. I’ve got to get better about that. Must make what comes out of the mouth match what the body is saying.

On our way back toward his place I awkwardly slipped my hand into his. Is that okay? Do we do that? I want to fuck you. I want to be friends with you. I don’t want a boyfriend. Can we hold hands? Sure, for a minute. Then he fussed with his belt buckle, which apparently was giving him some trouble. I decided it wasn’t meant to be and resigned myself to going home, which was just as well, since I had a ton of shit to do.

He apparently had a different idea, and as we meandered in a roundabout way toward his apartment, I said I’d walk him to his door for a little role reversal. “You’re not going to come up?” he asked. He had been expecting it!

For some reason I didn’t like that, so I played a little hard to get. In fact, I really was ready to leave. My period had just ended and I had my last “just in case” tampon in. I didn’t want to mess with that. I did, however, reeeeeeally want to get fucked. I was a little torn, so I let him decide. I called him on not showing his interest.

“I didn’t want to be pushy,” he offered.

“Maybe you should be a little more pushy,” I challenged with a sexy smile.

Suddenly we were making out in the courtyard of his building and he was pushing his erection into my hip, telling me how he wanted to lick my pussy and make me come. Nice. It didn’t take long for me to give the okay, but I enjoyed delaying the moment, making him work for it in public a little bit.

He chased me up the stairs, lifting the skirt of my dress to smack my ass and check out the panty situation (score! I wore pink lacy ones today!). I pretended to be scandalized by the exhibitionism of it all. Once inside, hands down the best thing was the kissing. We’re pretty compatible there, a little gentle nibbling, some teasing, every once in a while full-on tongue invasion. I’d forgotten what a pleasure it was to kiss him.

He threw me onto the couch and climbed on top me. I wanted to scream, “Hell yeah! Push me around! Smack me like I’m your little whore!” But I didn’t. I was too fixated on getting my mouth around his sweet cock. He got up to put on music, but I grabbed his hips and ordered him to remove the damn belt that had stopped us from holding hands earlier. He complied eagerly and I had my lips on him before he was all the way unzipped. I wrangled him onto the couch, where he groaned. “Oh, LaJou, you’re so good at that…” I smiled with my mouth full when he said my name. I sucked gently on the top half, swirling my tongue around the head a few times, making it throb a bit. I licked up and down the shaft and lightly scratched his thigh with one hand, pulsing my fist around the head with the other to keep the rhythm. Then I wrapped my lips around him again, trying that popping noise a couple of times to gauge the response. None that I could tell, but he’s kind of a sexual literalist. He talks a big dirty-talk game, but his reactions are actually pretty quiet. When I started deep throating though, he pulled me up for more kissing. I told him how much I love sucking his cock. I wanted him to know that’s what’s been driving me crazy the last two months.

Apparently it was good news to him. He flipped me onto my back and I wiggled out of my panties like a fish. Merd! In the heat of the moment I forgot to run to the bathroom to remove my tampon… Jesus, if it’s not one thing with this one it’s another! He gracefully patted my ass and sent me off to take care of business.

On my return I found him pants-less (so cute!) and he led me to the bedroom. I hopped onto the bed eagerly and he was right behind, pushing me onto my back and going down to eat me out. My vagina, apparently, loved this idea and felt the need to be noisy. Irritating, but we giggled it off and I was able to get to the top of the plateau. I told him to put his fingers inside me and he brought me all the way up, alternating kissing and watching me come. I love the taste of my pussy on his mouth… God, I love the taste of my pussy on his mouth. He asks to ride bareback. No dice, mister. Not unless I’m the only trick you’re turning.

As a consolation prize (for both of us), like a magnet to steel, my lips found his cock again. He couldn’t take it very long though before he shooed me off and slipped the condom on.  Then he laid back so I could be on top. Oh yeah.

“You deserve to get fucked,” he said gently, hearkening back to the first time we had sex, when he woke me up from years of shameful, selfish-feeling slumber. What he didn’t know was that I have changed since then. I grinned at him and put his hands on my hips. “I know,” I growled, and fucked him harder, throwing my head back and rubbing my clit against his pelvis.

We came together. Somehow though it wasn’t awesome. Something was lacking.

In the sticky heat I had to peel myself off him. We flopped back onto the bed and laid there for a few minutes collecting ourselves and being sweaty. I let myself snuggle for just a moment (I wanted to fall asleep so bad!), then began plotting my exit strategy. He asked if I wanted to take a shower. Nope. He said he wanted to take a shower. Great!

When he emerged from the bathroom I had hoped to be gone, but he was too quick for me. I kissed him before I left. The kiss became long and drawn out, and started getting hot. I wanted to go again.

But instead I decided to just go.

I’d forgotten what it was like…

After I met the ex I was so caught up being in love that I forgot how much fun it is to just…you know…play. The Consultant has opened up a whole new door for me. I have the most lurid thoughts racing through my brain again…

It hasn’t been like this in years.

He told me that when he first penetrated me it was like popping a balloon. A tear squeezed out of the corner of my left eye and I moaned “God, I needed this…”

I did!

I had an epiphany at that moment. I remembered there and then, on his tiny couch in his tiny apartment, what it feels like to be a woman, to be sexy, to fuck. He half pushed me, half carried me into the bedroom, whispering that he wanted to make me come and marveling over my completely-bare Brazilian wax job. Later, when I went down on him I was excited to have his cock in my mouth where with the ex giving head had been a chore. It was purely a selfish gesture; I was hoping I could tease him and excite him and get him harder so it would be that much better the next time he fucked me.

The awesome feeling I got, that amazing sexual high, I mistook for emotional attachment. It took a few days for me to get my bearings and remember that I left the ex so I could have these experiences and that I want to have them with lots of people, both men and women. The Consultant happens to be a great person in general in addition to being deliciously cute and fuckable, so that didn’t help any when it came to my emotional confusion.

I still don’t know. Do I want a friend out of him or do I just want to put on some hot lingerie and tease his cock until he shudders with pleasure? I’m starting to think maybe the latter, but it would be nice to have both. I hope he’s into that.

I can’t wait until Thursday – I have an appointment at the lady doctor and hopefully they’ll either put me on the implant or give me an IUD. Condoms suck. Spermicidal condoms suck even worse – they made me itchy! Gross!