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.

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!

Yes, that’s exactly the way to get me into your bed.

Take me to a nice bar, buy me delicious alcoholic beverages that are better for drinking than they are for getting drunk. Talk about things that are interesting. Tell me I look lovely in my dress. Touch my neck when you’re complimenting my earrings. Be interested in things I have to say. Teach me something new and tell me about books I’d like to read or films I’d like to see. Rub your knee against mine under the bar. Order me gourmet food and share it with me. Sharing is better than giving me my own. Refrain from making overtly sexual comments, but lead me into making them. Give me a little rub on the small of my back to give a little pretense to your desire to touch me. When I have had enough to eat and drink, don’t even give me a moment to question payment.

Once we’re out the door, push me against a wall–any wall–tell me how you’ve been holding back all night, then kiss me hard. Harder. Pull my hair to lift my chin and kiss my neck. Unbutton my coat and grope at my breasts. Fumble with the hem of my skirt. Press your erection against my thigh and tell me you want me. I’ll squeeze out from under you and run, but only to hail a taxi.

After you tell the driver where to go kiss me again. Place your hand on my knee…this should be a question more than an action, and my answer will be to open my thighs for you. Slide your fingers under my skirt and feel the bare skin at the top of my stocking. Gasp when you realize I’m wearing garters for you. Call me a slut and pull me into your lap. Wrap your arms around me, peel my skirt up to my hips and force your hand between my panties and my hot, wet pussy. Push one finger into me, lingering a moment to tease me, then rub it on my clitoris, whispering into my ear that sluts get what they ask for. Give me a safe word and tell me I’ll need it. When I come for you tell me to be absolutely silent and grin as I struggle to comply. Then slide your fingers in me, first one, then two. Rub at my g-spot. Ask me if I like being fucked with your hand in the back of a taxi. I do.

On our way into your home if I make a clever and adorable joke about the name of your building you should tell me it is clever and adorable. Rush me up the stairs to your apartment, but stop on the way to grope at my ass and nibble at my neck, and be sure to tell me it’s because you can’t resist. Take me to your kitchen first; I adore kitchens. Please make sure it’s clean. Pour me a glass of wine or champagne and also pour us each a glass of water. Do not forget this step–even if you don’t drink yours I will do so eventually. Put on music. Kiss me again, this time slower, less hungry. Tell me I’m a very bad girl for letting you touch me like that in the taxi. Tell me what happens to bad girls in your house. When my eyes light up, put a hand on my waist and steer me toward the bedroom.

Oui, Monsieur!

I learned something today. :)

I’m not looking for romance in my potential partners, I’m looking for order and discipline.

I keep seeking something and not finding it in any of the guys I’ve dated…or fucked. And it’s a firm hand. Barrel Chest was rough but didn’t really command my obedience. When it came down to brass tax he was in it for the company and I was in it for the fucking. I had him wrapped around my little finger. He got attached to me because he liked me the way a pet likes its master.

I wanna be the pet, goddammit!

Why is it apparently so hard to find a good partner who will enforce some rules on me? I like kinky shit…and a finger up my cunt while we’re clinking wine glasses at a restaurant is not kinky. It’s hot, but not kinky. Fucking me in the ass is also hot…but not necessarily kinky. Dirty talking? Depends on the words and the tone, but everything I’ve gotten in a good long while has been hot but not kinky.

I’m tempted to go venture out to Paddles and see if I get picked up (see? submissive) by someone nice, but I’m really just not into the whole “scene” or whatever. Or maybe I’m just intimidated and need someone to slap my face and say, “You’ll fucking go and you’ll fucking like it, slut! Now get on your knees and suck!”

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.