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!”

La Morale de l’Histoire

I went and did it.  I let the Unmarried Man get to me.

I fucked him again that next Tuesday.  Drunk again (we met at a wine bar and got seriously wasted), but this time in my bedroom and not on a roof.  Then we promised we’d be good.  Then I gave him a ridiculous blowjob on his couch about twenty minutes before his girlfriend came home–I don’t know that I’ve ever tasted cum so sweet either.  Then I met the live-in and she’s pretty nice…not my cup of tea personally but she’s cool or whatever.  

Then there were more promises of being good, since we genuinely liked each other and wanted to be friends.  We managed it somehow, and now I can barely imagine him fucking me missionary style between pristine cotton bedsheets much less bending me over a roof ledge and pumping his cock into my dripping pussy while he fingers my asshole…

Really I can’t.

No really!  I can’t imagine it; the whole thing seems absurd.  I’ve completely replaced him in my memory with someone else.  Maybe it’s easy to do because he really could have been anyone else and I still would have done it.  I mean, it was pretty awesome. 

The whole thing messed with my head though.  I felt ridiculously bad about it and have spent the last few months (yep, months) thinking about what I’ve done.  At first I thought we were both horrible people.  Then I thought the girlfriend was an idiot.  Then I blamed their relationship and made myself out to be an innocent bystander who just happened to be horny at the right place at the right time.

Then I realized that was all bullshit.  It happened.  I don’t know the particulars of their relationship and neither of them seem keen on telling me.  I don’t want to fuck him anymore, I just want to be nice and talk about video games and share goofy links on IM. I don’t have a lot of friends with whom I feel comfortable being myself and he definitely puts me at ease, even if I do get impatient with his flirting (with other women, not me or the girlfriend…the dog).  I wouldn’t mind hugging sometimes, but now it’s all awkward, so I’ll just content myself with waving hello and goodbye when we see each other.  And occasionally getting an apologetic drunken text message.

So it happened.  Big deal.  I felt bad.  Oh well.  What’s the point of putting myself through the misery?  I made a mistake; so next time I’ll know that fucking someone else’s someone behind anyone’s back is not worth the guilt it causes me.  Maybe this all comes naturally for some sluts, but I still have some things to learn so I’ll just chalk that one up to a lesson.

Here’s hoping my next lesson is way more fun and involves some sort of restraining device!

Up On the Roof

The other night I was at a small rooftop gathering having a fine time, but a little annoyed with this guy I’d been kinda dating for canceling on meeting me there.  I had a lot of fun anyway though; the hostess is a good friend and the other guests were a lot of fun.  As the night wore on we saw another party a few roofs away.  By way of shouting across courtyards we learned they had run out of beer so we invited them over for a drink.

Among the few that took us up on the offer was the Unmarried Man who, ironically, realized he had seen me on a certain website and had been following my activity.  Apparently, although I didn’t remember it too well, we had commented back and forth at each other a bit.  How funny!  He mentioned it had gotten him in trouble with his live-in partner.  Upon seeing my messages and picture on his profile she’d given him the third degree about who I was and why he was talking to me online.  Whoa, touchy!

This opened up a whole can of worms that became a small group of people discussing healthy relationships and listening to his relationship woes, which were obviously weighing heavily on him.  Somehow people kept looking to me for the sage wisdom, which is laughable since I can’t even seem to keep a fuck buddy much less a boyfriend. But I’ve been through a lot and learned from it all, so I shared what I believe to be truths about love and partnerships.  Unmarried listened to me in earnest, concentrating on my every word as if he never wanted to forget what I was saying.  The conversation was lengthy and one by one all the guests trickled away and then even our hostess took her leave, asking me to lock up the roof door on my way out.  I told her we wouldn’t be a few minutes; we would just finish our drinks. 

No sooner had she locked her apartment door behind her, Unmarried touched my knee and said he wanted to show me something in an adjacent yard.  The hand placement was curious, but I wrote it off, figuring he was just using body language to solidify our new friendship.  I followed him to the far end of the roof and saw the prettiest rock garden a couple hundred yards away.  When I felt his hand on the small of my back my heart sank, my eyebrow raised and I turned toward him and noticed for the first time…damn, he was hot.  Slim but not skinny, tall but not lanky, light on the body hair, a contemplative and handsome face, real thought and understanding in his eyes, and when he opened his mouth intelligent things came out…  If I had a type, this would be it.

I asked him what he was doing, what he wanted.  “I just want to touch you,” he said plainly.  “Is that alright?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” I said with a a little grin.  The way he said it made me think he didn’t have the balls to make a real move on me after a two hour discussion circuiting his partner of almost five years.  He beckoned me to sit next to him on a ledge.  I sat and we talked a little more before he started rubbing my neck.  Always carrying so much tension there, I sank right into the massage and without thinking (really–I was  a little drunk) I moaned, “Ohhh that feels so goooood…”  As soon as it came out of my mouth I realized that breathy moan was not my best effort at promoting fidelity.

“Good,” he whispered into my ear.  He pulled my mouth to his and kissed me long and deep.  His hands left my neck and one, his right, moved to my knee and started massaging my inner thigh under the hem of my red strapless dress.  I kissed him back just as hard, enjoying every moment, but the nag in the back of my head wouldn’t shut up about his damn girlfriend.  When he started tugging to get his fingers inside my panties I pushed away to check in.

I peered curiously into his face.  “What is this about?  Is this some kind of retribution thing?”  Earlier he’d said his partner had had an affair.

“No,” he said thoughtfully and decisively.  “This is about you and how you’ve been driving me crazy all night.  You’re so fucking sexy!”

“And what about your partner?”

He buried his face in my neck and I felt his warm breath through my hair as he laughed.  “Well I wasn’t planning to fuck you.”

“Nobody ever plans these things really.” When I’m turned on my voice always sinks into this low, smooth phone-sex-operator voice.  I can’t help it.  I was trying to fight it and speak matter-of-factly, but it wasn’t working.  Instead I’m quite sure it came across as a go-ahead since his hand dove between my thighs again and he tugged my dress down in the front, exposing my breasts and burying his face in them.  I was half in his lap, leaning back over the little ledge with my arms around his neck for support.  I gasped as he rubbed from my asshole to my clit through my cotton panties and then pulled them aside so he could fuck me with his hand.  Tipsy as I was it felt like a dream, and I let go.  I stopped trying to fight.  I relaxed and let my selfish body tell me how to respond.  I heard myself mutter in that buttery bedroom voice: “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck me?”

Minutes later I was lying on the upward slope at the front of the building, moaning and staring up at the moon while he sucked my clit.  Hard.  Wow, really hard.  He licked his pinky and gingerly slid it into my asshole, groaning when my pussy clenched down tight around his other fingers.  I somehow manipulated the situation to give my mouth access to his cock.  His precum tasted really good and I told him so.

He kissed me again and told me to tell him how I liked to be fucked.  I went for the gold and told him I wanted it hard and rough, that I wanted my ass slapped and my hair pulled and to be pushed around and held down and called a whore (I just can’t not love being called a whore).  The way I saw it either that would scare him away (no harm no foul) or the sex would at least be worth the damage to my soul for enabling his de facto adultery.    I really expected him to be a little freaked out and to stop.

He didn’t.  At all.  He pulled my head back by a handful of hair, pushed one of my legs up, pinning me down with my own knee, and pushed his dick into me.  He didn’t even ask–he just took me.  I used to beg my incredibly vanilla ex to do that but he never did…I spent a long time with someone who would barely talk during sex and now here I was on a rooftop at 5 a.m. getting fucked rougher than I’ve been in a decade by some guy I just met.  Woo!

After a brief interruption (but not discovery!) by a noisy neighbor below who had lost his key he pushed me against a wall and ravished me from behind.  We were really too drunk to be very successful at that sort of thing though, and the booze had left us both a little dry (I’m feeling sore today and I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of lubrication or from how hard he was fucking me, but I think probably some combination of the two.

We wound up back where we started, sitting at the table and swigging wine out of the bottle.  We talked mutual media interests.  It’s ironic for someone who minutes before had bent me over and slapped my ass so hard there was an echo, but his voice was really timid when he asked me if he could see me again.  I said I wasn’t sure when because of work stuff, but I’d get back to him.  Then he pulled me into his lap, onto his erection, and I rocked back and forth while he rubbed my clit and whispered “come for me, baby,” until finally I did.  As I arched my back and let out a gasp, my body shuddering on top of his, I noticed that the sun was rising.

We’ve been texting back and forth since.  Today I gave him my IM screen name and he’s been chatting me up all day .  He’s out of town for business now, but he very clearly wants to fuck me again.  And I know it would be better on both ends with less alcohol involved.  And even though I like him a lot I know he’s off limits for a relationship and vice versa since he’s already in one, even if it is going down the tubes.

I don’t know though…I know that this isn’t supposed to be right, but it seems kinda okay.  I don’t want anyone to get hurt but I’m really curious to find out more about what’s going on with him and his weird relationship.  It’s almost like getting sucked into a really good tv show.

What do you think?  Is this a bad idea?

Une prostituée pour le Grand Marnier

I’ve been on a few dates with The Romancer, who is quite taken with me.  He’s funny, smart, incredibly romantic, terribly good to talk to, but (and I know this is shallow) his looks just don’t do it for me.  And he’s a bad kisser.  But last night marked our third date, which just happened to coincide with my inclination to cut BC loose, so I resolved to take action.  I resolved to go on the date and drink enough champagne that I didn’t give a rats ass about looks.  I decided to take advantage of a perfectly legitimate opportunity to get fucked.  After all, BC really isn’t that attractive to me, but I still found myself begging him for more and more…maybe the Romancer would provide me with an equally pleasant surprise.

On the date I found The Romancer’s kissing technique had vastly improved since the last time I’d seen him which, along with several glasses of Brut, further convinced me that fucking him was an excellent idea.  My plan went off without a hitch until we vacated the quiet, romantic restaurant and went back to his apartment only to find he had nothing in his liquor cabinet but some Grand Marnier.  We were tipsy enough from dinner that it was actually quite funny, so we giggled about it and poured the orangey syrup over ice.  He whispered in my ear that he thought it would taste better if he were licking it off me and with a grin I bent over, stuck my ass out and told him he should try it and see.  He got on his knees behind me, slid his hands up my bare legs and under my skirt, then discovered ma garantie de la victoire.  Along with a pair of killer five-inch silver stilettos I was wearing black lace hipster panties, the kind that let the cheeks of one’s derrière hang out of the bottom, comme ça:

(Ce n'est pas moi, mais c'est très belle, non?)

“Oh my God,” he said.  “Well?” I answered in my most velvety come-fuck-me voice, “what about the Grand Marnier?”

He yanked my skirt down and I stepped out of it, then slid my hands down my legs to grip my ankles, ass in the air, lace-covered pussy in his face.  He licked it through the fabric, breathing in its scent and telling me it tasted deliciously sweet.  With a quiver in his voice he asked if I could leave my panties on.  “Of course, darling.  They stretch though…want to see?”  I pulled them to the side, baring myself to him.  He forgot about the Grand Marnier and dove in eagerly, making me come doubled over in the kitchen.

I hustled him back to the bedroom and demanded that he fill me with his cock, giving him just the tiniest taste of a blow job.  He eagerly bent me over again at the side of the bed and tore off the panties, then pushed me down, marveling over the sight of my feet still encased in the glittering peep-toe heels.  I arched my back and wiggled my ass in invitation.  In a moment I was overtaken by his body and he was pumping me from behind harder and harder until my shoes flew off.  Just before he shot a load into the condom he whispered in my ear “I usually have two or three in me…”

And wow, he did.  He kept me at it for three hours, got my pussy so wet I that my cum soaked his nice clean sheets and by the end of it had my whole body shaking uncontrollably.  Ce n’est pas mal.  Pas de tout.

L’inevitable.

I knew it would happen sooner or later.  My one good, solid go-to guy and I had to have the conversation.  You know.  The one where we define what we are.

What a fucking buzz kill!  I loathe this stuff.

So I’ve been doing Barrel Chest (not regularly enough for me to not be seeking it elsewhere, of course) for a month now and, despite a moment where my distaste for thick body hair got the better of me I’ve been having a good time.  He’s really good at the psychology part of domination, he fucks like a rock star, and he’s a great kisser to boot, so I’ve been overlooking a thing or two.

He likes the dirty text message as a vehicle to entice me to him.  After praising me for a vocal performance while masturbating over the phone I was feeling good and enticed, dripping wet and about ready to jump in a car and hightail it over there as soon as possible.  Then he started talking about how he owns me.  I’m his.  That’s fine, that’s all part of our normal dom/sub routine.  Then he says “You’re not allowed to give anyone else so much as a glance.”  Record scratch.  What?

That totally pulled me out of the mood.  I fumbled along for a bit, said some idiotic, snarky drivel about putting some candles out next time I come over (because dammit he just doesn’t get setting the mood), then just stopped talking to him.  Then I get a message the next day saying we should have a talk.  I was at work, so I told him to call me later on.

He called me two hours after I asked him to (as if he has his very own copy of The Rules under his pillow) and started asking me questions about how I feel and who I’m seeing and what I want.  Once it was firmly established that I am not interested in a romantic relationship with him in any way he played an act of benevolence.  He just wanted to make sure I was okay and that I wasn’t looking for more than just a casual physical relationship.  Okay, buddy.  Whatever.  At the end of the conversation he said something like, “Well give me a call this weekend and let me know what’s going on with you.”  I told him I was kind of busy this weekend but I’d call him if any time opened up.  “Oh, so I’m just what you do when you have nothing else to do?” he said, half teasing, half really hurt.

Oh god.

I haven’t heard from him in almost a week.  Then out of nowhere, at 1:00 am on a Friday night I get “Hey there, hope your week went well. I just wanted to let you know that I will be overseas.  Heading out at the end of next week.  So if I don’t get back to you that is why.”

Oh god.  So I have to cut him off now, right?  Right?

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?”