For D'jaevle

I could feel the wetness pool between my legs. As I devoured more and more of his words, my need increased; my breath shortened; my pulse beat faster. It was as if he knew me, and was speaking to me directly, each word meant for no one else. He played me sweetly, the words passing through me in a rush, leaving me with nerves grazed, nipples hard, tendons stretched taut, just so. For over an hour, I sat there, feeling the urgency grow, until I was...ready, as a slice of meat would be for the spit. Primed. Done.
I gave myself over to it, then, lying back on my bed, bringing my fingers and vibe into play. As if it were a real cock, I let it tease me, sliding up and down my lips, pausing to rub fleetingly against my clit before resuming its back-and-forth journey across my slick, wet folds. Slowly, as only a boy would, I eased the tip in, pausing to let myself adjust to its girth, before pushing forward a little more, burying it in myself a centimetre at a time. And I felt that same rush of pleasure as it slid further in, the friction inside me almost too much to bear, nerve endings sparking and little lights shining behind my closed eyelids. Mouth dry and half open, my breathing quickened as it slid in further, the buzzing making me clench around it, the hardness as good as any man's, the lack of heat more than made up for by the fires that were roaring inside me. A final gasp escaped my mouth as it reached its limits, now firmly buried in me, a sweet delirium slowly beginning to take hold of me.

The room was cold, and my underwear and pants bunched around my ankles, causing goosebumps to spread over my legs, then fade away, only to return with the next gust of wind that swept through the windows. I shivered. My bladder needed emptying; the pressure only served to heighten the pleasure that was crashing over me like surf on a beach. Desperation tinging my actions, my breath growing shorter than ever, with little moans beginning to escape my hapless mouth, I began to fuck myself in earnest - slowly at first, so that each stroke sent sensations radiating through me, and then faster, slamming down harder each time. Just the way I like being fucked.

Harder and faster I took it, pausing only to gain a better grip before plunging it back into myself, my back arching from the tension in my body, a roiling mass of sensations building between my thighs. When I was certain I could take no more, I stepped up the pace for one last ten-second burst of frenzied pumping action, before falling back onto the bed, breathing hard.

I slowly brought the vibe back up to my clit, teasing it in a paced, deliberate manner, varying the speeds to get my juices flowing more freely. Turning the speed all the way up, I massaged my clit harder, now circling it, now teasing at it from either side. My whole world seemed to narrow down to that one spot on my body. I felt as though a great wind was rushing past my ears as my very being sped down to my clit. For a few gorgeous moments, I was one with my clit; it was I, and I was it. Seeming to have reached an invisible barrier, however, I pulled the vibe away, instead simply sliding along my slick inner lips, sending twinges and bursts of pleasure shooting through me. I was very wet now. Wetter than I could remember ever having been.

On a whim, I started to push the pulsating vibe back into my cunt, to see how my clenching muscles would react. They seemed to go into overtime almost immediately, spasming so very fast that it was as if I had just gotten tighter. The grip in which my pussy held the vibe was astonishing, and the stimulation made me feel almost fit to burst. The goosebumps on my legs were now practically permanent, and the slightest dip in temperature made me spasm violently around the vibe. I needed to pee soon, or I'd pass out.
Slipping the vibe all the way into myself, I pulled up my panties, grabbed a towel, and headed for the bathroom. The buzzing inside me made my juices flow all over my panties, soaking them completely by the time I got to the bathroom.

I shut the door in a hurry and pulled off all my clothes, gasping when the cold night air from the window hit my breasts, my nipples immediately becoming rock-hard, standing stiff and straight. My arms, breasts and sides were covered in goosebumps, and my pussy was clenching furiously at the vibe buried in it. The buzzing noise seemed to fill the bathroom; it was in my head and all I could hear over it were the gasps and moans that were, I realised, coming from my own slack mouth. My eyes rolled into my head as the drop in temperature made my pussy feel like it was on fire, and I started to shudder from the heady combination of the cold and the sparks shooting through me from my sopping wet pussy. My icy fingers sought out the heat between my legs, rubbing at my clit and fucking myself with the vibe. I was teetering on the edge of a precipice, a swirl of ice and fire all around me.

A sharp gust of wind was all it took. Wailing, I pulled the vibe out of my cunt in one swift motion, using the fingers of the other hand to punish my clit, falling against the wall as the dam within me burst, my orgasm crashing over me like a thunderstorm even as my bladder emptied itself. The orgasm seemed to have no end, and it was only when I stopped peeing that the storm passed over me. As I slid down the wall to lie in a heap on the floor, I felt limp and weak, all the tension drained out of my body, sweat plastering hair to my forehead. I couldn't summon the will to move an inch, and didn't even want to try.

Lying there, I smiled dimly at the memory of his words - the words that had driven me into such a state of blissful arousal that nothing else mattered. I promised myself that one day, somehow, I would traverse continents to find him, meet him, and give myself to him. One day, yes.

Shine On

Just some of any number of things that have crossed my mind:

- I think owning anything called "Sleepy Time Body Mist" is ludicrous, particularly if you're a boy, even if your girlfriend has given it to you. Things like this call into question your very manhood. Tsk, tsk.

- I realised, right in the middle of class today, that I really, really want to have sex. I want a good, nice, raw, hard fuck. I just need something hot and hard pumping inside of me. You know that feeling, right? (...right?)

- I need a new cock, a new set of lips, a new body to think and dream about when I'm having these fantasies. I'm sick and tired of not having a replacement for him when I go there in my head. It's about fucking time.

- I've lost a fair bit of weight, and am working on my figure. Need to hook someone worthy now, at least, after all this effort.  

- It's mating season here in college. It's ridiculous. New couples are popping up all over the place like weeds. I think I like the summer better - it's break-up and fling season (a lot more fun). I have a next-to-nothing chance of finding a suitable boy here in college. Perhaps I'm fated to remain single till I break out of this place ([non-existent] God, I hope not! Need action!). Meh.

Revelations

Things I've discovered in the past couple of days:
- Drinking gives me insomnia. It all fits together now - the nights of drinking, followed by the long periods spent awake, unable to sleep. Don't know why I didn't see this before.
- I don't like my breasts. They appear to be sagging, and I feel that they're old. Not young and perky. I need someone to tell me that they are beautiful. I need a man to tell me, in all sincerity, that I'm beautiful.
- I'm looking for companionship. Simple, uncomplicated companionship. The realisation that I wouldn't mind dating K-Far comes from the understanding of this simple desire.
- Pervy gets a lot of action, but I don't (think I) resent her for it.
- I really wanted to sing and perform a lot this year. I still do. I have to find ways to do that.
- I really want to lose weight now, if only to be perceived as more attractive. One part of it is carrying yourself like you know you're sexy (I can manage that bit just fine), and the other part is being undeniably sexy (I need to work on that).

On Giving Head

This post comes out of a late-night walk-and-talk-and-sometimes-sit with a boy I think I may be developing a bit of a thing for (we'll get to that later, and for now, let's just call him K-Far Boy). Specifically, it comes out of a story that he told me - the story of how he and 42 stopped being friends with the guy they were rooming with last year. It centred on disagreement over whether, when a girl gives a guy a blowjob, she's doing it because she likes it, or because she wants to make the guy happy. K-Far and 42 said it was the latter reason. Their roommate insisted that it was the former, and was extremely upset when they disagreed on the issue. While they didn't come to blows, something between them snapped for good. They didn't speak thereafter, etc. etc.

Now, what stayed with me from that conversation wasn't the notion that boys can act like girls sometimes too, or that people pick the strangest things to have massive fights over. It was simply the question of whether there was something strange about me because I actually enjoy giving head. I eventually came to the conclusion that there wasn't, because I'm sure there are plenty out there like me, and also because there's a certain healthy wholesomeness to a relationship in which you enjoy giving as much as you enjoy getting - and in which you give as much (and as good) as you get.

The question: "Which girl would like to have a dick in her mouth??" is therefore easily answered: this one.
Of course, the wannabe lawyer in me must at this point place qualifications on that statement. I love it when I'm horny and lustful (the need to be filled up bypasses every other thought process), particularly when it's part of foreplay (the idea of being forced to my knees to suck on it and make it rock-hard so that it can be used to fuck me senseless is a huge turn on), and when I want to surprise the guy I'm with (many fun mornings have begun with my mouth coaxing a cock to life while its owner is still caught up in the realm of sleep [it's amazing how the human body doesn't require any active mental participation in arousal. :) Viva la morning wood!]). I don't enjoy dirty or smelly cock (bathe regularly, dammit!), though I do absolutely love licking my own juices off a cock.

And somewhere, I'm glad I enjoy these aspects of sex. I'm profoundly grateful that almost nothing freaks me out (though I don't hold an interest in any fetish but BDSM), and that if I have an adventurous, caring lover, the sex will be fantastic.

And, K-Far: I like you enough to want to go on another 'make-out' walk with you and actually follow through this time. Just finish your goddam papers, and we'll see what can be worked out. :)

But, 42: I think I've fallen out of lust with you. :-|

On needs, hopes and reality

Feeling like I've lost my way, I attempted to sort my room out this morning. Failing miserably at that, I picked up a book (which some might call the reason for said failure) and proceeded to read it for the next hour or two. An attempt to meet a friend for lunch failed due to the vagaries of the silent mode on cellphones; a message from a newly-met Malaysian friend drove me to Facebook; a subsequent feeling of loneliness and sexual frustration nudged me towards Literotica. Four hours and more passed in a haze of arousal and building frustration, interspersed with awkward but brief conversations with visitors to my room (putting me in mind of another time two days ago when the visitations were more frequent and my awkwardness was far more pronounced, due to the active role played by my recently-acquired vibrator in the situation). Release was eventually obtained, but didn't help remedy my mood.
Still feeling lost, unfortunately.
And the entire Lit session (as I am wont to call them) just made me realise how massively kinky I am - and perhaps how difficult it will be to find someone who can cater to my very specific needs. There's a fine line between sexy and gross, which I walk very often (though sometimes one is the other, for me, sigh) and which not too many people may want to or be able to keep up with.
It also saddened me greatly to find that CoatBoy is not, as I had hoped, single. He also appears to be a fairly decent human being. Sigh.. Now I really want to sever and incinerate my desire for him - for it will only bring me pain, as I don't wish a break-up on anyone, on principle. Sigh...
And I'm not entirely happy my ex-roommate is back on campus, either... she irks me. Meh.
I guess I just need to sit and figure my life out. Which is not a particularly attractive thought. I'd rather fuck around for a while.
But things don't just work out, as I've found.
Blast it.

*snicker*

Hm. Let's see, how do I make this not sound like what it isn't?
CoatBoy is a part of the group of people with whom I'm going for Harry Potter tomorrow.
*big grin*
Something to look forward to! :)
And yes, this is more than just insane physical attraction. But heck, I'm having fun.

Microblog: On things I've learnt in the past three weeks.

Since the 22nd of June, I've learnt:
- that vodka tastes good on a plane.
- that absinthe kicks vodka's ass.
- that dirty dancing with women is a helluva lotta fun.
- that Indian movie censorship is a real bitch.
- that wanting to get laid doesn't help you to get laid.
- that pancakes, doughnuts and cupcakes can be gourmet food.
- that gay men can be very, very attractive, and that you can forgive them their homosexuality because they're so good to look at.
- that I'm not as forthcoming as I believe I am. OR, that relativity is universal (i.e., I'm not easy in Oz, even if I might be in India).
- that walking into an adult store can make me go red in the face.
- that buying something in an adult store can make me blush more than I knew I was capable of blushing.
- that Australianised Indian boys can be very, very hot.
- that I feel happy when I see a lesbian couple showing affection and love for each other.
- that a skirt really can double as a dress.
- that I have a fatal weakness for Malteasers.
- that I say 'fuck' a lot when I'm talking to myself when I'm on my own.
- that I have a terrible sense of orientation, but can still read maps very well. :S
- that I can't help but be friendly to those around me when they're being the same.
- that I'm still having wet dreams about him.
- that apart from wet dreams, I don't think of him at all.
- that I really do want to lose weight.
- that I do have a great sense of style.
- that I'm capable of much more than I give myself credit for.

The Green Fairy, et al.

Man, I love absinthe. Neat. In small quantities. But I love it.
Went out with PB to watch Wolverine today. Nice. Not spectacular - just great. Liked Angels and Demons better - it left more of an impression.
After, we walked up and down M.G. and Brigade Road, sipping absinthe from a lovely little mouthwash bottle. It was so well disguised that I was proud of myself. :)
It also hit us (me, at least!) fairly fast, and I went giggle-crazy. Also started unabashedly leching at the men walking around on the street. Slim pickings tonight, but we were pretty thorough.
Admitted to her that I've had sex. A liberating feeling. Less to pretend about. Good, all in all, to have done that.
Also, meeting her made me feel happy again. I needed a college-style outing - living at home is driving me mad. Also, don't have a room to myself, and that's starting to slice my nerves very thinly and precisely. Argh. Felt good to act my age, and to get out there. Just didn't want to come back here.
Was drunk enough to almost call out to a guy on the road. :P Might have been fun. Who knows.
Then my mum called, followed not too soon after by my dad. Wanted to shoot them both. Sometimes, you just. don't. care. And it becomes very difficult not to give in to that. Managed somehow. Almost fell asleep in the auto back. Wanted to. Didn't give in, eventually.
I'm so fucking desperate to get some action, it's pathetic. I've gotten myself off innumerable times these past few days. Nothing stands out. I need a man. I need to make out. I need to fuck. And, quoting from Californication, I need to screw like I have something I need to get out of my system. (I do.) I want random play. I don't want to know names or phone numbers or to ever meet the guy again. I just want some.
And now I'm thinking about that hot dad. Sigh. I am SUCH a loser.

A Shout-out

42, you make me wet. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.
Heck, no-one's ever going to read this, right? :) At least, no-one I know... and even if they do, I doubt they'll figure out who I am.
I'm cyber-stalking you on Facebook, and I know how creepy that is. But seeing pictures of you makes me feel good.
Plus, I just saw the movie 21, which I've been wanting to see for like, forever, and I'm on a movie buzz.
Someday, I'm going to reveal this blog in a fit of shamefaced embarrassment to the guy I'm with, or married to, or whatever. And I hope to god that he finds it funny, or thinks that I sound my age, which is a giddy 21. :P
Fingers crossed.
I'm off on a nice long holiday in two days, fucking hell thank god. Can't stand it at home anymore - the lack of peace and quiet is driving me up the wall. I'm hoping to get away from it all on this sojourn. I love travelling alone, and am really looking forward to it. These are two destinations I've never been to. I plan to soak it all in.
And if I can manage it with those nice-looking boys D/U, I abso-fucking-lutely intend to get lucky.

Letter 2: Infatuation

Dear 42 (also known as CoatBoy),

I think I can't get over the fact that I just want you so much. Regardless (and rather oblivious, too), of what I may actually know about you, I've made up my mind - decided that you're the kind of guy I want to be involved with right now. I've got you pegged as a "bad boy" - and I'm really hoping that I'm not horribly wrong. I think my obsession with you is beautifully tempered by the fact that you've been nice to me on the few occasions that I've interacted with you. I like that mix.

I do really hope you're single - not because I don't want you to have someone, but because I want to want you without reservation - and I couldn't do that if I knew that there was someone in your life. Please, be single, so that I don't hate myself for being this insanely attracted to you (or the concept of you, at the very least)!

I'd love to know that you're up for anything - that would be my perfect situation, because I really want to let loose. Could you be in a short-term, let's-just-have-fun-and-part-with-good-memories, no-judging relationship that centres (perhaps) almost exclusively on the physical? [And this is where questions, about whether I'll ever find someone who knows my kind of D/S and wants it too, pop into my head and confuse me.] Hey, just let me know.

Your eyes attract me the most. I can't look you in the eye for a reason - there is too much there, and I'm too afraid of revealing all of my feelings, and my burning desire for you, to you, if I do.

Would you be able to say "fuck it all" and just do this with (and to!) me? Fuck, I hope so. I want to live. If that, at the moment, means getting the daylights fucked out of me, I'm totally open (heh) to the idea. I think you're kinda what I'm looking for. What think you?

(Hopefully) yours,
@.

Letter 1: Curiosity

Dear Couch (or, Mud - whatever you prefer),

I like you. I think you're generally hot. And I know for a fact that you're smart and funny. I'm just not insanely attracted to you - you aren't the quintessential "bad boy" I'm looking to see on the surface, and generally run after, right now. Not like 42/CoatBoy. But that's a story for another day.

I'd really like to get to know you better. I've heard pretty much only good things about you - which is rare for a class like ours at this stage, as we are. I've heard crap about just about everyone (everyone's an asshole, huh?). I know I'm far from perfect, but to be honest, I'm tired of being around nasty people, regardless of whether I fit in with them.

Hehe, I'm secretly thinking about how much I can't wait to see if you'll get drunk at the next college party. You wouldn't believe the number of people (yeah, women) who are hoping you will. Germany has somehow made you super-hot, you know. Some say it's the hair - you apparently have great hair now. :) Personally, I think it's because you look less stick-thin and starved.

Another funny thought - I just realised that I've only ever thought of you as The Guy With The Long Neck - I always thought you were decent-looking, but that neck of yours claimed most of the attention I had to give. :P

I remember that NYP - you came up to me and hugged me. It was cute and, in retrospect, nice. You're a cute drunk, too. I wish you made yourself more visible in college - it would give me more of an excuse to get to know you. With one year left and my singlehood tempting me to let out all the stops, I think I really would enjoy that. Or generally - let's talk.

Whaddaya say?

Yours,
@.

Don't Speak

Don’t speak.

I don’t want to know what you’re thinking. I don’t want to know how you feel. I have heard your reasons in the past, and can’t hear anything from you any more, because it hurts. It hurts, not because of something you have said or done in the present, but because it is the dull ache of the past, with its memories and its reflected pain – pain that will only ebb once it has flowed.

I understand now why rebounds are so common – sometimes you need someone, anyone, to be there as you recover, as an emotional wrecking ball demolishing you every morning. Someone to distract you and occupy your mind when you let yourself be distracted and occupied. Someone to help you exorcise your demons by turning everything into equations of the material realm, exhausting you physically with repeated lovemaking till your mind shuts down from its extended overdrive and derives a few hours of clarity and peace.

Sometimes we are broken so bad that it takes more than just time to un-break – while we may spring back in our work and our flimsy social relationships, sometimes the fault lines run so deep that we don’t realise how bad it is until one morning, we look in the mirror and can’t recognise the person looking back at us.
Loss changes people. Always. But here, with this, I’m not entirely sure of the extent of my loss, or of the things I’ve lost. What do I know right now of the price I’ve paid in self-respect and self-confidence?

Touch.

For me, touch is sacred. Electric. It ignites. It generates forces that effortlessly direct an explosion. It entices, teases, captures, releases. It plays mind games in the physical realm. I crave touch. I crave his touch.

I shiver. Goosebumps race along my skin; it comes from within. The need builds, a cry is loosed; it emerges and crashes over my surroundings. Wave after wave of sound hits everything around me - the walls, the ceiling, the fixtures, the man in front of me - and reverberates through the air.

I close my eyes, and can hear my cries echoing in my ears, though I haven't yet made a sound. The wave of noise peaks in my head, crashing over me, filling my mind with a static buzz. My tongue works inside my mouth to wet it; I am parched, all moisture in my body having pooled in one place.

A breath tickles my ear. Eyes flying open, I look around me, trying to place the reality before me in that which exists in my head. The two quietly merge, as touch begins to torment me. His touch. Fingers play lightly on my neck; creep along my stomach; graze my arm; tease at my nipples; rake my back. My clothes feel paper-thin, every sensation magnified tenfold. Every nerve in my body is focused on where the touch will come next, straining to feel it, capture it, lock it in sensory memory forever, to be revisited over and over again.

It's driving me mad. My eyes roll into the back of my head, the lids close; my head is thrown back, my mouth hanging open, shallow breaths making my chest rise and fall with rapidity. I am lost to the world, my concentration focused solely on the sensory masterpiece slowly playing itself out over my skin. A blindfold, silky soft, is slowly drawn over my eyes and bound tight around my head.

The touch intensifies, becomes harsher. My flesh is kneaded, pulled, stretched to the limits of my endurance, till I can take the pain no more. I cry out, unable to believe what my nerves are telling me. I am soaking wet. I can feel the moisture beginning to seep through my panties, more so with each tweak and pull at my skin. Scissors cut apart my clothes, the cold steel sending shivers down my spine, and what is left of them is ripped off. I whimper. I love this. I have missed it so much.

I hear a growl in my ear, a harsh, unyielding voice asking me what I want. I don't know how to respond, as he has already understood my wants better than I could ever hope to. I struggle to make sense of my confused thoughts, but before I can even begin to form a coherent sentence, all thought is driven out of my mind by the impact of his hand on my bare ass. I gasp in surprise, a sense of humiliation and the desire to submit completely competing with each other for the spot of most prominent emotion in my mind. My ass stings, and I can feel the heat spreading slowly from the spot that he struck. I draw in a deep, shuddering breath, wondering how much further he plans to take me.

I soon find out, as blow after blow set my ass on fire. They are not harsh - merely instructive. I know that I am expected to respond quickly and deferentially when spoken to, and failure to do so angers him. I know this, without ever having been told. But I have never found myself able to comply with this simple rule, and it has always resulted in my having to bear the brunt of his anger. This time, he is punishing my ass by spanking me; other occasions saw punishments much harder to bear.

I sense, however, that he doesn't want to be too hard on me today; this is our time to love each other, and through experience, I know that he is a tender, gentle lover when he wants to be. We have been apart for too long, though, and we both need this release too much to waste time being gentle and unhurried. The tension is raw and unpolished, and our needs too powerful, to succumb to the temptation to make love. I can almost taste his hunger and his desire to have me, and I have craved his touch, the torture of his touch, for too long to hold back.

My cries fill the air as he spanks me hard and strong, varying the placement of his blows so that my entire ass begins to throb. I am wet beyond belief, rivers of wetness running down my thighs, and my pussy aches for his touch.

I don't have to wait long. He tires of the play, and throws me down onto the bed, face-up. The blindfold is roughly pulled aside, and as I blink to readjust my eyes, I find him staring down at me, lust filling his. I can see his need, and it mirrors my own. We look into each other's soul in that moment, knowing one another for who we are, and accepting everything we encounter. He leans in and kisses me, deep and strong, his insistent tongue finding my compliant one. I surrender to the invasion of my mouth, loving the way he fills it up. My moans turn into a muffled shriek as he drives into me, having silently manoeuvred himself into position while I was occupied with his tongue. Slowly, and with deliberate, even strokes, he begins to fuck me, pushing me into the bed with each thrust. His hands, which earlier held my wrists down, release them. One, he moves down to my clit, stroking it slowly - so slowly that it drives me mad. The other, he uses to prop himself up, altering the angle of penetration so that he can increase his pace. His tongue leaves my mouth, but not before he leaves an imprint of his teeth on my upper lip, causing a rush of blood to the area and making it throb painfully.

He then starts to fuck me in earnest, sawing in and out of me rapidly. With my hands now free, I use the leverage to push back into him with each thrust. The feeling of being filled so completely, coupled with his frenzied stimulation of my already sensitive clit, creates a familiar buzz in my head. My eyes close, and I start to gasp. Sensing what is happening, he picks up the pace even more, bringing both hands up to grasp my hips so that he can fuck me harder and faster. I let him, no longer able to move. All that I can perceive is the length and breadth of him filling me up, the friction of his movements, and the pleasure that flows from deep inside of me to every nerve in my body.

Ramble.

I, like, totally love this statement.
And I just discovered Polyvore. I think the concept is frickin' awesome - though I'm sure it must result in a lot of wasted time, heheh. It's one of those... addictions that I'd love to have.
Sigh. I want an addiction.
Perhaps I already have one, in him. I'm afraid that it really is one, our relationship. It scares me to analyse it like that - and it scares me even more when we talk about it and he analyses it like that.
Desperately wanting things to work out won't make them work out. That's a lesson I learnt a long time ago. I can only hope that goodness follows, and does not abate. I don't even want to hope for anything too specific. Like I'm afraid I'll jinx it... whatever it is.

In other news, I've also discovered Playlist.com. Which I have fallen in love with. My current playlist includes Blondie's Maria (from the 90's, people), Emosanal Atyachar from the Dev D OST, and Shine On by The Kooks, which shuffle with Just Like You Imagined by NIN and Rooster by Alice In Chains. That's about as diverse as I can get. Oh, and the Jonas Brothers and Katy Perry also feature on the list. As does Will Smith. So, yeah, you get the picture. I've thought of a song I want to listen to, and added it. This is the result - the kind of beautiful chaos I've always struggled to embrace.
.
.
.
.
.
Which brings me to another thought I often have - the real extent of my self-proclaimed liberal philosophy. I've realised that I don't feel offended or scandalised when faced with most forms of profanity or vulgarity - as long as I don't have to actually see/experience it in person. I love being able to joke about a good fuck with my lover. I love being able to talk about how our professors are such grumps because they haven't gotten any in a while, and I totally love imitating the way MPPP feels up guys sitting by the aisle during his class. I loved the movie Shortbus (so. much.)

So while I love the idea of sex (and love it when I can have it, too), I can't reconcile myself to the idea of casual sex. That bit I find myself unable to deal with. This inability also encompasses casual encounters of the drunk-making-out kind. I'm a rather paranoid, cautious person, which means that I would never let myself get into a situation where Drunk Making Out With Random would happen. Heck, I can understand drunk making out. But when someone says that all the guys she's made out with while drunk "don't count" - yeah, that freaks me out some. A lot. A huge fucking lot.

Maybe it's just that I've never had to look for action (my being committed to someone for the last couple of years might have had something to do with it), or maybe I place meaning and value in being intimate with another - but this is one thing I just can't get my head around. Perhaps it's hypocritical. I know that in my head I secretly want to have casual sex, for the fun of it (and that's possibly the least of my fantasies, which stretch to domination and group sex without much effort). But the peculiar state of my real-life relationship means that I will never, as long as it continues, go there, or ask him to let me. I love too strongly, and have given of myself too wholly, and learnt bitter lessons from too many mistakes, to let that happen. So I don't mind being a hypocrite in this matter, if it means that I know where I stand. It gives me peace of mind. Wouldn't you choose the same, too?

Snippet

The scent of you is still here, lingering on my fingers -
The most maddeningly delicious whiff of what came before.
It quietly works its way into my mind, a little at a time
Till I'm driven quite insane, and can stand it no more.

I must have you again.
Must feel the blinding heat again,
I need to close my eyes and feel you
Speeding through me with every heartbeat again.