I should...

I can still taste the vodka on my breath as I type this. I've spent the last half hour aimlessly driving around town instead of going home because there’s something soothing about speeding down a dark road in a closed metal box while music plays loud enough to drown everything else out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. And there’s something even better about being absorbed in those thoughts as a song winds down, with nothing but the whine of the engine in the background telling you that you’re hurtling through the night.

My thoughts were simple, and focused. On you.

One of these days, I really must put everything aside and act on those thoughts.

As you turn to leave after hugging me goodbye, I should grab your hand and say, “stay”.

As you walk away at the end of the night, I should call out, “come back”.

And instead of saying goodbye and filling the space with silly closing lines, about how nice it was or how I’ll see you soon, I really should just drop the pretence, lose the façade, look you in the eye and say something real. Something that makes you stop thinking for a second, something that makes it real for you too.

And in that moment, while we’re both looking at each other, acknowledging that there’s something here, something between us, I should just fuck all the doubts and the what-ifs and the buts and do what I've wanted to for so long: lean in and kiss you.

Want, Circa 2007

(I)

Want him. So bad.

Want to kiss him, full on the lips, as hard as I can. Delve deep into his mouth with my tongue, explore it to the fullest. Breathe as he breathes, take his being into myself.

Want to press against him, wrap myself around him, be locked in his arms with no chance or hope of escape. Feel our clothes getting in the way, slip my hands under his shirt and let them play over his skin. Feel the heat emanating from our bodies. Feel the pressing need to be close, to be one, to come together. Feel the powerful ache of desire for him.

Want him to feel me, hold me, crush me in his grip. Want him to claim me, make me his in every way, leave his distinctive mark on me. Want him to make me incapable of moving, incapable of being anywhere but there.


(II)

The slightest touch sending jolts through me. Waiting, ticking like a bomb, ready to explode. Just need that little bit more.

Thought excites.
Touch excites.
Need excites.
Presence excites.
Looks excite.
Everything excites.

To the point of desperation. To the point of my nearly losing my mind, losing control, and doing what I want so badly to do...

Crash into him. At every level.

Kiss Me

Kiss me 

Out of the bearded barley

Nightly

Beside the green, green grass

Swing, swing

Swing the spinning step

You wear those shoes

And I will wear that dress

                   - Sixpence None The Richer, Kiss Me

When you kiss me, I lose track. Of time, of space, of the objects occupying the physical cross-section of the universe around me. Of everything but the sensation of your lips on mine, of your tongue flicking against my teeth and tongue, of your fingers gently holding my face close to you, of the heady rush that I can feel overwhelming me, of the sparks I can see behind my closed eyelids.

When you kiss me, I find myself suddenly incapable of higher level thought. My brain. stops. working. And here's the kicker - not only does my brain stop working, but I also find myself completely and wholly unconcerned by this. I'm perfectly happy to have you cause me to stop thinking, stop fretting, stop analysing. Because in that moment, when you're kissing me, my heart feels like it's about to burst from the sense of wonder of it all. And that's just about all my poor brain can handle at that point. So, yeah, when you kiss me, I can't think - and I love it. Your kisses leave me intoxicated and utterly blissed out. What's not to love?

It's in the way your kiss makes me feel, perhaps - it's the fact that I want to kiss you whether you've just smoked a cigarette or not (because you taste amazing anyhow - your lips ripe, your breath sweet), the fact that you smile at me between kisses in a way that makes my heart melt, the fact that your slightest touch sends a jolt down my spine, the fact that I stop. worrying. when you kiss me. It's in the way you look at me after long minutes of our shared breath and warmth and lips and tongue, when you take a moment to shake out of the daze we've both worked ourselves into and actually look at me again - and you smile, again. Oh lord, what that does to me.

I can't even begin to explain it. 

So, kiss me. Kiss me as much and for as long as you want to, because right now, kissing you is all I can think to do. And once you start kissing me again, I'll stop thinking of that, too. 

How Do I Explain This?

How do I explain this?

I barely know you. Yes, we've traded stories, we grew up in the same city, you went to the all-boys' school across the road from my all-girls' school, and you even know some of the people I knew back then. But those are coincidences, funny isn't-that-cools, conversation fodder that quickly gets chewed through and spit out. I don't know how much there is beneath all of that, below the surface, that could draw us together, that could stick. So yeah, I barely know you.

I barely know you, but you've had your lips on mine, your hands down my panties, your fingers in my hair, your breath in my ear. You have made me moan and gasp and squirm and by all things just and beautiful, you are good. I have sung your praises to my friends, relived the highlights of that night in quiet moments in the days since. I have wanted more since the moment I stepped out of your car and walked back into my house. I have wanted to drink in your lips, those sweet, soft lips of yours - to suck on them and get lost in them the way I did that night - again. Again and again and again. I want to wake up with my own lips feeling tender because you couldn't get enough of them either. Again! I want to spend my time exploring your body, letting my tongue dance across it in that way that you loved, letting sensory perception overwhelm me, carry me away. I want you.

And how do I explain this? I barely know you.

Thanks to you and your expert ministrations, the beast in me has reawakened, and wants to be fed; but I don't want to scare you away with my hunger. Besides which, I want to do this right. So I behave. I tell stories awkwardly, because I'm distracted by your lips or your neck, and I embellish because I'm not really sure what I would say once the story is over and the silence returns, a silence that I only want to break in one way. I act like a blithering idiot when I'm texting you because it is taking every ounce of self-control I have to not send you blistering word-images of my want, of the things I want to do to you and the intensity with which I want to be able to do them. I spout meaningless words because my mind is occupied with the remembered feel of your cock in my hand, delicious anticipation building, and building, and - yes! - building in me.

When I'm talking to you, I cannot string a meaningful sentence together because I want you so. I don't know what you think of me. Somewhere in my head, I hope I haven't been cause for disappointment. I can't help it - you're...distracting, to say the least.

I cannot tell you this because...dammit, I barely know you.

To Do or Not To Do....or What to Do?

Was just kissed. Don't know what to make of it. Should I go for it, or...not?


That's the basic dilemma.


Alcohol is fuzzing my thought process up.


And he's one of my closest friends.


And this will not turn into a relationship anyhow.


Fuck.

What do I do?

Racing Against the Clock

I can't stand the thought of going a year without sex. It scares me. A dry year would be...just...awful. I'd feel insecure, unattractive, unhappy. I do like sex. I do want it. So I'm not too happy that I haven't had any in so fucking long.

I last had sex on around about the 18th of April last year. Today's the 8th of February. I have just over two months to go out there and get some before I sink into depression and then proceed to turn up drunk at The Ex's birthday or something.

I'll admit, I like fucking, even if I'm not as big a fan of it as some other people I know. That might have a great deal to do with my inability to orgasm except under very specific circumstances (count so far: one orgasm over at least fifty-odd fucks). But then again, after much thought, I've come to the conclusion that though The Ex was really awesome and considerate in bed, we were still very young and inexperienced. He was my first, and I was his, so that makes it a given that it couldn't have been the best sex ever (though I didn't have anything to compare it with, really). I really enjoyed sex with him, and have, as a result of the generally good experiences I had with him, developed a healthy appreciation and appetite for sex. But I can't say that I always loved the sex. Not coming kinda does that to you. And when he stopped coming, the fucking suddenly didn't seem all that enjoyable - what's the point of exerting yourself so much if neither of you are getting anywhere? Sure, I like (no, wait; I love) the joyous sensation of being filled up oh-so-slowly; that glorious friction; that irresistible feeling of smoothness sliding into you. Sure. But the next step, the next level -  it just wasn't there after a while. I don't remember climbing that mountain with him more than that one time. (I'm happy to report that he went over it many, many times with me. Lost count of how many times. Heh.) I just think the passion went out of the sex after a while, and then we were just fucking each other for the heck of it. Because it felt good. Or something. 

But back to thoughts for the future. I believe that there's better (waaay better) sex waiting out there for me. And I want to go out there and get it. And I really want to go out there and get it before I hit that ominous one-year mark. I'll just go kill myself or drink myself into stupefaction if I have a dry year to deal with. Also, then, I'll get super-desperate, and try to fuck anyone and anything just to get rid of the stigma. Good decision-making is sure to go down the drain at that point, and I'm not particularly inclined to be in that position. Especially because then I'll become that desperate drunk whore. Nu-uh. That is not going to be me. I'm gonna go out there and get laid with class. Heh.

I'm racing against the clock here now. I really hope this month in Delhi will get me where I want to go. Fingers well and truly crossed.

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,
@.