All of My love

To murmur, softly dropping I don't knows onto the pillow,
To be silenced by a kiss, gentle but firm,
To be held and touched and distracted from yourself,
To surrender and let another decide for once,
Cede control and care and worry -
Just float along, let another direct the winds,
Decide to make them a gale, or a storm, or a gentle breeze


To submit.


To trust.

Sketch: (Unfinished)

She was lying on the bed, watching him, her dark eyes quietly contemplative. He sat in the chair across from her, drink in hand, the near-darkness of the room setting his teeth on edge. He could see a shadowy smile flit across her face for an instant before she stretched lazily, her muscles flexing beneath her skin. He watched her movements, languid and smooth, savouring the tension that floated in the air like the ghost of cigarette smoke. He was close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body, far enough to have to stretch for his hand to reach it.

Her eyes closed as she lay back onto the bed, ignoring him, her breathing soon becoming shallow as she slipped out of consciousness. He watched her still, swirling the last few fast-melting ice-cubes around in his glass while deciding what to do. Finally, he put the glass down, stood up in one graceful movement, and took the two steps to the bed in silence. He paused by the bed, looking down on her, at her slightly mussed hair as it lay across her face, at the relaxed pose of her arms by her sides, at the length and curve of her hip as it jutted out at an angle, at the plane of her calf muscle, at the tautness of the skin of her feet. One hand bent to take hold of a lock of her hair – unusually thick tonight – and he rubbed it between his fingers, taking in its texture. He knelt by her side, lowered his head, and inhaled deeply to have his first taste of her scent – a heady mix of the perfume she wore, the moist undertones of sweat as it beaded on her forehead, the clean, fresh smell of her hair, and the natural smoky aroma of her body.

She stirred just then, eyes opening to meet his, limpid pools of darkness meeting his feral stare. In an instant, she was wide awake, aware all at once of his fingers tangled in her hair, the trace of whiskey on his breath, the intensity of his gaze, the tension in his body as he leaned over her, the raggedness of his breathing.

His first kiss was hungry, his second, almost demure. Somewhere between the two, he slid onto the bed to prop himself above her, still gazing deep into her eyes. She responded with unexpected passion, meeting his actions with equal, opposing ones of her own. They traded kisses, caresses, and urgent whispers as if mirroring each other, as mind-readers would. Sometimes hurried, sometimes slow, their entanglement soon led to clothes being discarded, letting flesh meet flesh.

Reunion

I can't wait to see you again. 

We will kiss. It will go either of two ways - soft and tender, or hard and urgent. I daydream about both. I daydream about all the things I want to do to you - and all the things I want you to do to me.

Oh, to have you push me up against the nearest wall, your need obvious, to be able to taste your lust on your breath. To steal hurried kisses as I let my hands roam over your body, remembering anew its hardness, its tightness, its beauty. To feel your uneven, heavy breathing on my face between our kisses. To delve deep into the hollow of your neck; to make you groan into my ear as my mouth and tongue work on your skin, tickling, tantalising, sucking. To bring my leg up between yours, to feel your hardness against my thigh, to reach down to stroke it through your jeans. To feel your hot breath on my ear, to gasp as your tongue snakes in to lick it, warm and wet and wonderful. To squirm as you nibble at my earlobe. To watch you as you draw back slightly, looking straight into my eyes as your hand cups my breast, dragging your fingertip along its curve, flicking at my nipple, making me gasp. I love the way that makes me feel - that boldness in the way you treat my body, your eyes holding mine as you feel me up so unapologetically causes a rush of blood to my head and a rush of wetness to my pussy. To feel your warm hand reach under my shirt to caress my stomach and back. To arch my back at your touch. To feel the goosebumps as your fingers trail down my sides and hook into my jeans, tugging at them, testing their give. To feel your lips at my neck even as your hands unbutton and unzip my jeans, tugging them low enough to give you easy access to my pussy. To throw my head back and gasp as you massage my clit through my panties, to hear your low growl as you discover how wet I already am. To delight in your impatience as you push my panties aside so you can slide your fingers along the wet lips of my cunt, to moan as you tease me by doing just that and no more. To tremble against your other arm, half-resting against the wall, as I hook my leg around yours, as you send sparks shooting through me with your fingers. To buck against you, wanting more, only to have you pin me to the wall, forcing me to keep still while you tease me more. To moan, to curse, to beg for you to fuck me with your fingers. To cry out, “fuck yes,” when you finally do. To kiss you long and hard while your fingers pump into me, the feeling of having this done to me while nearly completely clothed, pushed up against a wall, at your mercy, turning me on even more. To move in time with your hand, thrusting back to meet it, fucking myself on it, gasping as your palm hits my clit each time. To lose my composure and give myself over to the feeling of being fucked by your fingers, of having something fill the ache inside. To sigh as you withdraw your fingers, to whine a little to have them back, my cunt feeling empty, needing to be filled. To moan as you force those same fingers into my mouth, making me lick and suck them clean. To feel your fingers entwined in my hair, pulling my face to yours as we kiss hungrily. To move down your body as you guide my head lower, forcing me to my knees. To hurriedly undo your belt and unzip your jeans, pulling them down (and with them your boxers). To take your beautiful, warm, hard cock in my hands and gently kiss the head, my lips slowly engulfing it, making you moan. To feel your hand tighten in my hair, urging me to take more of you in my mouth. To run my tongue up and down your cock, moving down to suck on your balls one by one (and then both together), before heading back up to pump your cock in and out of my warm, wet mouth. To hum around your cock, letting you enjoy the sensation. To let your hand at the back of my head set the pace; to let you use my mouth the way you want to; to let you fuck my face hard. To feel you fuck my mouth deep and hard, stifling my gag reflex so that you can feel the back of my throat on every thrust. To dig my nails into your butt so I have something to hold onto as you pump into me. To make my mouth clench around your cock the same way you love my pussy to, making you breathe harder and faster. To look up at you while I suck on your cock, my moans letting you know just how much I’m enjoying this. To keep sucking even as you gasp and come in my mouth, your fingers clenching in my hair painfully. To let you fill my mouth with your come, keep still as you spasm, not wanting to miss a drop. To feel you withdraw, while I lick my lips and swallow, a  sly grin on my face as I remember the look on yours the first time I did that. To gradually get to my feet, my hands caressing your arms, stomach, back, sides; moving in to plant soft kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your neck. To help you out of your remaining clothes, and to let you undress me, bit by bit, taking time in between to kiss you deeply, strong and hard, our tongues playing with each other, breathing you in and exhaling into you. To take you by the hand and lead you to the bed, lying down and beckoning for you to join me. To take your hands, all the while looking you in the eye, and to place them, one on my breast, one at my pussy, telling you in this way what I want from you. To let you discover how much wetter I am now as your fingers slip into me easily. To kiss you, to moan into your mouth, my hand at your neck, as your fingers toy with me, pinching my nipples, rubbing at my clit, fanning the flames that are growing within me. To bend my mouth to your nipples, sucking on them, nibbling at them till you push me away. To push your head down to my neck, to gasp as you nip at it and suck on the sensitive skin there, not yet leaving a mark. To push you further down, urging your mouth to my breast, murmuring to you that I want you to suck on my nipple, hard. To cry out as you do, to move against you as you engulf my breast in your mouth, all wetness and heat. To smile in delight as you release my nipple and move further down my body, only to squeal and giggle as you tickle my hip bones with your mouth, nibbling and licking and sucking, teasing me with a grin on your face. To beg you to stop, to try to wriggle out of the way, only to have you hold me down and continue the torment. To stop struggling and hold very still as your mouth moves oh-so-slowly towards the slick folds of my pussy, sighing as I feel your warm breath on them. To close my eyes and moan as your tongue slowly licks up and down my pussy lips, sending shivers of delight down my spine. To thread my fingers through your hair, pushing your mouth against me, even as I lift my legs to rest over your arms, knees bent. To throw my head back, little cries coming from my mouth, as your tongue slips into me, fucking me in quick flicks before your lips move up to capture my clit, exerting a wonderful pressure on it that drives me insane. To cry out in surprise when your hands reach up to play with my tits while you continue to eat me out. To let you know how good that feels, my words coming in bursts between my gasps, my hands moving to clench the sheets as I writhe underneath you. To cry out in frustration as you tease me with your mouth, slowing the pace down when all I want you to do is go faster. To watch you ignore my pleas, languidly licking up towards my clit in hard, measured strokes, making me desperate for more. To curse you when you stop, the weight of your torso against my legs making it impossible for me to move any closer to you, to get any sort of stimulation. To gasp when, suddenly, you tell me to shut up. To watch you for signs of what to do next, my submissive streak coming to the fore, waiting for you to take control. To keep still as you move up my body, your nails raking my sides, making me gasp, your eyes on mine. To watch as you pick up a cloth from the bedside table and fold it so that it can be tied around my head. To let you blindfold me, biting my lip to keep from trembling. To answer your questions as you wave your hand in front of my face, testing how well the blindfold works. To wonder what you’re going to do to me next, the possibilities making me even wetter. To feel that wonderful sense of vulnerability, of helplessness, as you tie my hands together above my head and fasten them to something near the bed. To try to control my breathing as you pull me further down the bed, stretching my arms out above me, making it difficult for me to move. To gasp as you shove two fingers inside me, curling them up to find my G-spot and massage it. To exhale as you suddenly withdraw them and trail them across my breasts, leaving a sticky path of wetness wherever your fingers go. To cry out as you bite down on the skin beneath my collarbone, hard enough and long enough to bruise, my breathing out of control by now. To kiss back hungrily when your lips meet mine, your hands roaming freely all over my body as you please, touching, caressing, scratching what is yours. To bite down on your lower lip, only to scream into your mouth as you drive into me with your cock, my wetness coating your sheathed length, allowing you to fuck me with long, hard strokes, pushing me into the bed, your mouth covering mine, your breath out becoming my breath in. To feel your hand on my neck restricting my breathing, your voice in my ear telling me that you’re going to fuck me like I deserve to be fucked, the raw edge in your voice setting my soul on fire. To move against you as best I can, prompting you to undo the ties binding my hands above my head, leaving them tied still, so that I can put my arms around your neck and wrap my legs around you, allowing you to penetrate deeper still. To beg you to fuck me harder and faster, to feel you pounding into me, filling every inch of me up, even as you claim my cunt, my tits, my ass, my mouth as yours, your voice filling my ears, a buzzing starting in my head. To feel you rip the blindfold off so that we can watch each other as we fuck. To have you free my arms and tell me to get on top and ride you. To switch positions with you still inside me, the glorious feeling of fullness making me never want to stop doing this. To change the pace of our fucking, grinding against your pubic bone while you play with my clit, my pussy clenching around your cock, causing you to spasm inside me. To ride you, slowly at first, then faster, rising up and slamming down harder and faster, my tits bouncing in tandem. To feel your hands grip my hips as you start to fuck back, the wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room, the smell of sex having already pervaded it. To throw my head back and let go completely, fucking you, letting you fuck me, focusing on the feelings in my cunt, the wonderful feeling of friction that is building to an explosion inside me. To make you rub on my clit harder, faster, yes, faster still, until, wailing, I reach the point of no return, when the stars explode behind my eyes, our frenzied fucking drawing my orgasm out even further, making time stretch out to infinity in that glorious moment. To slowly come back down to earth, my pussy still spasming around your cock, the aftershocks of my orgasm still running through me, as yours begins, your cries soft and uncontrolled, your hands gripping my hips as you pulse inside me. To hold still, catching my breath, as you slow down, then stop, moving slightly so that you can slowly withdraw and take the rubber off, your breathing still heavy. To slowly, lazily, move so that we are lying together, face to face. To kiss you, slow and deep, as you put your arm around me and draw me close to you, our sweat now cooling, so that we can fall asleep this way.

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?

Farewell, dry spell.

The events of the last twenty-four hours have been insane; almost too much to come to terms with. That dry spell I was worried about? Well, it's been broken. And how!

I've known for a while now that I'm bi-curious. The Ex almost had me convinced that I was bisexual (and that that was a bad thing) way back when, the time I licked my best friend's fingers and enjoyed it. Guys have this tendency to get really insecure about bisexual women - and I'm not surprised. The irony is that the girl I spent last night with had recently been broken up with because (amongst other things) the boyfriend couldn't deal with her bisexuality. Today's his birthday, incidentally, so we had to go watch him cutting a cake at midnight. She and I were crazy drunk from the party earlier.

She propositioned; I confessed indecision; she pressed; I remained undecided; she initiated it with a kiss; I didn't resist.

She was really, really fucking good at what she did, making me beg, whine and moan to be touched some more every time she stopped. I'd like to believe that I didn't do so badly myself, but the darkness coupled with my slight hesitation didn't allow me to be as daring as I would have liked to be. But she seemed to like whatever it was that I did manage to do. And I think I surprised her (pleasantly) by bringing out the ropes and toys and lube and using them as I did. It'd been so long since I had indulged in play that it felt really good to go through the motions, make the whispers, elicit moans, punish and bestow as I pleased.

It was fun. It was sexy. It was erotic. It was drunken. It was my first time with another girl. It was great. Fucking. (ha.) Great.

And to remind myself of it, I have a deep, dark red bruise on my neck where she marked me with her mouth.

Sketch: Food Play

Hands tied behind back, made to kneel, mouth open.

Cold, sweet mango juice slowly poured into mouth; told to hold it there till required, to keep the mouth open, no swallowing, no gagging. 

Touch plays down body, focuses on the sides, shoulders, neck, ears and arms. Slowly, like a flame being fanned, skin begins to radiate heat as arousal grows. 

Soft kisses brush the underside of jaw, trail down throat; slow licks lazily travel across trembling membranes of skin. 

Tongue slowly snakes into mouth; flicks at juice - just a taste. 

Lips clamp onto lips, and the juice is sucked out in a rush, tongue finding tongue, warmth replacing cold sweetness. Juice is passed back and forth, dripping from the corners of lips, down to the chin, along the jaw. It is licked at, tongue swirling, making patterns across skin, leaving a faint stickiness. 

When all the juice has been tasted, shared, swallowed, cold-warm mouth moves down and engulfs a breast, sucking on the nipple and massaging the flesh. Wet sucking fills the air. Cold-warm mouth moves to other breast, repeats.

Soft gasps. 

Hand reaches up and covers mouth, thumb reaching inside and hooking into warm, wet insides of cheek, grazing gums 'tween teeth and lips. 

Shivers.

Moans around thumb; eyes roll into back of head, eyelids flutter closed with a sigh. 

Surrender. 

Goosebumps travel across flesh in waves, are massaged away by hands, mouth, hair. Touch brushes collarbone lightly, a buzzing starts in the head. Stickiness is sought out by tongue, devoured by mouth, replaced with bruises. 

Sudden heat as molten chocolate is poured over collarbone, breasts, shoulders. Back arches, legs spread wider. The heat burns, trickling, then flowing down between breasts, over navel, tangling with pubic hair, stopping just short of outer lips.

Slow, languid licks spread, then wipe molten brown from collarbone, shoulders, navel. Breasts are toyed with, topped with cool whipped cream, savoured. Time draws into a thin, fine line stretching to infinity. 

Soft sighs.

Without warning, pushed onto back, hands still tied underneath, stickiness all over now. Legs spread wide, lips in and out on display.

Involuntary shiver.

Wait.

Breath.

Silence.

Raw, animalistic gasp of disbelief as molten chocolate is poured onto the lips, the clit, burning its way through throbbing heat and strands of wetness, fine pale lines in a stream of dark brown. Uncontrollable shaking as tongue laps at lips and clit, drinking the chocolate in. Heat meets warmth meets wetness meets lust meets orgasm.

Screams. 

Tears leak from eyelids; shaking stops, breathing regains pace. 

Tongue gently laps at fluids, licking, cleaning. 

Mouth moves up body, dealing with stray droplets of chocolate, juice, sweat. 

Hands reach around to untie wrists. 

Lips move to lips, share a kiss.

Eyes meet.

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.

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.