Testing... testing..., 1. 2. 3?
Passed my second test the night of the wedding.
The maid of honor is someone I spent some time with prior to becoming exclusive with Jennifer.
Spent some time isn't really all that clever of a euphamism.
In the parlance of the East, we fucked.
It was fun, but nothing particularly noteworthy.
Sandra hoped I would be at the wedding.
I had already promised that I would, so hope wasn't all that necessary.
She was in town a couple days early, but all that time was filled.
She's not leaving until tomorrow, but I think I'm pretty much in the clear.
The night of the wedding we caught up on new developments.
I'm finished with school for a bit. She starts a Ph.D. program in the South.
She knew that things had gotten more serious with Jennifer, and asked about all of that.
Didn't feel like she was trying to find out if we'd be having sex later.
But then she did insist that I head out on the town with the wedding party after the reception wound down.
And then she started ditching the rest of the wedding party.
And then the girl who was driving us around.
So, it's 1:00 a.m., and just us.
In a bar, listening to a guy with a guitar, and a great Tom Waits voice and attitude.
We walked into the place during "fuckin' and fightin'."
A couple drinks later, the place closes.
"What now?"
"We can head to MaxiMes, I'm sure he's got cocktails, Sandra. Oh, and if he's fucking someone in the living room, we can ask if we can help, but if the girl says no, we'll have to head for a bedroom and chill."
What can I say? There's a reason I call him MaxiMe. Besides that he's taller, and although he's 8 years younger, already wiser than I am now.
The other advantage is, we can walk there, and from there, if we have to, I can walk you the 8 or 10 blocks back to where Sandra is staying. Which she nows.
No fucking in the living room.
MaxiMe goes back to bed, we drink his booze and chat some more.
It's 3:00 a.m.
I say, "You're welcome to stay here. I'm pretty sure if unless I say it's o.k., you're not going to have your way with me."
"If I can't have my way with you, then I'm going."
"I'll dig around and find MaxiMe's keys."
And that's what happened.
I'm feelin' pretty good about myself right about now.
But in the name of Sweet Dick Willie, I WOULD like some fuckin'!
Fear of CRASHING
I've left a message or two for Suzanne.
I'm sure cooler heads prevailed. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll try to call her again here in a little bit, but imagine that I'll be mailing her camera to the address on her business card.
I hope she's o.k. - seems the cards in her hand right now are pretty shitty.
But we've all got to play the hand we're dealt, don't we?
Several of my usual suspects and I were whiling away the afternoon with $0.99 margaritas in a local watering hole when Linda finally made it.
She looked terrific. For the life of me, I could not remember what silly moral code I'd made up for myself that would prevent me from leaving there with her, and spending the next two days making up for two years of wanting her.
That's a lot of sexual tension.
At the table we tried to remember all the cabinet positions, and to decide if there was anyone at the table we would have on our cabinet should any of us become President. I believe I got a vote for Secretary of State, and perhaps one for Commerce.
What can I say, it's a brutally honest table.
The subtext between Linda and I had not vanished, or diminished.
But it became much more explicit. Much more text, than subtext.
And I remembered something.
If there is anything I hate more than waste, it's fucking hypocrisy.
I had to stop being friends with a person I've known for 30 years, because his behavior towards women is unconscionable. I don't care that he fucks everyone he can.
I can't stand that he lies about it.
And other things, but mostly it's the lying to his wife/girlfriend/evening's entertainment.
And while I'm not currently having the kind or quantity of sex I'd like in my own relationship, I can't just start fucking everyone who might want to, without being the worst kind of hypocrite.
But the waste!
How can I say no to a woman I've been thinking of fucking for more than two years?
Actually, that's possibly a gross exaggeration. I do not recall Linda offering.
But I was worried that she wouldn't, and as worried that she would.
And much more worried that I would suggest it.
So I did the honorable thing: I drank myself into a coma.
I was slyly satisfied when I realized as we started to make the switch from one bar to another that I was way, WAY "too drunk to fuck."
I was much less satisfied with myself when, hours later in my drunken stupor I smashed my head, for the second time, into the soap dish in my friends shower.
My family has imparted to me a sense that when one is expecting a hangover, dramatic action is required.
For me, that means water, and lots of it.
Drinking it is good.
But not as good as drinking it while resting on the shower floor.
I don't have any evidence that it helps with the hangover.
It does lead to unremembered bruises.
But I'm a great believer in tradition, so in the shower I went.
But I'm a little too tall.
And sitting in the same position on the shower floor is exhausting when one is suffering from alcoholic deafness.
So I moved around.
And bashed my head into the soap dish.
Twice.
"Stupid soap dish."
The worst part was realizing that I could very well be bleeding, and need stitches, but not caring.
Well, that was the worst part before the hangover wore off.
Is it o.k. for men to look "heroin chic?"
I was planning on wearing eyeliner to the wedding tonight anyway, but this might be too much.
Nevertheless, I survived the evening.
Even after spending much of the week before justifying sending Colton into the wild.
The best one I came up with, was that I SHOULD sleep with someone else, just to try to remember if sex, of the kind and quantity I believe I want, is worth giving up what I'll have to give up, apparently, to get it.
I can consider it an exercise in cost accounting.
It would sure help me make a more informed decision.
And I'm not sure I can't eventually accept that rationale.
But by the time I remembered that justification, I had already had a few drinks.
And coming from a long and fairly distinguished line of alcoholics like I do, I know better than to make big decisions while on a bender.
So I didn't.
And didn't find out if I could have.
I also didn't have a big boy conversation about it, and hid behind booze.
I want to be the person who can have the conversation.
I was congratulated for choosing liquour.
I suppose it's a start.
As part of my effort to seduce Linda, I led her to this blog.
I wonder if she'll comment.
I know my recollections are all pretty fuzzy.
So, darlin', if you're out there, say "Hi!" and set the record straight.
The rest of you?
Please get back to your regularly scheduled sex.
Fear of flying
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
How’s this for getting a punch in the face from your ol’ pal, Perspective?
I get on my flight, bound for Texas.
I’m flying First Class, because I just couldn’t be bothered to book an earlier flight, and by the time I get around to it, First Class is all that’s left.
I’m hanging around the airport, because my flight has been delayed due to “weather.”
Isn’t there “weather” every-fucking-where?
Thunderstorms.
So I wait.
And notice a beautiful girl.
By herself.
And I wonder, “What’s her story?”
I board the plane.
She’s in line ahead of me.
We’re in the same row.
I have the window, she has the aisle.
I’m planning to watch “Layer Cake” again.
She’s sniffling like a cokehead.
I’m annoyed.
She’s crying.
And looking at the pictures on her camera.
The camera that is now in my pocket.
Be patient, please. We’ll get to that.
I, being me, ask “Sweetie, are you o.k.?”
“No.”
“If I can help, I hope you’ll let me.”
Pause.
“What’s wrong?”
“I lost my fiancée.”
Now, she’s really crying.
I don’t know if she means he left her, or she left him, or if, maybe, he’s just, y’know, “lost.”
Like car keys.
“What’s your name?”
“Suzanne.”
“What’s your middle name, Suzanne?”
“Jennifer.”
“Of course it is.”
My history with ‘the Jennifers’ has yet to be recorded. For now, let’s just say, I’m not surprised she’s a Jennifer.
She doesn’t know, but suspects the worst. That her fiancée, the man she’s loved for two years, the love of her life, is dead.
So I distract her.
LOTS of questions.
When I say lots, I mean it the same way I mean I spanked Amanda, ‘hard.’
My connecting flight is almost over.
The one I’m writing this while I’m riding on.
I don’t want to have to pick up later.
Jennifer is tragic and beautiful, and I’ve invited her to spend the weekend with me – if she needs to get away. My people in Texas are outstanding in this regard. All are welcome. It makes for a pretty big tent, but then, it's a big state.
And she gave me her camera.
Just to insure we stayed in touch.
So…
What now?
Anticipation...
...is the devil
Much earlier, I wrote about Linda.
I was introduced to her, in her element. A week long music industry festival deep in the heart of Texas.
We had a barely contained electricity. She's smart. And even if she weren't, would still be sexy.
We got drunk. And kept flirting.
I was involved.
So nothing happened.
A year or so later, we were at a mutual friend's birthday party. We took a walk. And agreed not to kiss.
Then we did.
I liked it.
I'm headed back to Texas today.
She's moving to North Carolina soon.
Odds are pretty long that I won't see her again, at best, for a very long time.
I know I'll see her this weekend.
Will Colton "take a walk?"
Jefferson is, again, preturnaturally correct. Colton has been wanting to go walkabout.
I want to let him.
I'd also like to know what that will cost.
And I don't think I'll know that until afterwards.
I honestly don't know what will happen.
But I'm looking forward to finding out.
Finis.
I go back to the foot of the bed. Her feet are on the edge of the bed, still tied. The ropes are still attached her arms stretched out in a "Y" over her head.
I grab her ankles and push them together and toward her chest. Her knees are together, and her thighs are touching her breasts. The ropes tied to Amanda's ankles are much tighter in this position.
I slap her ass.
Hard.
She groans.
I do it again, and the two smallest fingers of my right hand hit her pussy when I do so.
She sucks in her breath, and lets out a low MmmmMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhhhh.
I push her feet up harder.
I shove my cock into her pussy.
Her eyes go wide.
I'm all the way in.
I'm radiant.
My skin feels hot. Burning hot.
But it doesn't hurt at all. It just feels hot.
I fuck Amanda.
Hard.
I can almost feel my balls bruising from slapping against her ass.
Her head is to the side, eyes closed.
I can't imagine closing my eyes. I don't want to miss any of this.
She cums.
I'm going to.
No, I'm not.
I stop.
I withdraw.
I slap her ass again.
Barely.
She wants it hard.
She can't have it.
I untie her.
I take off the condom.
I grab the back of her head.
I shove my cock in her mouth.
She can taste herself now.
I stop fucking her mouth.
I stand her on the same side of the bed she was before.
I bend her over.
I slap her ass again, lightly.
"Amanda, can you see us in the mirror?"
"Yes, sir."
"How do we look?"
"Beautiful."
I push her head toward the bed.
She's leaning forward on her arms.
"Stick your ass up higher."
She does.
I shove three fingers into her.
I pull them out.
I slap her ass.
Hard.
I shove the fingers back into her.
I take them out.
I replace them with my mouth.
My cock is still hard.
After all this, I'm still close to cumming.
I lick her.
I lick her while I'm using my fingers.
I slide my tongue up to her ass.
My fingers work in and out of her.
She's rocking back and forth on my hands.
I'm alternating the three biggest fingers on my left with the three biggest on my right as I lick her little pink asshole.
She's getting louder.
I stop.
I slap her ass hard.
Twice.
I go back to licking her.
I stop using my fingers. I'm just licking. And running my hands lightly over her ass, and down her legs, barely touching her.
I can hear her breathing.
I can hear me breathing.
I'm less hard than I was. Again, I've gone from being so hard the skin on the head of my cock is shiny, back to just the regular engorged cock that I'm used to seeing.
I slip the first two fingers on my right hand into Amanda's pussy.
With my thumb I rub her clit.
Hard.
I rub my fingers back and forth. In with the fingers, out with my thumb, over her clit.
Faster.
She cums.
I don't wait. I climb onto the bed. I lie down. The pillow is under my ass now. I grab the back of Amanda's head.
She's panting as I force it down onto my cock. I hold her down on my cock.
I know she can't breathe.
I'm still holding her by the hair.
I pull her head up to mine, so her hear is right next to my mouth.
I whisper: "Amanda?"
"Yes, sir?" She pants.
As she turns to look at me, I let go of her hair.
She smiles.
"Lick my balls."
She does. Then, without being told, she starts licking my cock.
I think, "I should punish her for that."
I don't.
I grab her hair again, and fuck her face.
I stop.
"Get on your hands and knees, facing the mirror."
She does, as I reach for, unwrap, and put on a condom.
"Can you see me behind you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you want me to hit you again, or would you like me to fuck you now?"
"Please hit me first."
I do.
Hard.
13 times.
Because I knew I would remember it if I hit her thirteen times.
I don't think I'm hitting her as hard as I was. My arm is fucking tired.
The room is still dim.
I'm running out of steam.
I spread her ass cheeks with my hands, and use my fingers to guide my cock back into her pussy. She's still soaked.
I'm still hard.
I start to fuck her again.
She starts to reach for her pussy.
"Amanda."
She's fingering her clit.
"If you want to play with your pussy while I fuck you, you have to ask me."
I don't stop fucking.
"Can I play with my pussy?"
"Sir."
"After you stroke my balls."
She does.
I fuck her faster.
"Rub your clit."
She does.
I'm gettting close again.
Very close.
Faster.
She's getting close.
"Amanda?"
"Are you going to cum again."
"I'm close."
"Can you see us?"
"Yes."
I lean forward, and replace her hand with mine.
She starts to buck.
I pull out of her cunt.
I step around the side of the bed. As I do so, I tear the condom off of my cock.
I try to position myself so she can see hershelf with it in her mouth in the mirror.
"I'm going to cum, and you're going to swallow it."
She nods. Sort of.
I cum.
She swallows it.
I can barely fucking stand. I'm hanging onto the TV for balance.
She's smiling.
I kiss her on the forehead.
I'm panting.
I lie down beside her.
I think I'm dying.
My heart is racing. I silently vow to start doing more cardio.
Amanda asks if she can go to the bathroom.
"Yes."
She's only been here and hour and a half.
She returns.
We lie in bed together, talking.
What did you like? Were you surprised? Anything you didn't like? Were you ever close to using your safe word?
My arm is under her neck.
She's on the left side of me. She looks terrific in the dim light.
Sometimes, when she's thinking, she bites her lower lip.
I'm tracing lazy circles with my right hand, over her magnificent body. From her neck to her knees. Over her nipples.
All the while, talking low.
Not much more than a whisper.
I kiss her She doesn't have to leave for an hour.
In that hour, we make love, slowly. Tenderly.
I kiss and lick my hand prints from her ass and legs.
I'm very gentle with both my hands and my tongue.
I hold her face as I kiss her.
She takes turns sucking on each of my fingers while I lick her to an orgasm.
I return the favor as she goes down on me.
When my erection returns, I roll her over. She spreads her legs as we kiss.
I climb over her leg. After I'm between them, she raises her knees.
As I enter her, she hooks them inside the backs of my knees.
I'm slow.
And still very gentle.
And close.
So close.
I can't help thinking how beautiful she looks.
I kiss her whole face. And her neck.
I'm breathing hard again, even though I'm going slow. So slow.
"Are you close?"
"No." She smiles.
I wanted to cum together, but I can't wait. We don't have much time left.
I cum.
We lie together, giggling.
She has to leave.
I do, too. I have to drive back to Atlanta.
I have to sit in a class all day.
I have to fly back to New England.
And my "real" life.
Bleeding...
The pieces of me that I've cut out and put on display here have gone, until recently, un-missed from the life I still mostly think of as "real."
But I think the jig is up. Well, not up. But I've been thinking a lot over the past few days. I think a lot anyway, but seem to do so at a speed that allows me the luxury of it not interrupting my normal routine. I can discuss things with people, work, write, read, eat, breathe, screw, walk the dogs, all of it without interruption from my internal monologue. No brow furrowing, or awkward pauses in coversation while I'm internally absorbed in wondering how my friend is doing with her pregnancy, or what I would do if I won the lottery, or if Russia will emerge from the current detritus that is their economy to again be an important figure on the world stage.
Most of the time.
But more than twice yesterday, I think, and once for sure the day before, Jennifer asked me if I was o.k.. It's true, I was tired, and probably looked it. But that's not terrifically unusual. I'm not much of a sleeper. I like waking up feeling refreshed - but I'm one of those people who always feels like I'm missing something while I sleep. It's why I stayed out of New York City until 5 years ago. There's too much there that I'm interested in, and it NEVER FUCKING CLOSES. I know myself well enough to know that I would just stop sleeping.
And I'm pretty sure that can't be good on a long-term basis.
But it's not that. And while I'm sure we could both agree that Jennifer doesn't know me well, and that I'm fairly difficult to know, in general, our relationship has allowed her a decent feel for knowing when something is up.
It is.
I'm wondering what I'm doing.
I like being "Colton."
It's a part of me. One part of me.
I think what I'm trying to sort out is, how much of a part. And how important that part is.
Will it always be a part of me, or is it just a phase?
I don't think it's a phase.
I don't want to give it up.
I want "Colton" to be an "out" part of me.
I can't stop what I still think of, mostly, as my "real" life from bleeding into "Colton's" writing. To date, though, I have not let any of "his" blood seep through into "my" life.
But I can see it coming.
And I already know that a small part of me that gets bigger by the day doesn't really care.
Because I won't ever apologize for who I am.
Enough, almost...
She looked up as I took the few steps toward the bed. I wondered if I looked scared. I was. I didn't expect to like this so much. I didn't expect to feel myself lose control like I started to feel myself doing. I can count the number of times I've felt myself slipping away like I was before I excused myself to the bathroom on one hand. And I don't need my thumb to do it.
The time before this one, I was sparring with my martial arts teacher. It was one of the regular Sunday sessions, which meant everyone would be sparring. As the most advanced student in attendance, I got to fight with him. I'm almost a head taller, but he probably has 50 pounds on me at this time, all muscle. We start. I try to keep him away with long kicks, and straight left hand. He of course, is used to this, since he gives up reach to almost everyone he trains with. He cuts under my left hand, and knees me on the side of my left leg. It hurts. I back up, and cover.
I go back to keeping my distance. I can't seem to land anything substantial. He keeps coming in, no longer kicking, but punching me in the face. We're using the big gloves, and it doesn't hurt a lot, but I can't get into a rhythym, and it does hurt a little. Another knee, on the other leg. Great, now they both fucking hurt.
Round over. I try to breathe, and not look as tired as I feel. Three minutes is a long time when someone is trying to knock your fucking head off. The shitty thing is, I know he's not trying. He's playing with me, and I know it, and appreciate that he's doing it, but at the same time, it really, REALLY pisses me off. I vow to do better, and get back in the circle.
I start off pretty well. I'm keeping him away, even if I'm not hurting him, trying to set him up for a roundhouse kick that will clear his arms out of my way so I can finally hit him hard enough in the head that he knows I'm there. A few more jabs, I pull off the kick, and as I step in to turn my hips over and swing with a heavy right hand, he cuts under me and hits right below my solar plexus. He follows this with a hard left to my head, and all I can do is cover up. My ears are ringing, and I can't fucking breathe in this fucking mask. I can barely see I forget to cover up, and lunge forward. All I can think is, I'm gonna grab his fucking head and
Then I stop. I don't want to hurt Larry. He's my friend. And I probably can't hurt him anyway. I back up. Take off the mask. He asks if I'm o.k.. The rest of the class doesn't know what just happened. I lean into my teacher and say, "I was slipping away, all I could think was that I wanted to hurt you, to make you stop embarrassing me. I was forgetting myself. I have to stop now. I'll be o.k., I just need a few minutes to get my head back together."
"It's o.k.," he says, "In fact, it's perfect. Don't sit down yet."
Then he tells the class that while sparring, I did exactly the right thing. We're here to learn. It's even more important though, in a real setting. Especially for the girls (Writers note: Sorry, I forgot to mention that the formal classes the Sunday sparring sessions drew from were 3/4 women only it's what you tend to see in a class titled "self defense for women." The mix at the gym on that Sunday was about half and half, as I recall).
He continued, "It will be very likely that if you're attacked, your attacker will be stronger. It is unlikely they will be smarter. If you can remember to think, as dispassionately as possible about what is happening, and what you can do about it, you give yourself the best chance you can."
And he's right, and I know all of this. But I know I don't like how it felt.
And that's how I felt when I excused myself from the bed. But apparently, I look fine. Amanda smiles and asks me if I'm o.k.
"Yes. I am. Are you?"
"Yes."
"Did you find your favorite picture?"
"Yes." She shows me.
"Good choice," I say. "Amanda, find the 'letters' section, please, and read me the first story you come across."
She looks a little puzzled, but finds it, and starts reading. It's too short. No details. Nothing particularly arousing. But she's a good reader. She's lying mostly on her side, propped up on one elbow. I'm on the side the magazine isn't, running my fingers along the ribs, down over her hips, along to her knee, into the back of her knee, and back up to her shoulder.
"Amanda, please lean back, and rest the magazine on your stomach, and read another."
She does. As she starts to read, I slide down to her waist. My knees are hanging off the bottom edge of the bed, and I've got one foot on either side of the mirror. I move between her legs. We're still a bit off center on the side of the bed. I reach down and grab the closest of the ropes I'd already hidden, keeping it in my hand. I slide to the other side of the bed, kissing along the insides of her pale thighs as I do so. As I cross from her left thigh to her right I lick around her pussy. She smells like a woman. I can't see that she's wet, but her lips are protruding more than they were before I dealt out her "punishment," I'm certain of it. I lick lightly on the right side of her lips, careful not to brush against either of them. I do the same to the left side, my right. The rope I've already grabbed is in my left hand.
She's still reading, but more softly. I stop.
"Amanda, don't stop reading - but speak up please."
She does. I lick the right side of her again. I slide my tongue to between her lips. She tastes like the first day of spring warm enough to walk around outside without a coat. Fresh. Clean. Wet. I don't linger. Instead, I make my tongue as small as I can, and run up to the top of her lips, running it over her engorged clit once. Amanda sucks in a quick breath. I can't see her face behind the magazine.
I continue kissing and licking her left thigh as I move to the other side of the bed. I reach over the edge and feel around for the other rope. I've got it. I want to tie her right leg first, because I'll be slower with that hand, and want them both tied before she's sure what's happening. I leave them lying on the bed, in view if she's to look.
The story she's reading is moving closer to it's inevitable conclusion. I slide up beside her, as I was before. She finishes the story. She looks at me.
"What do you say when it's too much, Amanda?"
"Bulldog."
I kiss her. Very softly. "You're beautiful, Amanda."
She smiles, and lowers her eyebrows, and tilts her head a tiny bit to the side. I can't take my eyes off of hers. She wants to ask a question, but I cut her off.
"We talked a little bit the other night, and I got the tiniest sense of who you are, Amanda. I don't have any idea if tonight is it, or if I'll ever see you again, or what will happen with the rest of our lives. You might move to London, or Sri Lanka, or get married, or hit by a bus."
"But I very much hope we stay in touch. If you can't, or don't want to, that's fine, but please say so. I'll give you all the space you want. I just, you're so, well, I don't know what you're going to do, or who you're going to be, but I'm certain it will be AMAZING."
"Do you understand?"
She smiles at me, and nods. "Yes."
"Sir."
I look at the next article. It's about a third of the first column, and fills all of the next two more. That should be enough.
"Read me the next story, then, Amanda." I smile. "Don't stop, or slow down, and read loud enough that I can hear you. You may not look up until the story is finished. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
She starts reading. I take a pillow and put it under her ass. She reads as I do so. I'm still beside her. I roll away from her long enough to find the other rope on what is now our right side of the bed. I roll back to her, keeping the rope hidden with my body. I start to kiss her again. The side of her face. Her neck. I wonder if she could taste herself on my lips. I think it's unlikely, it's not a strong taste at all. At least, not yet.
I kiss her breast, gently. I tongue her nipple, I run my right hand over her body. Her nipples get hard. I can barely feel her with my hand, I'm touching her so lightly. She keeps reading.
I lean over her right let, and my hand is still wandering. Past her pussy, down to her left knee, down to her ankle. Still, I'm kissing and licking my way down her body.
I swirl my tongue around her hip bone. She's full enough, I don't find it too bony - it's just right.
My hand wanders back to her pussy. I spread her lips.
Ever so lightly, I again start to lick. Again, her taste is green fields of wheat in a light breeze, still faint, but more pronounced. She keeps reading.
I broaden and flatten my tongue. I lick from just under the bottom of her pussy back to the top. As I do so, I gather the rope that's on my left side with my left hand, and her right foot with my right hand. I start kissing my way down her right thigh.
I push her right leg to my left. Spreading her wider. She moves her left leg the same way.
I pick her right leg up off the bed, and kiss the back of it. I'm licking the back of her knee.
She's starting to squirm.
"Does that feel good, Amanda?"
"Yes, Colton."
I slap the inside/back of her right thing, hard.
She gasps.
"I said you were not to stop reading, didn't I?"
"Yes."
CRACK! I hit her again, higher up.
"Then keep fucking reading."
She resumes.
I do too, kissing my way down to her ankle, and then lowering her foot.
I set it inside the circle I've made with the rope.
"Don't move unless I move you."
I kiss my way more firmly back to her pussy, spending a full minute kissing and licking the slightly overlapping handprints that are beginning to form on the back/insides of her thigh.
With my left hand now, I put my finger and thumb on either side, near the top of her pussy. Part of the palm of my hand is resting lightly against the neatly trimmed quarter long, two inch wide thatch of pubic hair. I pull my fingers toward her navel, and apart, spreading her pussy and giving me a perfect view of her hood, which is pulled halfway up on her clit. I see poetry. I breathe out as I draw my tongue towards her. It makes contact with her clit and her whole body twitches, but it doesn't feel like she's moved. I draw her clit into my mouth, and suck hard on it.
She's trying to keep reading, and doing a remarkable job. I lick the length of her pussy again, and start kissing and licking down her other leg.
Again, when I get to her ankle I kiss it, and put it where I want it, in the cirle of rope I've made.
I take hold of the rope, just below the knot. I do the same with the other, as I stand up.
I pull them both tight.
Her eyes wide, Amanda drops the magazine.
I smile, never taking my eyes off hers.
I say, "Be careful what you wish for."
"You stopped reading."
"And you moved."
"Turn over."
The ropes aren't tight enough that she can't, but it does require that she cross her ankles. She looks scared, but she rolled toward the side of the bed I started moving to, onto the other rope I'd laid on the bed. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing the foot. I run my hand over her ass.
I turn, so I can lean towards her face. I put left hand beside where her head is lying, and lean close to her ear.
"Do you remember what to say if it's too much?"
"yes."
"Louder please, Amanda."
"Yes."
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"Sir."
"Good."
I lean up, then stand up. I lean onto her. Her ass is tilted slightly towards me, as she's half on and half off of the pillow I'd slid under her ass earlier. I balance myself with my left hand in the small of her back. The coverlet is ridiculous shiny blue and green leaf pattern. The room smells like a foot. I can see her feet and my torso in the mirror. The lights are as bright as they get, but it's still plenty dim.
I shove my hand between her thighs, close to her pussy. I leave my thumb out. I widen the space between her legs, pull my hand back, and offer her my thumb to suck. She does. Her eyes are still wide.
I run my wet thumb along her pink asshole.
I roughly shove two fingers into her pussy.
Again, I withdraw my hand.
I suck my index finger.
I give her my middle finger.
She sucks her taste from my hand.
"Your pussy doesn't seem even a little frightened, Amanda."
"Hit me. Please." she whimpers.
I do.
Hard.
As Madeline would say, "Li'l bit."
It's nowhere near a "l'il bit."
I stop when my arm hurts. It stung the first time. The next dozen, I don't think I felt that much, as the skin on my palm started to go numb. I'm not more than a dozen in, when I realize that my shoulder will be sore tomorrow, and that is probably enough.
Amanda is breathing heavy. Ragged gasps.
I'm not. I'm exultant. It feels like the room is brighter. Like there is light coming out of me.
I roll her back over.
I kiss her lips.
I lean toward her ear and whisper, heavily, "Are you allright?"
"Yes, Colton."
Her eyes are wet.
She spreads her legs.
I tie her wrist.
I walk around the foot of the bed, pick up the other rope.
I stop. I walk back around the bed. I pick up my socks.
I loosen the rope already tied around her right wrist. I wrap my sock around her wrist, and then the rope around that. I do the same to the other wrist.
I straddle her chest.
"Open your mouth."
She does.
"Suck my cock."
She does.
"Now my balls."
She does.
I turn around. I climb over her, putting sitting back on my heels, my knees on either side of Amanda's head.
"Raise your knees, and suck my balls."
I lean forward, so she can, and wrap both of my arms around her legs. Using my fingers on either side of her pussy I spread it wide.
Her juice runs out.
She's got both of my balls in her mouth.
I'm glowing.
I attack her pussy. There is nothing tender, or gentle about how.
My tongue is like a fist.
I've got the two first fingers of each hand pistoning in and out of her.
She comes. "Unfh, uh, uh, unfh oh, ahh, ghannafuckghhehddghhdn, is what it sounds like to me. But then, I can't really hear all that much as she's clenched her thighs against my ears.
I climb off.
She doesn't look scared.
Her chest is heaving. Her whole upper body is flushed. She looks, for lack of a better word, humid.
I'm hard.
And I want to fuck.
I put on a condom, standing near the top of her bed, close to her face as I do so.
She watches. The innocent smile is gone.
But she's smiling, approvingly.
Her knees are still up in the air.
I reach under them, and slide her closer to the bottom of the bed. The pillow is now just under her shoulder blades.
I think, "Her back is in the wet spot. "
I spread her legs wider.
I shove my cock into her sopping cunt.
She grunts.
I don't move. I just look at her.
"What do you want, Amanda?"
There is no trace in her answer of the "noblesse oblige" of which Faulker wrote. It's a command.
"Fuck me ROUGH."
I pull my cock out of her swollen pussy.
I walk to the head of the bed.
I slap her, not very hard.
"YOU, are not in charge. Do not presume to tell me what to do."
"Now, tell me again, what you would like."
Desperate and exasperatedly, Amanda answers, "Fuck me rough, PLEASE?!"
I smile at her, and think to myself, "Oh, I will..."
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
I changed the "background" of my blog.
I recently realized that I looked just like Jefferson, and don't want to encroach upon his "space."
Of course, this is his opportunity to remind me that there aren't any accidents and that it was my subconscience trying to tell me how much I __________________. (please fill in the blank with your comments)
Look! Whoopee! My blog just became significantly more interactive!
That, and I'm too wiped out to write anymore about my first weekend with Amanda. Besides, I'm yearning. Maybe my delaying the end of that story will create a little yearning for YOU. That's not so bad, now is it?
In the meantime...
I will get back to the conclusion of my second night with Amanda, probably over the weekend.
Until then, I'll go ahead and post my remarks to the comments to that entry, because it's just too much for a comment, and because it's my blog and I can. So there!
Maddie: We've never spoken about it, I think, because our conversations are typically about the here and now. Amanda ain't here, now.
Meg: I lived briefly on the East Coast, and have to say, I really got the impression that it wasn't for me. I wish there were a way to say this without sounding like an 8 year old with a crush, but I don't think it can be helped... But since it's you asking, Meg, I promise I'll think about it.
Marcus: Given that you're a professional, what's the going rate? What could I charge to tie you up?
Jefferson: Merci, mon frere! I appreciate the kind words. It just worked out really naturally. I remember reading from your earlier posts that it was at least a bit unexpected to find yourself in a dominant role, as you believe yourself to be so "laid back" with the rest of your life. Madeline has suggested we very much share that much, so I guess we have a similar "domme" switch that gets flipped when the lights get low, too.
In general: I would have done just a couple things differently. One would have been to "sternly reprimand" Amanda for not remembering to call me "sir." I've learned a lot since then. But there is always more to learn, isn't there? After reading Jefferson's instructions to both Madeline and Jenna, if it should come up again, I will definitely impose some daytime "rules."
The Ropes, II
Remember when you were in fifth grade? On the last day of school? The whole summer stretched out in front of you, full with all the possibilities of youth?
Do you remember how the clock crept so very slowly toward the end of the day? Remember looking at it, trying to force it to go faster, the dull monotone of your teacher droning on and on and on and on in the background?
The day after my first night with Amanda makes that memory seem like one of the clocks they show in the movies that is racing around the dial to show how much time has passed.
Training? Work? Who ARE you Sadists? I should be at the library, learning about knots and such. And not wondering if it was all a dream, or just too good to be true. Or if there would be an encore.
Seriously, I had to think, that couldn't have been more than a once-in-a-lifetime thing, right?
And I kept thinking that on my way to the Home Depot.
And while I was buying a bag of "rope."
And a utility knife to cut it with.
And checking into a non-chain hotel. It smelled vaguely dank, but I didn't think I had time to request a different one.
And calling Amanda to tell her where I was, and give her directions.
And racing to the convenience store across the street for more condoms and a Penthouse.
And cutting the rope and tying it to the bed frame, and then tying the slipknots at the "free" ends.
And then hiding the ropes underneath the bed.
In fact, I was thinking, even after we'd spoken on the phone, that she wouldn't come. I was still surprised when it was Amanda's knock at the door that I answered.
Surprised and deliriously pleased.
And aroused.
"Hi." I said, drawing it out into two, what I thought were pretty sexy, enthusiastic syllables.
"Hi." Amanda replied, smiling and looking down at the floor.
"I'm glad you're here, Amanda. Are you nervous?"
"Yes."
At this, I couldn't help but smile. I didn't know if she remembered, or was just answering, but I was delighted that she'd said "yes," and not something else.
"Why, angel?"
"Because of how much I liked yesterday."
"You're not scared, though, are you?"
"No! I'm not scared. I trust you, or I wouldn't be here. And I have to call my friend to let her know I'm o.k., too, just like you said."
"Please make your call."
As she did so, I looked to see if the mirror hanging on the wall would come off. It would, so I took it down, and placed it in front of the television, facing the bed. While I did this, I noticed Amanda smiling. She said goodbye.
I kissed her, not particularly hard, holding her face with both hands as I did so. The I asked what she was smiling about.
"I like to watch myself."
I replied, "Good, because I can't SEE enough of you. I wish we had five more mirrors, angel. You're fucking beautiful. And tonight, as I'm fucking you, I'm going to make you watch while you come. Will you like that, Amanda?"
"Yes."
"Then kiss me again."
This time, I kissed her much harder. From the back of her throat, I heard a gnghf sound, and stopped. I put my hands on her shoulders, and pushed her slightly away from me.
"I'm going to be rougher tonight, Amanda."
"Yes."
"But if I'm too rough, I want you to say the word 'bulldog.' Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say 'bulldog.'"
"Bulldog."
"When will you say that again?"
"If you're too rough - but I don't th-"
"Shut up, Amanda. You were going to say, you don't think I CAN be too rough, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"We don't know that, yet, do we? I would guess that you would be right. The very last thing I want tonight is to hurt you. The thought of doing so makes me physically ill, Amanda."
I said, "I'm learning too."
"'Bulldog,' is what is called a 'safeword.' People who do what we're going to do have safewords so they can say things like 'Stop!' 'You're hurting me!' and things like that when saying such things excites them. Does saying things like that excite YOU, Amanda?"
"No, well, I don't think so."
"Right, but you don't know. So now, we can find out. And if it does, go ahead and say them. I'll try not to stop if you do. I'll try to only stop if you say, what?"
"Bulldog."
"Good girl."
"Colton?" Looking me directly in the eyes, and not smiling anymore.
"Yes."
"I can't wait for you to fuck me."
I moved towards her, and kissed her. We started taking off each other's clothes. I was kissing her hard. When her tongue darted into my mouth, I bit it. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough for her to pull her head back in surprise, just enough to pull hard on her tongue. I released it.
Her eyes wide, I kissed her again. Soon we were naked, and I was pushing her onto her knees in front of me. She leaned towards my erect cock, but before she could take it into her mouth I said, "Stop."
"You can only suck my cock when I tell you that you may."
"Would you like to suck my cock, Amanda?"
"Yes."
"Did you think about sucking my cock today?"
"Yes."
"Ask me if you can suck my cock."
"Colton, may I suck your cock."
"Please do. And no fucking teeth this time, do you understand?"
She nodded, and started to move her mouth towards my cock again.
I held her head away. "Amanda?"
She looked up at me.
"Nodding is not the same as yes, is it?"
"No, it isn't."
"Ask me again."
"Colton, may I please suck your cock?"
"Am I going to feel your teeth?"
"No sir."
"Suck my cock."
I gently held her head as she did so. First, getting the head very, very, very wet. Then taking as much as she could. I remember thinking how much I liked it when she called me "sir," just then. And how she was folding her top lip over her upper teeth to prevent them from touching me. As she lifted my cock for access to my balls, I thought to myself "oh, sweet jesus." I love having my balls licked and sucked and she was doing just that. She moved back to my cock, again taking as much of it as she could, and using her hands to cover the rest.
I started guiding her head faster and faster, being careful not to move to deep.
Then I stopped.
"Amanda?"
"Yes?"
"I like the way you suck my cock. I love it when you lick and suck my balls. I like that you called me 'sir.' I'd also like it, the next time my penis is in your mouth, if you would look at me, at my eyes."
"Do you understand?"
"Yes. Sir." Smiling again.
"Now stand up."
She did, facing me, in front of the mirror I'd set on the floor. It was still tall enough to hide the TV, which was offset from the center of the bed, closer to the right side as one would be lying on the bed, facing the ceiling.
I guided her around to that side, and bent her forward.
"Amanda, can you see yourself in the mirror?"
"Yes. Sir."
I couldn't help but smile. "Can you see how beautiful you are?"
"Yes."
"Stick your ass up in the air."
She did.
"Higher."
She did. And she looked so fucking amazing. White skin. Light blonde hair. I could see her pretty mouth smiling in the mirror.
As she looked to her right, I moved to her left side, facing the mirror, with her ass in front of me.
"Can you see me in the mirror, too?"
"Yes. Sir."
"I'm going to spank you, now."
Silence.
"Do you know why?"
"No."
"Sir."
"Because I had to wait all day for this."
"Do you know why else?"
"No, sir."
"It's not because you want me to."
Silence.
"It's because I want to."
"And because tonight, until you have to leave, you're my little toy. My little fuck toy. That I can use however I want. Aren't you."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"
"Yes, sir."
I draw my hand back, ready to strike her delicately white, beautifully shaped ass. Her legs are slightly spread, and from where I'm standing, I think, just barely, I can make out in the shadow between her legs, the outline of the bottom of her vulva. As I'm about to bring my hand sharply toward her ass,
"Colton?"
"Yes, Amanda?"
"I can't wait to be your little fuck-toy."
I smile. A huge, fuck you world, I don't care if I never see Paris, or drink expensive liquour, or own a Ferrari smile. I can't help it. I couldn't be happier than I am right now. Again, I draw my hand back, and then bring it forward, as hard as I can. I feel like my hand, at the end of my wrist is going fast enough that there should be some noise, like a wooshing, or some sound effect to indicate how quickly my hand is moving through the air. There is nothing though. No sound, no sound effect, no noise whatsoever, until the surprisingly loud clap, as my hand hits Amanda's gorgeous ass.
"Unhffff."
"Amanda? Are you o.k.?"
"Yes. Sir."
I do it again. Slightly less intensity. Other cheek.
"Mmmmhhhfff."
"Stand up. Turn around."
She does so.
"Look over your shoulder, at your ass in the mirror."
She does so.
"Mmmmmm." Smiling.
"Amanda, did you like that?"
"Yes."
"Can you see my handprints on your ass?"
"Yes."
"Does that excite you?"
"Yes."
"It does me, too."
I noticed she didn't say follow it with 'sir,' but didn't care. I was too busy wanting her mouth on my cock again. So I grabbed her by the hair, led her to the bed, as I lie on my back and drew her mouth to my cock.
"Now, suck."
I'm guiding her head pretty forcefully now, again careful not to give her too much. Her hands are on the base of my shaft. I'm getting close. She looks at me. Very close. She doesn't take her eyes off mine. Way, way too close now. I stop her.
"Lie on your back."
She does.
I grab the Penthouse from under the bed. We flip through it, stopping to look at the pictures.
I'm still close. This is SO much. I tell Amanda to pick her favorite picture and excuse myself to the restroom.
I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I try to think of unsexy things. All I can think of is her ass up in the air. Her mouth on my cock. Me pressed against her, smelling her hair and the tiny bit of her perfume on her neck as we look through the magazine.
I take deep breaths. More and more slowly. Gradually, I calm down. I'm still hard, but not so much so that I'm afraid the head will explode. It seems that now there is again enough skin on my penis to contain all the blood within it.
I step back into the room...
Learning the ropes, part one
The year before I started my graduate program, I was living in New England. While there, I had yet another job I didn't care about - but one that required me to fly to Atlanta for about a week of training.
The first few days were totally uneventful.
The next were anything but.
I don't remember how she found me, or even if that's how it happened. I think so, though. In any case, Amanda sent me a brief note, telling me she'd seen my picture, somewhere on the web, and thought I was "hot."
Amanda was in Athens studying at the Big University there. So we exchanged e-mails. And agreed to meet. And then I rearranged EVERYTHING.
She "sounded" extremely sexy. And she was young. And really hadn't done anything like this before. So, I HAD to rearrange everything. Instead of meeting at her place, I insisted on a public place. And that she have a friend who knew where that was, who had my information. And either come along to the first meeting, or a specific time shortly after our meeting that she should hear from Amanda, to check in.
Which Amanda found endlessly amusing.
So, we met. And she was beautiful. And young. And so much more together than I was at her age. She was also really, really tired of frat boys fumblings.
So we made out in my rental car.
She was a great kisser.
And very wet.
When I suggested we get a hotel, she couldn't agree any more than saying "uh-hunh." Until I made her stop kissing my neck, and look at me, and say, "Yes, I want you to get a hotel room for us."
So I did.
At a Super 8 or Motel 6 or some local equivalent. I could afford it, and it's not like we cared. Actually, we agreed it was funny, and just appropriately tawdry enough.
As I was undressing her, Amanda turned the light off.
I stopped and turned it back on.
She smiled.
I undressed, while she watched, still smiling. She had a beautiful body. Beautifully shaped breasts, that fit her size perfectly. A terrific ass, and equally well proportioned legs. Thinner than Venus, but not emaciated model thin, and with both arms. Well trimmed patch light blonde hair pruned back to a narrow triangle.
We fell back to kissing, as my hands roamed her body. I pinched her nipples and she gasped into my mouth.
"Do you like that Amanda?"
"Uh-hunh."
"Amanda?" I said as I stopped kissing her and pinching her nipples.
"Yes?"
"When I ask you a question, I want you to answer, yes, no, or with a complete sentence. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Do you like when I pinch your nipples?"
"Yes."
"Thank you."
More kissing, as she felt my arms and chest and the hand not trapped underneath her roamed over my back. I slid my right hand down to her pussy as I held her face with my left. I spread her, gently, as I slid first one, then two fingers into her. "Do you like that, Amanda?"
"Yes, Colton."
"Amanda, I want you to suck my cock now, would you like that?"
"Yes."
I stood up, and helped her roll onto her side, closer to the edge of the bed. As I fed her my cock, I went back to fingering her.
She gave good head, but too often let her teeth hit my cock. Very wet though, and infinitely coachable. Every time her teeth made contact, I'd withdraw, tell her I didn't like that, and make her promise to try harder to not let it happen again.
"Do you understand, Amanda?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now stop."
"Amanda, lift up your ass, I'm going to put a pillow under it, so I have better access as I lick your beautiful pussy."
"O.k."
"Amanda."
"Yes?"
"O.k., is not an acceptable answer."
"I'm sorry."
"Would you like me to spank you?"
"Yes."
"Then turn over."
She did so.
"Are you nervous, Amanda?"
"Yes. A little bit."
"Don't be. All of this will stop, at any time, the instant you say so. Do you understand?
"Yes."
"Are you still nervous?"
"Yes."
"Good."
I dropped my right hand onto her ass, more playfully than anything else. She twitched.
"Are you o.k., Amanda?"
"Yes."
"I'm not going to hit you much harder than that, unless you're very bad, or unless you ask me to. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Please hit me harder, Colton."
"Yes."
I spanked the right cheek of her ass twice as hard as I'd hit the left. A few moments later, the faintest outline of a handprint started to appear. I leaned down to her ear and said "Amanda, does my spanking you excite you?"
"Yes."
"It excites me, too."
I rolled her over, and kissed her mouth, hard. I put on a condom, and we were soon fucking.
Not more than 20 minutes after that, Amanda had her first orgasm, and we took a break.
She snuggled up onto my left side, and asked what happened, did I think that was an orgasm? I asked her to describe how it felt.
She did so. Sounded like she'd cum. We fell into a discussion about what she'd liked about the evening so far. She told me that my voice in her ear was like a drug, like I was hypnotizing her, and she couldn't wait to do what I told her. She said she liked being spanked, "very much." She told me she would like me to be rougher, because that's when she could tell that I liked her.
I told her I could do that.
Then she said she'd like me to tie her up.
I regretted not having any rope. I also told her I'd never taken control with anyone like I had with her, just then, but that I liked it too.
Before I drove back to Atlanta, we fucked for another two hours. I'd gone down on her, she's spent more time sucking my cock.
By the time I got back to my "real" hotel, we'd made tentative plans for the following night.
When I got to my hotel, I mapped out the location of the nearest Home Depot.
Amanda wanted to be tied up. How could I refuse?
Continental Drift
What do you want?
Really.
I was walking my dogs this morning and thinking about who I am, where I am in my life and what I want. It's something I've been thinking a lot about lately, well, usually. More so recently though.
I could dig up my diploma from my graduate program, and find the exact date, but that seems like too much trouble. And I'm not sure I want to know, exactly. But, it's very close to a year since I finished that program. And I still don't have a job in the field.
Part of it, I know, is relocating to a city in which I knew exactly two people when I got here. One of them was my girlfriend, Jennifer, and the other was my friend, Dave. Dave moved here roughly 10 years ago. About a year after that, he called me in L.A. to say he was out.
Me: "Out? Where? Do you need a ride? Why didn't you tell me you were coming to L.A.?"
Dave: "No, OUT. I'm gay."
Me: "Oh, well, of course you're gay. Awesome! Are you O.k.? Do your folks know? Any of the rest of our gang from back home? Blah, blah, blah."
Anyway, my professional network here is tiny compared to what it was in Texas. And I think that's been a large measure of the trouble I've had finding something I want to do. The other part is, I don't think I really want to work in the field of my Masters degree.
I got the degree, primarily because I got into the school I wanted to attend. And because, if one gets an opportunity like that, I don't think one should probably turn it down. But I only applied because I had a really good entrance score. And I only took that test to see if I was as smart as everyone else seems to think I am.
Really, how many times can you be told, "I don't think you're living up to your full potential," before you start asking what that potential is? So I wanted to find out if I was as smart as people society identifies as "smart."
And apparently I am, but it seems to have nothing to do with employable.
So, since I got here, I've been wondering what I really want. And more so lately, because I know it's NOT to keep doing the useless retail jobs I currently have. I'm capable of so much more. The other people I read all seem to be excited about their careers.
I'm having a really hard time imagining doing almost anything, that I will still want to be doing in 20 years. How the hell did our parents ever manage to do the same thing, day in and day out for their whole lives?
Add to that, my 20 year reunion should be this summer. I don't give a fuck what the people I spent my days with 20 years ago think. I just can't fathom how it's possible that they have homes and cars and kids and have had the same jobs for that 20 years. And I'm still looking for some kind of work that gives me more than just money.
Hell, right now, I'd probably just settle for money.
But what do I want? What do I want my life to look like? When I'm MUCH older, how do I want to look back on the period that follows this time where I'm sorting things out?
I know that I want to help people. And I also know that's too generic to be of much use. What people? Help how?
To date, I've been fairly satisfied with asking questions that I think are important for everyone to answer of the people who have crossed my path.
Maybe the two things have nothing to do with each other. Maybe I'm trying to make a connection where none exists.
I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet. I probably won't today.
But here's are some of the questions I think people should be thinking about:
Who are you? What are you ABOUT? What do you want for yourself? Who do you love? Do they know? Why not?
I guess that's it for now. I have an interview for a six month contract gig with a VERY big company at 3:00. I'm not even sure how to prep for it.
Have a good weekend!
Topiary
As I was sitting here, trying to calm down after reading Maddie's latest entry, and feeling completely uninspired, I thought, "what to write about?" Seriously. I'm not getting anything even close to resembling the kind of action Maddie, Marcus and Jefferson and his harem are getting. Comparitively, my life is a big shit sandwich. I'm bored with it. I don't want to discuss my dead-end retail jobs. Or start bitching about going to a reasonably prestigious graduate program only to find myself still significantly underemployed after a year. What am I in the mood for...
Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. Tits AND Ass. Hmmm...
So here I am. Thinking about tits and ass, naked bodies, mine included. I keep my garden neatly weeded. Mostly out of courtesy, but also to please my own aesthetic sensibility. Also for safety.
Which reminds me of a story I was told in high school.
Todd was dating a girl from my high school I didn't know. At best we were acquaintences of friends in law. Todd and I would have been friends in law. His friend and mine, Mark told me this story on a ride to some track meet in some town that I'm sure we won. We won a lot. And it really didn't have much to do with me. I'm considerably more athletic than I should be, genetically, but I was something of a late bloomer. Anyway...
Mark was telling us that Todd told him about the night of one of our quarterly dances. Sadie Hawkins, Turnabout, Homecoming, something less than prom, but still a regular "official" event. Todd and Michelle were making out in Todd's car.
Todd's hand found it's way into Michelle's pants.
And then into her panties.
And then his fingers were in her pussy.
Which seemed to be going well.
Todd would move his hand, and she would breathe "differently."
Assuming this was good, he started moving his hand at the wrist, which also seemed to be going well.
Then, at the elbow, which elicited a small cry.
Not a "Stop."
So Todd is now moving his whole arm.
More vocal reinforcement. None of it taken badly.
Until....
Michelle says, very loudly, right in his ear, which she was licking and biting to this point "OWWW! What are you doing?!? That HURTS!"
Todd, realizing that this isn't good, yanks his hand IMMEDIATELY out of her pants.
To which Michelle absolutely HOWLS!
"You IDIOT! GIMME that WATCH!"
Todd, you see, had been wearing a watch his father had given him. The old style kind with the expandable band.
The kind which might get caught in one's pubic hair.
The kind which DID get tangled in Michelle's pubic hair.
The kind which, when he started rubbing, started pulling on that same hair.
The very kind of watchband, which, when he jerked his hand out of Michelle's panties, took LOTS of that hair with it.
She was moaning, in pain, hoping he'd get the hint.
He was thinking "I'm the MAN!"
Ow. Hurts just thinkin' about it.
So, not that my girl wears an expandable watch band, but I keep the hair on top trimmed pretty close, and my balls and shaft "whistle clean."
On a woman, I LOVE the look and feel of a landing strip. Bare is sexy, too, and feels GREAT. But for me, there is nothing like a directional indicator leading me toward paradise.
Have a good day, y'all.
I give up!
I'll just dig deep and come up with my own fucking story...
Summer of '82 or '83. I really can't remember. I actually think '82, but I just can't be sure. In any case, it was hot in the midwest, and as humid as my hometown of close to 200,000 souls usually is in the summer. My Dad and his gang had just finished a summer rec league basketball game, and decided we'd head to a bar and celebrate with a couple pitchers. I was ecstatic. This meant I could drink all the soda I wanted, and could probably squeeze enough quarters out of him to play "asteroids" until my shoulder was sore from yanking on the controller.
And for the first half hour, that's about how it went. Then the fellas waitress started checking up on me. She, as I recall, was 24. Black hair. Big eyes - brown, I think. And hot. Or maybe not. But definitely paying attention to me. Checking in on me and my asteroids marathon. Leaning in close.
"Nah." "No way," was all I could think. I mean, it isn't like I hadn't been looking at Playboy for 5 years. Or reading "Penthouse Letters" for at least that long. June was a WOMAN. And therefore couldn't possibly be interested in me. No matter HOW it might have seemed.
Still, before we left, she asked if I ever went bike riding. I being 14 or 15 (probably 15), spent most of the summer riding my bike. She asked if she could come along, and of course I said sure, and then she gave me her phone number and told me to call her the next time I went riding.
So, of course, I did. Not mentioning anything to my dad, I used the phone in the other room, and called her. No big thing. She told me she wasn't doing anything, where she lived, and to come over. Her apartment was well within the area my father and I had agreed was within the boundary I could travel without letting him know specifically where I was, so off I went.
I got there, to her garden level apartment on North 48th Street. She met me at the door, dressed in
how the hell should I remember what she was dressed in!?!? I was all of 15, AT BEST! Anyway, she invited me in, and I brought my bike with me and leaned it against the wall nearest the door. She brought me a glass of iced tea while I looked at her eel. Seemed like a weird fish to have in your fish tank, I remember thinking, right after I thought, "this is weird. I wonder if we're really going on a bike ride..."
Then she asked me if I liked her eel. I said, "Yes, but it seems like a weird fish to have in your fish tank." She told me she liked MY eel, and then started rubbing what had magically become my very erect 15 year old cock through my pants.
"YIPPEE!" I thought. But the next thing I knew, we were kissing. Then she was pulling down my pants and sucking on me. I, being the suavest 15 year old I knew, suggested we go to the bedroom, like this: "Do you want to go into your bedroom?" I think she said "uh-huh" but the next thing I know, I'm on her waterbed, climbing under the covers while she has disappeared into the bathroom.
Details are even hazier from here on out. She came back to the bed. More sucking. I rolled her over, and started trying to smoothly work my mouth down to her pussy. "It's too late for that this time, lover," was her reply. No idea, but I wasn't about to quarrel, and risk ending what would, to date, be the greatest afternoon of my life. NOTHING would ever be the same. I was seconds from getting LAID!
And then I was. At first, I had one leg over hers as June was lying on her back, trying to spread her legs wider. With mine on top though, she just couldn't get her left leg outside of mine. So, patiently, she said, "Sweetie, can you please move your leg inside of mine?"
Me, trying to act cool, like I knew she was about to ask, "oh, yeah, sure."
BAM! My first orgasm. More fucking. WHAM. Another one. Again, things get fuzzier here.
June gets louder. I'm still on top, pumping away. Maybe I come again. She's wrapped her legs around my ass. Still louder she's carrying on. I'm sawing away faster and faster, wondering what my face looks like, and thinking "Man, oh, man, oh, man, fucking is SO GREAT! And I'm doing it RIGHT NOW!! I'm really fucking!" She's hanging onto my back and digging in so much that it's starting to hurt. LOUDER STILL, she's practically yelling. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming," louder and louder, right in my ear. Then, nothing.
No, absolutely, terrifyingly, NOTHING. No sound, just one last exhale, and then, NOTHING. I don't know how to emphasize this at all. She died. I know she died, because just seconds ago, she was more animated than every Saturday morning cartoon I've ever watched, and now, I don't even think she's breathing.
My thoughts are racing. She's dead. What do I do? Call an ambulance? What do I say when they get here, "I fucked her to death, really sorry?" What if I leave? Will they find me? Did someone see me come in? Should I call my dad? And say what exactly? If I call an ambulance, what can they DO? If I call my dad, what good can come of that? He'll have to say HE did it, and then go to jail, and I don't want that... I'm just a kid, can they do anything to me, really? Should I just leave, and pretend it never happened? Will her neighbors find her? If they do, will they know the cause of death?
WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO??!??!!
All of this probably went through my head in less than 30 seconds, but until you've been in an earthquake, or some reasonably brief natural, or human caused disaster of terrific intensity and brief duration, I don't think you can know exactly how long 30 seconds can seem.
At the end of that time, though, just as I was about to climb off, put my clothes on and make SOME kind of decision, she came to. ONE great big breath in, a flickering of the eyelids and then she was looking at me.
Which must have been pretty amusing. Because she asked ME, if I was allright. "Yeah, yeah. Yah. I'm o.k., are YOU?!" or something like that came out of my mouth.
"Are you o.k.?"
"Yeah, sweetie, I'm fine," she answered. "I'm really, really, really goooooood," she said.
And again, I'll be damned if I can remember who did what next, only that I pedaled about halfway home as fast as I could, stopped, tried to calm down. Did so, a TINY bit, and then went home.
And didn't have sex again for 3 or 4 years. Not even a blowjob. And probably, to be fair, not from lack of tryin'.
Only saw here once after that. She was in a convenience store and I was shithouse drunk, pissed at my girlfriend at the time, which would have made it early Spring in 1988. I didn't recognize her at first, but I wasn't in my neighborhood, and she offered to drive me home, and once I got in the car, it all clicked.
"Can you still come more than once?" "Yeah," I boasted.
So off we went to her place. Only I couldn't. Or once for that matter. I was, really, really lucky to not vomit on her during. But she did drive me home.
And that is the very, VERY last I saw of June.
What's the difference?
I was reading a comment from my last post, from one of you was getting lucky over the weekend, which led me to the poster's blog, which, I'll repost here in just a second.
The back story to date, is this. Becky (the poster) is a single mom, and her kid was picked up for riding with some other teens who were drinking and driving. Because he (on the blog she calls her kids by their sizes, which I find hilarious), Large suffers the same affliction I do, he was granted the opportunity to spend the evening in the Juvenile lockup. That affliction, as you may have guessed, is a smart fucking mouth. In any case, Becky was wondering if she could be a good male role model. I started my response with this:
My folks split up when I was 5. If you've read Madeline's blog, you know that one of our formative experiences was being hauled downtown by the police.
My mom won the lion's share of custody, but we spent summers with my Dad growing up. It sounds like your situation is different than that. I don't think it matters, though.
I don't know for sure what the important differences are, maybe between being a good man, a good woman, and a good person.
Crap, I'll just go through this whole thing on my blog - it's too long for here...And will continue, with this:
I've known such incredible strength from the women in my life. My great-grandmother buried her son, before I was born, while my mother was still in high school. For the last 20 or so years of her life, she visited her daughter in a nursing home, every day, often walking the half mile from her home "in town" to do so. The rural plains is COLD in the winter. My grandmother showed me how to ski when she was in her sixties. My mom finally ditched the alcoholic father of my half-brother after he'd essentially bankrupt the family.
Everyone has had hardship in their life. I think if you teach your kids that you love them, no matter what mistakes they make, you're ahead. Accepting the consquences of their actions is the right thing to do, even when those actions have unintended consequences. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with the people around you.
I, personally, believe in telling the truth all the time. I'm not able to do it yet, but I think it's worthwhile. My ex-wife understood this. We had a number of conversations regarding this very issue. My standard example is telling her not to ask me if the pants she was wearing made her ass look fat. I let her know that if she asked me, I was liable to tell her the truth, and I was really dreading the day when I might have to say, "Baby, I don't think it's the pants..."
But I'm getting off track. I don't really think there IS an important difference between being a good man or woman, and a good person. All I hope for with anyone I spend time with is that they tell me the truth and take personal responsibility for the choices they make. I expect less, but that's the standard to which I'm holding myself these days, with varying degrees of success.
So no, Becky, I don't think you have to be a good man to raise a good man.
Anyone else have any thoughts?
