There's this scene in Charlie Wilson's War where he's lying exhausted in the bathtub and says he cannot fathom the energy women have after having sex. They're cleaning out closets, baking pies...
The posts you have been seeing for the past few days have been drafts. They were crafted months ago when I had more free time, spruced up with links and such to as appear new. In case you were wondering if I spent so much time blogging about it that I wasn't able to have sex.
Because I am, in fact. Having sex.
With the BHM.
Since July 4th.
Which means you are about to get quite a lot of posts in the coming days, fellow sexblog readers, despite my self-imposed silences elsewhere.
I suppose the real problem is my lack of decision. Should I start with my Very First Pussy Licking? Or the way he's able to hold both my wrists in one hand?
Showing posts with label sluttiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sluttiness. Show all posts
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Permission Granted
"Hey," said Avril as she climbed the stairs to her room, "So-And-So's coming over to see me tonight.
Since So-And-So was neither The Atheist nor the German boy she had met on Craigslist, I said, "Who?"
"He's a boy from school that I fuck sometimes."
"Oh." Then, after a moment's thought, "Does this mean I can start bringing boys over?" The proper ettiquete in such matters had always eluded me.
"Yes!" she yelled down at me from the second floor. "But only, like, dudes we know. So they don't steal anything."
Since So-And-So was neither The Atheist nor the German boy she had met on Craigslist, I said, "Who?"
"He's a boy from school that I fuck sometimes."
"Oh." Then, after a moment's thought, "Does this mean I can start bringing boys over?" The proper ettiquete in such matters had always eluded me.
"Yes!" she yelled down at me from the second floor. "But only, like, dudes we know. So they don't steal anything."
Russians
He calls me "doll" and "kitten"
I was looking at him, trying to re-aquaint myself with him. He was wearing a button-down blue shirt, tucked into black jeans, and worn-to-grey sneakers. He had a different camera. We stood in the doorway and on the stairwell, talking to my friend Elaine. Did his belly stick out now or had it always looked like that?
Elaine said she had to go get something, but would return to talk to us. He said we would still be here when she came back.
When she was gone he said, "Just be patient."
"You're mean," I said.
He said he liked my dress. "It makes your face look very white."
We managed to talk a little about cameras, and I asked him about his new one, how it worked. I was twisting my hair, talking, and he snapped a few pictures of me and said, "That's how it works."
I remember we were there for a long time. Elaine didn't come back, we finally went upstairs and found her in my hallway, talking with another girl. We joined them and talked even more until Elaine said she was going to lunch. We'd come later, he said, he needed to lock his camera and his laptop in my room so that he could hang out without fear of it getting stolen. Elaine bid us goodbye and went off with her friend.
* * *
He shut the door to my bedroom. "Now you have me all to yourself," he said, soothingly.
He said, "How are you?" as if we were meeting for the first time even though he had been here for hours, and his voice had changed, he meant it to me personally.
"I might just stay here tonight," he said, "would that be OK with you?"
"Oh," I said, loading my voice with sarcasm, "that would be so horrible." I had turned to the bed as I spoke, and smoothed out the covers.
He said, "Well, it's polite to ask."
I sat on the bed, facing him. He said, "Can I sit on your lap?"
No one had ever sat on my lap before. I was thinking we would kiss first, that it would be like before, where we would kiss standing up then copulate at once, but he came and sat on my lap, straddling my legs and putting his full warm weight on them, and I embraced him, pressing my cheek and breasts against his chest. I pressed the thin starched cloth of his shirt against his back, under my crossed arms.
"What are you going to do first?"
I unbuttoned his shirt and tongued his nipples.
"Cute," he said.
* * *
We were fucking. I was on top for the first time, and I liked it. He wanted to know where he should cum--on my breasts?
I told him that if he wanted to be a real bastard he could cum on my face, "like the Russians do."
"Do the Russians do this?" he said, twisting my nipple.
"Oh," I said.
He said, "You aren't answering--do Russian soliders do this?"
"No," I said.
He said, "Do you like that, little slut?"
He made "slut" into the sweetest word I had ever heard.
I was looking at him, trying to re-aquaint myself with him. He was wearing a button-down blue shirt, tucked into black jeans, and worn-to-grey sneakers. He had a different camera. We stood in the doorway and on the stairwell, talking to my friend Elaine. Did his belly stick out now or had it always looked like that?
Elaine said she had to go get something, but would return to talk to us. He said we would still be here when she came back.
When she was gone he said, "Just be patient."
"You're mean," I said.
He said he liked my dress. "It makes your face look very white."
We managed to talk a little about cameras, and I asked him about his new one, how it worked. I was twisting my hair, talking, and he snapped a few pictures of me and said, "That's how it works."
I remember we were there for a long time. Elaine didn't come back, we finally went upstairs and found her in my hallway, talking with another girl. We joined them and talked even more until Elaine said she was going to lunch. We'd come later, he said, he needed to lock his camera and his laptop in my room so that he could hang out without fear of it getting stolen. Elaine bid us goodbye and went off with her friend.
* * *
He shut the door to my bedroom. "Now you have me all to yourself," he said, soothingly.
He said, "How are you?" as if we were meeting for the first time even though he had been here for hours, and his voice had changed, he meant it to me personally.
"I might just stay here tonight," he said, "would that be OK with you?"
"Oh," I said, loading my voice with sarcasm, "that would be so horrible." I had turned to the bed as I spoke, and smoothed out the covers.
He said, "Well, it's polite to ask."
I sat on the bed, facing him. He said, "Can I sit on your lap?"
No one had ever sat on my lap before. I was thinking we would kiss first, that it would be like before, where we would kiss standing up then copulate at once, but he came and sat on my lap, straddling my legs and putting his full warm weight on them, and I embraced him, pressing my cheek and breasts against his chest. I pressed the thin starched cloth of his shirt against his back, under my crossed arms.
"What are you going to do first?"
I unbuttoned his shirt and tongued his nipples.
"Cute," he said.
* * *
We were fucking. I was on top for the first time, and I liked it. He wanted to know where he should cum--on my breasts?
I told him that if he wanted to be a real bastard he could cum on my face, "like the Russians do."
"Do the Russians do this?" he said, twisting my nipple.
"Oh," I said.
He said, "You aren't answering--do Russian soliders do this?"
"No," I said.
He said, "Do you like that, little slut?"
He made "slut" into the sweetest word I had ever heard.
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