I realize I've posted a lot in the last week, especially considering that I haven't been writing at all for quite awhile. There's a reason for that. I'm just not sure what it is.
But I feel better when I'm writing. Even if it's about inane things like what I wore to the wedding and how little things affect me. I have a whole list of sexual topics to get back to (in case you're waiting for that :p) but getting back into the habit of writing itself takes a little time, and I'm working on that now.
I forget, when I'm mired down in a myriad of bullshit how much better I feel when I'm actually putting words to ...err...screen I guess. There are any number of things that keep me from doing that, but the baseline of it is -- I keep myself from doing it.
I have a piece of fiction (of the xrated variety) still in my head from a dream I had last week, and I hope to get around to that this week, too. If I can set my personal struggles aside long enough to open up my mind. That's typically where my writing stops; when I just don't have the mental and emotional energy to address is.
Fact is, as I've said before, my writing is very personal to me. Sharing things here is something I did not choose to do lightly. Publishing numerous stories, articles, and even my book of poetry was a pretty big leap of faith for me. As Anna Nallick says, in 2 AM
2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to
I can remember in times past, writing numerous stories for dominants I was involved in, and after the first two or three, the enthusiasm they showed (especially C in this case) dried up, and half the time, they didn't even acknowledge having read them. I found a way around that eventually, and many of those stories went on to be published in Prometheus and other magazines like that. They found an appreciative audience.
But because my words are so personal to me, having them go unacknowledged by someone they were written particularly for, was something I took personally. And while I try not to do that anymore, I do still occasionally run into it.
Then again, I've learned how to not take a lot of things personally. There is even a little post-it index card hanging on my desk at home that says "It has nothing to do with me." I needed it for awhile. I rarely have to look at it anymore.
Regardless, what I share here is different. And if you've ever been curious about why I don't post stories here in their entirety, that's a big part of the reason (the rest of it being that as with most writers on the internet, I have been ripped off before, and I'm not leaving myself open to having it happen again.).
Monday, March 31, 2008
Dear Campy Camper
(This is reference to a comment I received back in January. )
You didn't leave me an email address - give me a holler at the one here, and we'll catch up.
You didn't leave me an email address - give me a holler at the one here, and we'll catch up.
Appropriate?
The wedding was great fun :) I'm glad that I went, and I even managed to keep from punching my sister out by keeping my back to her the entire time.
Apparently, cream/vanilla/beige are my colors. Everyone commented on my outfit at the wedding Saturday night and said that those colors looked wondeful on me.
How boring is THAT?
I picked the outfit because it was "family appropriate" and "wedding appropriate". There was nothing wrong with it, per se. It was a high-necked sweater with seed pearls sewn on the collar and cuffs, and a just-past-the-knee length linen skirt, and off-white heels. It was approrpriate for the wedding, and would be appropriate for a work function, or a social event that required better than jeans. All in all, it was fine.
But typically, I wear a lot of red, black, white, purple. Beige is... well, beige or off-white are just not in my wardrobe much. I don't wear a lot of dresses or heels. Not because I don't like them, but because I don't have them, or have need to buy them.
I actually bought 2 skirts. The grey-heather one I *really liked didn't feel as appropriate for the wedding, as it was a little shorter. But I'm glad I bought it. I will wear it somewhere and I bought a sweet pair of patent leather t-strap heels to go with it. The grey one is just more - me. It has some black pattern around the bottom of it and it's just more something that I would wear. I'll put a red sweater or blouse with it sometime and actually wear it.
Several years ago, M. bought me a leather trench coat in California. Vented, back-split, lined; it was - and is - a gorgeous coat - a sexy coat. When it got to be too big for me, I gave it to my mom, because she loves it, too. I don't own a long coat anymore, so I had asked her to bring it this weekend so I could wear it over my dress. I can wrap the sides of that coat around to my back now, it's so huge on me. But it did remind me why I loved that coat. And I see a new one in my future very soon. And hey, it's brown, same family as the vanilla/creme/beige, right? right? :)
There were two highlights of the night for me. One was getting to spend some time with my cousin and his wife, both of which I just adore. The other was the jaw-dropped looks on some people's faces who haven't seen me since I had the surgery. Priceless, I tell you.
In addition to that, I got to enjoy myself as a single woman at a function like this. I flirted, danced, had a good time being myself. Brought home a phone number but probably won't call it (shame he's not my type at all), and all in all enjoyed the day.
I also enjoyed the 7 hours over 2 days in the car, because I now have a full list of topics to blog again :)
Apparently, cream/vanilla/beige are my colors. Everyone commented on my outfit at the wedding Saturday night and said that those colors looked wondeful on me.
How boring is THAT?
I picked the outfit because it was "family appropriate" and "wedding appropriate". There was nothing wrong with it, per se. It was a high-necked sweater with seed pearls sewn on the collar and cuffs, and a just-past-the-knee length linen skirt, and off-white heels. It was approrpriate for the wedding, and would be appropriate for a work function, or a social event that required better than jeans. All in all, it was fine.
But typically, I wear a lot of red, black, white, purple. Beige is... well, beige or off-white are just not in my wardrobe much. I don't wear a lot of dresses or heels. Not because I don't like them, but because I don't have them, or have need to buy them.
I actually bought 2 skirts. The grey-heather one I *really liked didn't feel as appropriate for the wedding, as it was a little shorter. But I'm glad I bought it. I will wear it somewhere and I bought a sweet pair of patent leather t-strap heels to go with it. The grey one is just more - me. It has some black pattern around the bottom of it and it's just more something that I would wear. I'll put a red sweater or blouse with it sometime and actually wear it.
Several years ago, M. bought me a leather trench coat in California. Vented, back-split, lined; it was - and is - a gorgeous coat - a sexy coat. When it got to be too big for me, I gave it to my mom, because she loves it, too. I don't own a long coat anymore, so I had asked her to bring it this weekend so I could wear it over my dress. I can wrap the sides of that coat around to my back now, it's so huge on me. But it did remind me why I loved that coat. And I see a new one in my future very soon. And hey, it's brown, same family as the vanilla/creme/beige, right? right? :)
There were two highlights of the night for me. One was getting to spend some time with my cousin and his wife, both of which I just adore. The other was the jaw-dropped looks on some people's faces who haven't seen me since I had the surgery. Priceless, I tell you.
In addition to that, I got to enjoy myself as a single woman at a function like this. I flirted, danced, had a good time being myself. Brought home a phone number but probably won't call it (shame he's not my type at all), and all in all enjoyed the day.
I also enjoyed the 7 hours over 2 days in the car, because I now have a full list of topics to blog again :)
Friday, March 28, 2008
Identify
About six weeks ago, I had three inches chopped off my hair.
Now, anyone who knows me, knows how much I love my hair. It's probably the only thing about me that I'm truly vain about. But because it was down to my waist, and because it grew oddly right after the surgery, it was ragged looking and I wanted it to be more polished. So my beautician - sweet girl that she is - meekly said the most she'd have to take was 3 inches, then asked again a couple times to make sure I was sure before she put the scissors anywhere near me.
It truly did look awesome when she was done. She always straightens it for me, too, and it looks absolutely gorgeous when I leave the salon, every time. It still does look awesome, when I take the time to straighten it.
Now, I love the wave in my hair. Don't get me wrong. And when I put it up in a pony tail or in a headband, I let the wave do it's thing. I think it looks great.
But when I want to wear it down like I plan to for the wedding tomorrow, I straighten it out.
I struggled with wanting to cut it though. Because for so long, I have been "The girl with the long blonde hair". So I wondered if I cut it, would I lose part of what I've been?
I gave up saying that I was a submissive. While I believe that I have strong submissive tendencies and I know that being submissive to a dominant man in bed makes me whimper and beg like a ... well use your imagination... I am not A submissive anymore. I haven't been seriously submissive to anyone in well over 3 years and I can't imagine doing it 24/7 again anytime soon in my life, so I stopped identifying as one.
Do I need to be "the girl with the long blond hair"? No.
No. I think there's plenty of other things about me that are far more interesting than the 3 inches of hair I left laying on the beauty salon floor. I don't need to be identified by any one or two things.
Thank goodness *grin*
Now, anyone who knows me, knows how much I love my hair. It's probably the only thing about me that I'm truly vain about. But because it was down to my waist, and because it grew oddly right after the surgery, it was ragged looking and I wanted it to be more polished. So my beautician - sweet girl that she is - meekly said the most she'd have to take was 3 inches, then asked again a couple times to make sure I was sure before she put the scissors anywhere near me.
It truly did look awesome when she was done. She always straightens it for me, too, and it looks absolutely gorgeous when I leave the salon, every time. It still does look awesome, when I take the time to straighten it.
Now, I love the wave in my hair. Don't get me wrong. And when I put it up in a pony tail or in a headband, I let the wave do it's thing. I think it looks great.
But when I want to wear it down like I plan to for the wedding tomorrow, I straighten it out.
I struggled with wanting to cut it though. Because for so long, I have been "The girl with the long blonde hair". So I wondered if I cut it, would I lose part of what I've been?
I gave up saying that I was a submissive. While I believe that I have strong submissive tendencies and I know that being submissive to a dominant man in bed makes me whimper and beg like a ... well use your imagination... I am not A submissive anymore. I haven't been seriously submissive to anyone in well over 3 years and I can't imagine doing it 24/7 again anytime soon in my life, so I stopped identifying as one.
Do I need to be "the girl with the long blond hair"? No.
No. I think there's plenty of other things about me that are far more interesting than the 3 inches of hair I left laying on the beauty salon floor. I don't need to be identified by any one or two things.
Thank goodness *grin*
Beautiful and Sexy
I seem to be carrying themes today. So I’ll just stick with that. Whatever works, right?
On the subject of positive body confidence – comes this: What makes sexy and beautiful?
Many days, I wake up, brush my hair, look in the mirror and am pleased with what I see. Of course I’d like to get these last 15 pounds off and of course I’d like my skin to be clearer and brighter and of course I’d like my tits to be perfect little ski slopes, but all in all, I’m pretty pleased.
Then there are other days when I am displeased with my appearance. Not painfully so, but enough that I stare into the reflection and give myself a little pep talk about how far I’ve come and how in the back of my mind I know that I’ve gone from who I was to who I am.
And who am I?
I’m a sexy bitch.
That doesn’t all come from the outside. As a matter of fact, the majority of it comes from the inside. As I’ve grown up (and smaller), I’ve accepted that this is who I am.
There are spiritual beings that base their lives on their beliefs. There are family beings that base the value of their lives on having and raising children. There are work-aholics, bar-aholics and game-aholics. Everyone, at some point in their life, has something that they are passionate about. And for the last 20 years or so, for me, that has been sex.
I don’t mean having it non-stop. I mean living it. To me, there is a huge difference. Passion for sex is about much more than the physical aspects of it.
So it’s not such a leap for someone who doesn’t necessarily have the perfect body to be able to look into the mirror and say, “I am a sexy bitch.” I’m not afraid to try something new. I’m not afraid to wear something outrageous. I’m not afraid to let someone direct me and I’m not afraid to direct someone else. There is so little that I fear when it comes to sex. I wish I could carry that fearlessness into all parts of my life.
You don’t have to be a size 2 with C tits to be beautiful and sexy. You don’t have to be 6’4” with blue eyes and blonde hair and perfectly defined abs to be beautiful and sexy, either.
You just have to know, inside yourself, that you are – beautiful and sexy.
On the subject of positive body confidence – comes this: What makes sexy and beautiful?
Many days, I wake up, brush my hair, look in the mirror and am pleased with what I see. Of course I’d like to get these last 15 pounds off and of course I’d like my skin to be clearer and brighter and of course I’d like my tits to be perfect little ski slopes, but all in all, I’m pretty pleased.
Then there are other days when I am displeased with my appearance. Not painfully so, but enough that I stare into the reflection and give myself a little pep talk about how far I’ve come and how in the back of my mind I know that I’ve gone from who I was to who I am.
And who am I?
I’m a sexy bitch.
That doesn’t all come from the outside. As a matter of fact, the majority of it comes from the inside. As I’ve grown up (and smaller), I’ve accepted that this is who I am.
There are spiritual beings that base their lives on their beliefs. There are family beings that base the value of their lives on having and raising children. There are work-aholics, bar-aholics and game-aholics. Everyone, at some point in their life, has something that they are passionate about. And for the last 20 years or so, for me, that has been sex.
I don’t mean having it non-stop. I mean living it. To me, there is a huge difference. Passion for sex is about much more than the physical aspects of it.
So it’s not such a leap for someone who doesn’t necessarily have the perfect body to be able to look into the mirror and say, “I am a sexy bitch.” I’m not afraid to try something new. I’m not afraid to wear something outrageous. I’m not afraid to let someone direct me and I’m not afraid to direct someone else. There is so little that I fear when it comes to sex. I wish I could carry that fearlessness into all parts of my life.
You don’t have to be a size 2 with C tits to be beautiful and sexy. You don’t have to be 6’4” with blue eyes and blonde hair and perfectly defined abs to be beautiful and sexy, either.
You just have to know, inside yourself, that you are – beautiful and sexy.
Style
According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where, of course, men are just grateful.
Robert De Niro
I don't know about grateful. But I do know that he's right.
I'd much rather get naked, or at least down to some cute little piece of lingerie with a man that I would with a woman.
I'm definitely not 'fully there' with body confidence yet. But I do know that I look better than I did three years ago. This weekend, I'm going to see my cousin whom I haven't seen in a long time. The last picture of myself before my surgery that I have is one that was taken with him. This weekend, I'm getting a new picture to set besides it. Before and almost-after. Then, and now.
I went to see a plastic surgeon last year, to see what can be done about the issues that have arisen with my body since I lost all of this weight. Things are not where they're supposed to be. Things do not look like they're supposed to look. And while I don't believe for a minute that I'm a freak of nature or anything, I do know that I can definitely look better than I do right now.
Sure. Soon as I come up with the 25 grand it'll cost to repair all this damage I did to myself for so many years.
In the meantime, there is muscle definition I could build and strength I can gain. I do exercise occasionally but not nearly as much as I should. It's not even that I lack motivation for it - I don't. It's that I seem to lack energy by the time I get home from work every night. I need to find it, though. I know I can do better.
But regardless of the issues I have with all that, again, I know that I look better naked, I have more energy once I am naked and I feel much more comfortable with my surroundings and anyone I happen to be naked with.
Male, that is.
I still don't think I have very good perception as far as what I really look like now as opposed to what I think I look like. But it's getting better.
But I continue to look at other women -- how they dress, how they carry themselves, and compare them to me. We all do that, either consciously or subconsciously (women that is). I catch myself saying "I'd never wear that outfit, it makes her look fat." or "that sweater looks makes her chest look huge". I don't think these are bad things, and I don't think women as a whole are bad for thinking them or occasionally saying them to someone that you're comfortable saying it to.
My style for most of my life has been "Whatever makes me not look fat." If it was red, it was a bonus. If it was black and white, another bonus. And if it was slightly bohemian - score! Had I been the size I am now for most of my life, I'd have probably been one of those girls who dresses like Stevie Nicks. All flowy skirts and high heeled boots. I love that stuff. But now I'm kind of a jeans and sweater girl. Jeans can hide a multitude of things, providing you don't wear them like a sausage skin. And sweaters -- well,sweaters are every girl's friend. For the most part, that part of my style hasn't changed.
But what I wear under stuff certainly has.
I refuse to wear cheap bras anymore. While I'd still wearing a 36DD, (I'd rather be a 36D, but hey, I'll take what I can get), I can get stylish and pretty bras in my size from Victoria's Secret. I won't buy a bra from anywhere else right now, because I like theirs, and they fit me perfectly.
Panties, however, are a whole other story.
I never gave much thought to them before the last three years. They were a necessary evil (except when I was with M. Then, they were totally off limits), and they just did their job. Now though, I'm much pickier about what I wear under my jeans. I'll bet I have 40 pairs in my drawer right now. Thongs, bikinis, boyshorts, tangas. Anything I see that looks like something I'd like, I buy it. I guess I've gotten a little addicted in that regard. What I put on in the morning depends wholly on my mood -- or -- the mood I want to set for the day. Whether I wear any to bed or not depends totally on my feeling as of the moment I get undressed. They've become more than a necessary evil; they are a wardrobe mood-setter.
Fun, huh? :)
I get catalogs from both Frederick's and VS on a weekly basis. I almost have to make myself throw them away anymore *grin*.
I guess I could have a worse addiction.
So, should all of that make some male that I get naked with feel grateful? Not unless it's because he's found himself someone who enjoys looking as good as she can with what she's got.
Because when I look good, I feel good.
And when I feel good, I'm unstoppable *grin*.
Robert De Niro
I don't know about grateful. But I do know that he's right.
I'd much rather get naked, or at least down to some cute little piece of lingerie with a man that I would with a woman.
I'm definitely not 'fully there' with body confidence yet. But I do know that I look better than I did three years ago. This weekend, I'm going to see my cousin whom I haven't seen in a long time. The last picture of myself before my surgery that I have is one that was taken with him. This weekend, I'm getting a new picture to set besides it. Before and almost-after. Then, and now.
I went to see a plastic surgeon last year, to see what can be done about the issues that have arisen with my body since I lost all of this weight. Things are not where they're supposed to be. Things do not look like they're supposed to look. And while I don't believe for a minute that I'm a freak of nature or anything, I do know that I can definitely look better than I do right now.
Sure. Soon as I come up with the 25 grand it'll cost to repair all this damage I did to myself for so many years.
In the meantime, there is muscle definition I could build and strength I can gain. I do exercise occasionally but not nearly as much as I should. It's not even that I lack motivation for it - I don't. It's that I seem to lack energy by the time I get home from work every night. I need to find it, though. I know I can do better.
But regardless of the issues I have with all that, again, I know that I look better naked, I have more energy once I am naked and I feel much more comfortable with my surroundings and anyone I happen to be naked with.
Male, that is.
I still don't think I have very good perception as far as what I really look like now as opposed to what I think I look like. But it's getting better.
But I continue to look at other women -- how they dress, how they carry themselves, and compare them to me. We all do that, either consciously or subconsciously (women that is). I catch myself saying "I'd never wear that outfit, it makes her look fat." or "that sweater looks makes her chest look huge". I don't think these are bad things, and I don't think women as a whole are bad for thinking them or occasionally saying them to someone that you're comfortable saying it to.
My style for most of my life has been "Whatever makes me not look fat." If it was red, it was a bonus. If it was black and white, another bonus. And if it was slightly bohemian - score! Had I been the size I am now for most of my life, I'd have probably been one of those girls who dresses like Stevie Nicks. All flowy skirts and high heeled boots. I love that stuff. But now I'm kind of a jeans and sweater girl. Jeans can hide a multitude of things, providing you don't wear them like a sausage skin. And sweaters -- well,sweaters are every girl's friend. For the most part, that part of my style hasn't changed.
But what I wear under stuff certainly has.
I refuse to wear cheap bras anymore. While I'd still wearing a 36DD, (I'd rather be a 36D, but hey, I'll take what I can get), I can get stylish and pretty bras in my size from Victoria's Secret. I won't buy a bra from anywhere else right now, because I like theirs, and they fit me perfectly.
Panties, however, are a whole other story.
I never gave much thought to them before the last three years. They were a necessary evil (except when I was with M. Then, they were totally off limits), and they just did their job. Now though, I'm much pickier about what I wear under my jeans. I'll bet I have 40 pairs in my drawer right now. Thongs, bikinis, boyshorts, tangas. Anything I see that looks like something I'd like, I buy it. I guess I've gotten a little addicted in that regard. What I put on in the morning depends wholly on my mood -- or -- the mood I want to set for the day. Whether I wear any to bed or not depends totally on my feeling as of the moment I get undressed. They've become more than a necessary evil; they are a wardrobe mood-setter.
Fun, huh? :)
I get catalogs from both Frederick's and VS on a weekly basis. I almost have to make myself throw them away anymore *grin*.
I guess I could have a worse addiction.
So, should all of that make some male that I get naked with feel grateful? Not unless it's because he's found himself someone who enjoys looking as good as she can with what she's got.
Because when I look good, I feel good.
And when I feel good, I'm unstoppable *grin*.
Balconies
...and then I finally finished the one about the balcony last month, too.
“But you’re probably right.” He said, reaching down and pulling her chemise up over her ass, exposing it and her cunt to the warm air. “I probably will fuck you. Well, on one condition.”
She swallowed again. “And what’s that?”
“You’ll have to be quiet.” He teased.
Taking a deep breath in, she replied. “I can probably manage that.”
“Probably? If you can’t, we’ll have to settle for …”
“I can. I can.” She quickly said.
“Good girl.” He ran his hand lightly over her ass, and then slapped it, and listened with a grin as she sucked in her breath.
“That’s not helping.”
“Who said I had to help?”
She groaned, but pushed her ass backward toward his hand all the same.
“You’re wet for me.”
“Yes.” She whispered.
“So soon after I fucked your ass…”
“Yes.”
He tsked at her. “Such a slut.”
“This is news?” she asked, rotating her hips a little, to stay in contact with his hand.
“Hush.” He slapped her ass again, and knew she was grinning. “Don’t make me change my mind about sliding my thick, hard cock into your pussy.”
She moaned softly, and moved her hips back toward him. “Don’t …”
“Don’t?”
“Don’t change your mind …”
“Ask me nicely.” He whispered, leaning over her and grinding against her ass.
She let out a long breath, and said very quietly. “Please fuck me.”
“Please?”
She nodded vigorously. “Please… I want your cock.”
He parted the towel, and guided his cock out of it, rubbing it across her ass. “Are you sure you can be quiet?”
“I’m sure.” She said, her voice barely audible, almost lost in the breeze.
“I hope so.” He took his cock in his hand and parted her slick outer lips with it. “We don’t want to call any attention to ourselves, do we?”
She suppressed a smirk. “No… we don’t.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked, sliding the head of his cock up and down between her legs.
“But you’re probably right.” He said, reaching down and pulling her chemise up over her ass, exposing it and her cunt to the warm air. “I probably will fuck you. Well, on one condition.”
She swallowed again. “And what’s that?”
“You’ll have to be quiet.” He teased.
Taking a deep breath in, she replied. “I can probably manage that.”
“Probably? If you can’t, we’ll have to settle for …”
“I can. I can.” She quickly said.
“Good girl.” He ran his hand lightly over her ass, and then slapped it, and listened with a grin as she sucked in her breath.
“That’s not helping.”
“Who said I had to help?”
She groaned, but pushed her ass backward toward his hand all the same.
“You’re wet for me.”
“Yes.” She whispered.
“So soon after I fucked your ass…”
“Yes.”
He tsked at her. “Such a slut.”
“This is news?” she asked, rotating her hips a little, to stay in contact with his hand.
“Hush.” He slapped her ass again, and knew she was grinning. “Don’t make me change my mind about sliding my thick, hard cock into your pussy.”
She moaned softly, and moved her hips back toward him. “Don’t …”
“Don’t?”
“Don’t change your mind …”
“Ask me nicely.” He whispered, leaning over her and grinding against her ass.
She let out a long breath, and said very quietly. “Please fuck me.”
“Please?”
She nodded vigorously. “Please… I want your cock.”
He parted the towel, and guided his cock out of it, rubbing it across her ass. “Are you sure you can be quiet?”
“I’m sure.” She said, her voice barely audible, almost lost in the breeze.
“I hope so.” He took his cock in his hand and parted her slick outer lips with it. “We don’t want to call any attention to ourselves, do we?”
She suppressed a smirk. “No… we don’t.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked, sliding the head of his cock up and down between her legs.
"Show Me"
I realize I haven't posted many fiction snippets lately. Mostly because I haven't written much. I'm very disappointed about that. I miss it.
Here's something from a relatively recently finished one. Earlier this year, I think.
Enjoy~
I leaned back and moaned. To anyone else, it might look like an ordinary toy, but to me, it was something else. It was his cock. The shape and size were alarmingly similar, almost as if it had been made from a mold of him. I bought it for no other reason; it was for me to have when I couldn’t have him.
I planted my feet firmly on the bed, and lifted my hips up slightly, angling toward the toy.
My back arched up off the bed a little as I pushed more firmly. I felt myself get wetter as the toy pushed me apart and I stretched to accommodate it, shuddering a little.
He didn’t speak. But when my eyes fluttered open, his gaze was fixed firmly between my thighs, watching. That made me take another deep breath, and whimper. His eyes flashed up and caught me watching him.
“What are you watching when you fuck yourself and I’m not here?”
“Nothing.” I whispered.
“Are you fantasizing about me pushing into you? Are you remembering a time when I fucked you hard and fast?”
“Yes.” I pushed the dildo deeper inside myself, feeling my walls expand to accept it greedily, just like they did when it was his cock.
“Then you should do that. And tell me.”
I closed my eyes tightly, feeling my legs shake as I pulled the latex cock out, just to the head, before pushing it back in, deeper.
“Tell you … what I fantasize about?” I asked between gasps.
“Yes.”
I was silent for a moment, my hand toying with the dildo, turning it back and forth a little. “I think about you fucking me from behind.”
“Where?” He asked insistently. I felt the bed move a little, and opened my eyes. His hand was wrapped solidly around his cock again. My legs shook a little, and I pushed the dildo further inside me, gasping as I tried to answer.
“Here. In that hotel. Bent over my desk…”
“It changes.”
I nodded. My left hand slide down the front of the chemise and landed between my thighs, my index finger hovering over my clit again, as I struggled to push the dildo deeper yet inside me, wetting it, getting ready. “It does.”
“Why that? Why not you riding me? Or me lying on top of you?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, and pushed the dildo in deeper; as far as it would go, and let out a whimper. I started to slide it back out slowly, and then pushed it back in hard before I answered. “Because that’s how you like me best.”
He chuckled a little. “Even when she’s getting off for herself, my little slut is always thinking about what I want, hm?”
My index finger started to dance on the top of my clit, and I spread my thighs a little more before starting to fuck myself properly with the toy. “I just know that when you’re getting what you want, I’m getting what I want.” I eeked out.
“Good girl.”
Here's something from a relatively recently finished one. Earlier this year, I think.
Enjoy~
I leaned back and moaned. To anyone else, it might look like an ordinary toy, but to me, it was something else. It was his cock. The shape and size were alarmingly similar, almost as if it had been made from a mold of him. I bought it for no other reason; it was for me to have when I couldn’t have him.
I planted my feet firmly on the bed, and lifted my hips up slightly, angling toward the toy.
My back arched up off the bed a little as I pushed more firmly. I felt myself get wetter as the toy pushed me apart and I stretched to accommodate it, shuddering a little.
He didn’t speak. But when my eyes fluttered open, his gaze was fixed firmly between my thighs, watching. That made me take another deep breath, and whimper. His eyes flashed up and caught me watching him.
“What are you watching when you fuck yourself and I’m not here?”
“Nothing.” I whispered.
“Are you fantasizing about me pushing into you? Are you remembering a time when I fucked you hard and fast?”
“Yes.” I pushed the dildo deeper inside myself, feeling my walls expand to accept it greedily, just like they did when it was his cock.
“Then you should do that. And tell me.”
I closed my eyes tightly, feeling my legs shake as I pulled the latex cock out, just to the head, before pushing it back in, deeper.
“Tell you … what I fantasize about?” I asked between gasps.
“Yes.”
I was silent for a moment, my hand toying with the dildo, turning it back and forth a little. “I think about you fucking me from behind.”
“Where?” He asked insistently. I felt the bed move a little, and opened my eyes. His hand was wrapped solidly around his cock again. My legs shook a little, and I pushed the dildo further inside me, gasping as I tried to answer.
“Here. In that hotel. Bent over my desk…”
“It changes.”
I nodded. My left hand slide down the front of the chemise and landed between my thighs, my index finger hovering over my clit again, as I struggled to push the dildo deeper yet inside me, wetting it, getting ready. “It does.”
“Why that? Why not you riding me? Or me lying on top of you?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, and pushed the dildo in deeper; as far as it would go, and let out a whimper. I started to slide it back out slowly, and then pushed it back in hard before I answered. “Because that’s how you like me best.”
He chuckled a little. “Even when she’s getting off for herself, my little slut is always thinking about what I want, hm?”
My index finger started to dance on the top of my clit, and I spread my thighs a little more before starting to fuck myself properly with the toy. “I just know that when you’re getting what you want, I’m getting what I want.” I eeked out.
“Good girl.”
Ego and Sexuality
Writing about ego, and then writing about sex brings up an interesting topic.
Let's be honest. There are people in this world whose whole identities are wrapped around their sexuality - how they look, how they fuck, and how they look while fucking. Narcissism at it's finest? Or just a lack of self-esteem in other areas of their lives?
And there are other people who simply don't get laid because they think they're bad at it. They'd rather jack off in the privacy of their own bathrooms than risk being laughed at - or pitied - in someone else's bedroom.
People exist that feel that their sexual prowess is their only redeeming quality. Oh - they'd never say that, of course. But you can see it in them if you look closely enough (and you know that I do).
I can't remember a time in my life that I've thought of myself as a lousy lay. Even when I was very heavy, my sexuality tended to supersede any insecurity I felt about being naked with someone, and I tended to enjoy sex completely. (which undoubtedly goes back to the whole "sex is better when I like someone and feel comfortable with them" thing). I may have not been as open as I am now, and I might have had a few more insecurities, but I think I always had a healthy sexual self-esteem.
What a shame I didn't have it out of the sack , too. Better late than never, I suppose *wink*
I think that our sexual-self-esteem has a lot more to do with how we feel about ourselves overall than people believe. You can be an insecure, beautiful woman or a butt-ugly, confident man - why? Because contrary to what the makeup and fashion industries would tell you in this country -- there's more to it than looking good. There's also believing that you *are* good. And part of that *good* is believing that you can entice a member of the opposite (or same!) sex into the sack.
Confidence in yourself can make up the miles between beautiful and butt-ugly. It can also take you quite the opposite way if you don't believe in yourself.
Having said that, one of the biggest 'ick' factors I have ever encountered in bed with someone is arrogance. The line (ooo another line yikes) between healthy self-confidence and arrogance is not all that thick. You can go from "This is fun, we are great together" to "You should be cumming every 20 seconds because seriously, I am just that good. Why aren't you more flattered that I'm fucking you?" in less time than it takes to slip a condom on. Luckily, I haven't encountered much of that.
Why?
Because I'm goddamn picky, that's why :)
Let's be honest. There are people in this world whose whole identities are wrapped around their sexuality - how they look, how they fuck, and how they look while fucking. Narcissism at it's finest? Or just a lack of self-esteem in other areas of their lives?
And there are other people who simply don't get laid because they think they're bad at it. They'd rather jack off in the privacy of their own bathrooms than risk being laughed at - or pitied - in someone else's bedroom.
People exist that feel that their sexual prowess is their only redeeming quality. Oh - they'd never say that, of course. But you can see it in them if you look closely enough (and you know that I do).
I can't remember a time in my life that I've thought of myself as a lousy lay. Even when I was very heavy, my sexuality tended to supersede any insecurity I felt about being naked with someone, and I tended to enjoy sex completely. (which undoubtedly goes back to the whole "sex is better when I like someone and feel comfortable with them" thing). I may have not been as open as I am now, and I might have had a few more insecurities, but I think I always had a healthy sexual self-esteem.
What a shame I didn't have it out of the sack , too. Better late than never, I suppose *wink*
I think that our sexual-self-esteem has a lot more to do with how we feel about ourselves overall than people believe. You can be an insecure, beautiful woman or a butt-ugly, confident man - why? Because contrary to what the makeup and fashion industries would tell you in this country -- there's more to it than looking good. There's also believing that you *are* good. And part of that *good* is believing that you can entice a member of the opposite (or same!) sex into the sack.
Confidence in yourself can make up the miles between beautiful and butt-ugly. It can also take you quite the opposite way if you don't believe in yourself.
Having said that, one of the biggest 'ick' factors I have ever encountered in bed with someone is arrogance. The line (ooo another line yikes) between healthy self-confidence and arrogance is not all that thick. You can go from "This is fun, we are great together" to "You should be cumming every 20 seconds because seriously, I am just that good. Why aren't you more flattered that I'm fucking you?" in less time than it takes to slip a condom on. Luckily, I haven't encountered much of that.
Why?
Because I'm goddamn picky, that's why :)
No Stifling Allowed
While I happen to be a big fan of sex in mostly all of it’s forms and I love to talk about it, dream about it, write about it and do it, it’s still a very personal thing to me. I think that because of my weight for most of my life, I either went one of two ways – casual, mostly anonymous sex, or sex in a serious relationship. In other words, it’s either someone I barely knew, or someone I was close to.
I'm not a big fan of anonymous sex anymore. In addition to the fact that it's now lethal, it just never leaves me with a very good feeling. For me, sex doesn't need to be with someone I love, but it certainly needs to be with someone I *like*. It's not for any moral reason, it's just because that for me to cut loose sexually, I need to have a little trust and faith in the person I'm cutting loose with.
The whole idea of having sex where I can't cut loose - where I feel like I have to hold back - is repugnant to me. It's pointless. I'm not going to get from it what I want to get from it, and as with indifference, pointless aggravates me. Cutting loose - being able to writhe and moan and whimper and beg - these are things that make sex work for me. Even occasionally not being able to do those things; to have the ability removed by place or time - adds to it. But removing them from the activity because I don't feel comfortable enough with the person I'm with is not something I enjoy feeling.
I dislike being stifled, be that sexually or otherwise. And putting myself into a position where that's the only possible outcome is not conducive to me getting back into my creative cycle.
I'm not a big fan of anonymous sex anymore. In addition to the fact that it's now lethal, it just never leaves me with a very good feeling. For me, sex doesn't need to be with someone I love, but it certainly needs to be with someone I *like*. It's not for any moral reason, it's just because that for me to cut loose sexually, I need to have a little trust and faith in the person I'm cutting loose with.
The whole idea of having sex where I can't cut loose - where I feel like I have to hold back - is repugnant to me. It's pointless. I'm not going to get from it what I want to get from it, and as with indifference, pointless aggravates me. Cutting loose - being able to writhe and moan and whimper and beg - these are things that make sex work for me. Even occasionally not being able to do those things; to have the ability removed by place or time - adds to it. But removing them from the activity because I don't feel comfortable enough with the person I'm with is not something I enjoy feeling.
I dislike being stifled, be that sexually or otherwise. And putting myself into a position where that's the only possible outcome is not conducive to me getting back into my creative cycle.
Fuel for Creativity
I draw a great deal of my creativity from sexual energy, be that flesh-on-flesh energy or simply energy that comes from inside me at certain times when I am inspired. Sexual energy fuels my need to create.
When I'm not feeling very sexual (and yes, it does happen), I lose my urge to create.
I started making soap again recently. It started with a comment from my Mom that she was out of the Lavender-Oatmeal soap I made for her, and ended up with me making 8 batches of soap out of supplies I still had. Then I ordered some more. And some new molds. It was a very nice couple weekends, but I've put it on hold for now because I ran out of drying room :) Creating that helped some. It broke me out of the deadzone, but it's not the same for me as writing.
I've mentioned in the past that I have a "friend" that I see occasionally for a weekend. Every 3-4-5 months or so. Typically when I come home from those kinds of weekends, my sexual energy is recharged, and I write. I write here, I write fiction, I write emails. The internal juices start flowing (as the external ones did during the weekend *smirk*) and my vigor is renewed.
Well, the ego bruise (see my last couple posts) got in the way of that this time, and it was frustrating for me. I liken it to being half way to an orgasm and stopping cold, and not going back to finish it in a timely fashion. I don’t like that feeling. It's also like being yanked out of subspace by a rude comment or a mis-directed whip shot.
I'm usually pretty good at pulling myself out of a funk, but this one took a little longer than I'm used to. And it's probably because I just couldn't put my finger on what caused it.
I'm hoping to fix that this weekend. My cousin's (I come from a small family; one first cousin!) daughter is getting married this weekend, and I intend to flirt with all of my cousin's friends. *grin*. Maybe I can find a way to recharge the energy I lost last week and put it to good use.
At least I hope so.
Because I have a lot I'd really like to write about, and I want that sexual energy back to push that forward.
When I'm not feeling very sexual (and yes, it does happen), I lose my urge to create.
I started making soap again recently. It started with a comment from my Mom that she was out of the Lavender-Oatmeal soap I made for her, and ended up with me making 8 batches of soap out of supplies I still had. Then I ordered some more. And some new molds. It was a very nice couple weekends, but I've put it on hold for now because I ran out of drying room :) Creating that helped some. It broke me out of the deadzone, but it's not the same for me as writing.
I've mentioned in the past that I have a "friend" that I see occasionally for a weekend. Every 3-4-5 months or so. Typically when I come home from those kinds of weekends, my sexual energy is recharged, and I write. I write here, I write fiction, I write emails. The internal juices start flowing (as the external ones did during the weekend *smirk*) and my vigor is renewed.
Well, the ego bruise (see my last couple posts) got in the way of that this time, and it was frustrating for me. I liken it to being half way to an orgasm and stopping cold, and not going back to finish it in a timely fashion. I don’t like that feeling. It's also like being yanked out of subspace by a rude comment or a mis-directed whip shot.
I'm usually pretty good at pulling myself out of a funk, but this one took a little longer than I'm used to. And it's probably because I just couldn't put my finger on what caused it.
I'm hoping to fix that this weekend. My cousin's (I come from a small family; one first cousin!) daughter is getting married this weekend, and I intend to flirt with all of my cousin's friends. *grin*. Maybe I can find a way to recharge the energy I lost last week and put it to good use.
At least I hope so.
Because I have a lot I'd really like to write about, and I want that sexual energy back to push that forward.
The Other Fine Line
The other little lesson I learned this week is that while there have been times in my life when my self-esteem was shit, I still had an ego.
It took me nearly a week to define why I was so full of angst about something that happened in my life, but as it turns out, my well-protected ego took a little bit of a smashing and having rarely felt that before, I wasn't sure what to do to heal it.
I'm still not sure. It's still smarting a little.
To get your self-esteem bruised, it takes you believing that whatever has been said to you or done to you, you deserved. To get your ego bruised, you have to believe that what has been said to you or done to you, wronged you. The higher your self-esteem at the point of bruising, the more likely you are to take the bruise to your ego instead.
I don't know if any of that is making sense, but if not, welcome to my world for the last week.
The one saving grace of the whole thing is that - for once in my life - something happened and I didn't immediately say "It's because I'm fat.". Why? Cause I can't say that anymore. *grin* (There, I think I feel the ego healing up lol)
So between this line, and the casual/nonchalant line, I'm learning about what I can tolerate and what I can't tolerate in personal relationships. It's all good, in the long run, but in the short term, even *I* get tired of thinking so much. Yes, you read that right. Little Miss Super-Analyze is tired of thinking so fucking much.
It took me nearly a week to define why I was so full of angst about something that happened in my life, but as it turns out, my well-protected ego took a little bit of a smashing and having rarely felt that before, I wasn't sure what to do to heal it.
I'm still not sure. It's still smarting a little.
To get your self-esteem bruised, it takes you believing that whatever has been said to you or done to you, you deserved. To get your ego bruised, you have to believe that what has been said to you or done to you, wronged you. The higher your self-esteem at the point of bruising, the more likely you are to take the bruise to your ego instead.
I don't know if any of that is making sense, but if not, welcome to my world for the last week.
The one saving grace of the whole thing is that - for once in my life - something happened and I didn't immediately say "It's because I'm fat.". Why? Cause I can't say that anymore. *grin* (There, I think I feel the ego healing up lol)
So between this line, and the casual/nonchalant line, I'm learning about what I can tolerate and what I can't tolerate in personal relationships. It's all good, in the long run, but in the short term, even *I* get tired of thinking so much. Yes, you read that right. Little Miss Super-Analyze is tired of thinking so fucking much.
Casual vs Nonchalant
In the last week, I've found a couple of fine lines in my life.
The one between 'casual' and 'nonchalant'.
Casual is technically defined as "without definite or serious intention". Nonchalant on the other hand is defined as "coolly unconcerned, indifferent, or unexcited". Similar, but with a distinct difference in intent. Remember the old cartoons about casual Friday getting to be too casual? Think that, only moreso. Big difference between nice jeans and a sweater -- and a pair of pajama pants, flip flops and a ratty tshirt you'd be ashamed to wear to the gym. Finding this line this week made me feel more like the ratty tshirt than the nice jeans and I didn't much care for that feeling.
You can be without serious intention but still not be indifferent. One of my favorite quotes is "Hate is not the opposite of love. Indifference is."
Indifference pisses me off. I've spent most of my life being rabidly passionate about a lot of things. Sex, love, family, friends, books, music. I find it very difficult to middle of the road on almost anything. I'm not entirely sure that's a healthy way to live, but it's the way I live. Not how I choose to live - just how I am.
I put a lot of energy into almost everything I do. When I gain an interest in something new, I read until my eyes hurt and then I practice, play, create. When I make a new friend, I spend the time to get to know them - what they like, what they don't like, and I find things we have in common so that we can create a bond.
I know that most people aren't like me in that, and I accept that for the most part -- I can accept lower levels of energy and less enthusiasm.
But I have a very difficult time accepting indifference.
The one between 'casual' and 'nonchalant'.
Casual is technically defined as "without definite or serious intention". Nonchalant on the other hand is defined as "coolly unconcerned, indifferent, or unexcited". Similar, but with a distinct difference in intent. Remember the old cartoons about casual Friday getting to be too casual? Think that, only moreso. Big difference between nice jeans and a sweater -- and a pair of pajama pants, flip flops and a ratty tshirt you'd be ashamed to wear to the gym. Finding this line this week made me feel more like the ratty tshirt than the nice jeans and I didn't much care for that feeling.
You can be without serious intention but still not be indifferent. One of my favorite quotes is "Hate is not the opposite of love. Indifference is."
Indifference pisses me off. I've spent most of my life being rabidly passionate about a lot of things. Sex, love, family, friends, books, music. I find it very difficult to middle of the road on almost anything. I'm not entirely sure that's a healthy way to live, but it's the way I live. Not how I choose to live - just how I am.
I put a lot of energy into almost everything I do. When I gain an interest in something new, I read until my eyes hurt and then I practice, play, create. When I make a new friend, I spend the time to get to know them - what they like, what they don't like, and I find things we have in common so that we can create a bond.
I know that most people aren't like me in that, and I accept that for the most part -- I can accept lower levels of energy and less enthusiasm.
But I have a very difficult time accepting indifference.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Unforgettable
"No matter what the relationship, no woman wants to feel as if sleeping with her is so forgettable that the minute a man walks out of the room, he's moved onto immediately to other things." Jill, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Who am I today?
(No, that's not me, but I love the picture)
I looked in the mirror at work today, and saw a college co-ed again. Hair back in a head band, study-girl glasses, turtleneck ...
It's weird seeing myself that way. But kinda neat, too.
I can be anyone I wanna be, really.
Question is, who do I really wanna be?
There isn't really an answer to that. It's mostly rhetorical. I want to be myself. And I want to be loved and appreciated for that.
I spent last Friday/Saturday/Part of Sunday with a group of people that I used to play EverQuest with. These people are friends. Good friends. Friends that make you feel loved, appreciated and special. I see parts of this group 3-4 times a year. And I always come home feeling renewed. When I am around them, I am my affectionate and consummate smart ass self.
I came home feeling good this time, too. But it didn't last very long, because some other issues arose in other parts of my life that made me stop and really think about what is driving me forward.
I saw my folks yesterday for Easter, and the first thing my mom said to me was that I didn't look happy. My parents have gotten used to seeing me happy for the last few years. And apparently yesterday, they didn't see that.
To be honest, I wasn't happy. I put a smile on my face for them because they deserve to have that, but my mind has been whirling for a week or so about things I haven't thought about in either years - or in a few cases, ever.
C and I have been separated for 3.5 years. This is the longest I've been without a special someone in my life, ever. I realize that that's my choice. I haven't been looking that hard and I haven't really put myself out there to be seen or found. My EQ friends hassle me about that. One goes so far as to say that it's not healthy for me to purposefully lock myself away. And maybe he's right. I've considered this time alone to be growing time (and shrinking time physically). I wanted to spend this time alone so that I could be sure that next time, I get what I want from a relationship - not just what's offered to me. I think that is healthy.
But I've also been dragging my feet, and I'll freely admit that. I'm not sure if it's fear, or pride, or ego, or what that's making me do that. Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. Maybe my heart is just - tired.
And to be honest, I'm tired of analyzing it.
Maybe it's time to stop analyzing it, and just open myself to the possibilities.
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