Sex Is Never Meaningless

I learn just as much about myself from solitude, contemplation, and quiet meditation as I do from arguements, crowds, and racous fucking.

A week ago, I had a guy over for a fuck. The first thing he did when he walked in the door was to say “Cute place.” The second, to kiss me. Third, to gag me with his huge cock slamming into the back of my throat.

This is significant for two reasons

1. I am a control addict. I do not like giving it up. I have severe withdrawl which results in bitchiness, a tender ego, and acute anxiety.
2. I don’t like physical discomfort. I don’t like being spanked, pinched, bitten, slapped, cut, burnt, etc.

But as my eyes watered, and my breath faltered, I felt myself push his dick deeper.

“You like sucking my cock, don’t you?”

And as he pulled out, and air flooded my lungs, all I could do was moan as I grabbed his hips to pull him back in again.

 

I did not know that about myself. That I could be so hungry for cock that I would – momentarily – give up my air supply. It’s something I’ve been thinking over for the past week and mostly what I keep thinking is I want that cock back in my throat.

Domestic Kink

I love wearing aprons, baking bread, making sauces, knitting, sewing, cleaning, organizing, hosting, roasting, anything domestic or homey. In an ideal world, I would work quarter-time and spend most of my time at home or out doing errands and seeing friends at their homes. In short, I would be a housewife.

Why? Why would I want to spend so much time at home, making things for other people, slaving away over meals for other people? Why wouldn’t I go out, travel, go to the theatre? Why would I want to do that?

Because it gets me hot.

To imagine my shirt pushed up and my pants pulled down, bent over the counter in my apron and my hands covered in bread dough getting my ass slicked up and rimmed before I’m fucked senseless and then going back to kneading bread and washing my hands before I can pull my pants up again. My ass is bare and pink and he can see it, slap it, grab it whenever he walks by. I think that’s hot.

To blow him in the humid laundry room while I wait for the spin cycle to finish, swallowing his hard dick and his cum and then changing the loads of clothes before sucking him off again. I think that’s hot.

To greet him at the door with a kiss, which turns into necking, which gets me pushed against the front door and my clothes torn off and he fucks me against the door with my legs wrapped around his waist and my hands clutching his jacket, smelling his cologne and cumming on his work clothes. I think that’s hot.

Knowing that he sees my beauty, my talent, my skills, my love for him. Knowing that because he sees, he loves me. He loves me because he sees me.

An Unforseen Happening

I don’t like lube, not for jerking off. And frankly, at this point in my life I find that a few deep breaths and some muscle control make a lubricated condom more than adequate. Usually if I’m going to be having sex with somebody, I tell them to bring lube if they want to use some.

Though I’ve always felt like lube was something I SHOULD have on hand. Especially recently when I had jerked off so much I’d rubbed a small part of my dick a little tender.

Being circumcised has never hurt so much.

So began the search for the Perfect Lube. I dont like things that are too thick, too slick, or too runny, or too thin. I wanted something that would provide enough slip to slide my cock through my hand, and would stay where I put it. In the past, my problems with lube have mainly stemmed from them being so slippery that I, literally, coudln’t maintain a grip on myself. I would have to squeeze the living crap out of my junk just to get some basic sensations. Inevitably, I would wipe whatever it was off with a towel and go back to life without lube.

But now, thanks to all the reviews on Babeland, I have found exactly what I wanted in Eros Bodyglide. On the plus side, it actually conditions and protects latex and is recommended for fetish wear as well as lubricant. Not that I’m interested in wrapping my body in latex – except for one very important part.

I’ve been thinking of all the ways I want this new boy to fuck me with this stuff slicking up his condom-covered cock and it’s delicious pondering the possibilities.

There’s another post brewing in the back of my brain on the topic of domestic kink. What’s that? I’m not sure yet, but I have some ideas.

Cycling Through

This boy and I.

We are just friends. This beautiful, smart, funny, shining boy and I are just friends and that does not break my heart. In my life I am learning to take people on the terms they present to me, especially when they are comely, lovely souls. But just as this possible romance fades away into friendship, a new boy has entered the picture.

He fucks me so good. The light in his eyes is hot and scary and makes me so horny. His touch sears my skin, his dick makes me drool, his lips are painfully soft and I love to bite them, crush them with my mouth. I think we are going to be good friends and better fucks. He is in an open relationship, so I have no illusions of being his boyfriend, his partner. I have plenty of fantasies of all the many ways we’re going to debauch our beautiful selves together. I like this new boy a lot.