1.26.2005
- It is very disconcerting to look at a man passing you in the hallway and remember that his penis curves to the left.
It is also very disconcerting to watch that man talking to someone you rather dislike and know that he has seen your eyes roll back into your head as he made you orgasm.
I wonder if he thinks of that when he sees me.
I wonder if he remembers how tight my pussy clenched in surprise, shock, enjoyment, when he hit me across the face while fucking me.
I wonder if he would have ever looked at quiet, shy little me if his girlfriend hadn't picked me.
I wonder if he remembers forcing me so far down on him that I gagged and threw up.
I wonder if he remembers.
I know he remembers me. I was walking around the library one day when I noticed him staring at me. I ignored him as long as I could, but when I went to leave, he stopped me. As soon as he asked if he knew me from somewhere I recognized him. I blushed and stammered. His girlfriend and I had continued our friendship after we stopped sleeping together, but I had never kept contact with him. Why would I? After a few minutes of hemming and hawing, I finally told him why I looked familiar. The light went on.
We spent the next hour or so catching up. Past the first moment of recognition, our previous sexcapades were not mentioned. To my surprise, I found him quite likeable, though not someone I would have picked to be intimate with on my own. We ran into each other occasionally after that, never speaking as past sexual partners, more as two people with mutual friends. We speak as acquaintances who drift in and out of contact.
I wonder if he ever thinks about doing it again. Not that He would want to, or let me, but does it cross his mind? His ex-girlfriend and I had talked about it, often. Does he?
I wonder what the afore mentioned disliked man would think if he knew? Would he be revolted at the perverted things we did? Would he pump us for stories? Would he try never to let that mental image cross his mind again? Would it creep in to distract him while he should be paying attention to other things? Would he laugh at me? Would he leer?
I wonder if he knows how much that first time is like a drug to me, how much it has affected my fantasies, how much that dark side of me longs to throw myself at his feet and beg for more, how glad I am that I have Him to stop me from giving in to my urges.
I wonder how many woman have let him do everything he craves to them. I know one didn't. That was where I came in. I wonder if I would have even given him a second look if she hadn't asked me to.
- I was reading through A New York Escorts Confessions and saw one woman's story about getting her hood pierced. Since my experience was extremely different, I thought I'd share.
I learned very young to always go to the same piercer. Two times I ventured to a different shop, and both times was burned; a tongue piercing that ended with a hospital visit, and a crooked nipple ring that still bleeds and aches 5 years later (yes, I know I should let it heal and get it repierced, I just don't have the guts). So, when I decided to venture south of the border, there was no question, I was going to my usual piercer. The time was much less set. I had a "friend with benefits" at the time, but had no urge to bring him with me, and definitely didn't want to go by myself, so I ended up going with two female friends.
When we got there, the piercer had only one person in line, so thankfully I didn't have long to wait. We all looked at tattoos and belly rings while waiting, trying to take my mind off of the nerves. I had heard horror stories (such as the one above) about how much it hurt, but my nipples had been relatively painless, so my mind was bounding around between passing out and gushing blood to a minor ouch.
When the piercer called me back, he allowed me to bring one person, but I declined. These were my long time friends, and none of us had any urge to stare at my currently hairless crotch. So, I braved the room alone. While he set up, I shimmied my thong off and into a handy pocket, and hopped up on the table. He knew me well enough to skip the care lecture, just hit on the points relevant to this piercing. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, legs spread, his face about a foot from my crotch. We chatted about his daughter, my friends, my other piercings, he offered for about the 6th time to fix my crooked nipple, and then he looked up at me.
"Is this for pleasure, or just to look pretty" he asked, quite seriously.
I blushed crimson, and had to restrain my urge to slam my thighs shut. "Just to look pretty" I mumbled, looking anywhere but at him.
He nodded somberly, and disappeared underneath my skirt again. For the first time, I felt his cold latex covered hands, poking and prodding around my clit, as he explained that a vertical piercing would be best for me. I agreed, and tried to think of other things.
Then, suddenly, he started whistling. Being only about 6 inches away from my clit, the whistling blew air all over me, tickling like crazy. He stopped very abruptly 10 seconds later when I let out a quick giggle. It suddenly dawned on me that he was rather uncomfortable too. Not doing the piercing, we had talked over the years about many such piercings, and my worse things, but I think I made him nervous, just because he knew me a bit better. But, nerves or not, we were set to go. I could feel the cold steel of the receiving tube on my clit, and as usual, it made me more nervous than anything.
I started the required 3 deep breaths, and was on the exhale of two when there was a sudden pain, and a twinge raced down both my legs. I blinked, confused. Where was the intense orgasm or intense pain or intense anything? Hell, my ears had hurt worse than that! There was a slight tugging as he threaded the ring in and closed it, but again, very mild. I sat up slightly, to look at the piercer.
"All done" He smiled up at me and handed me a sheet of paper with his name, number, and aftercare instructions.
In a daze, I pulled out the cash to pay and tip him, then wandered outside. There was a dull ache between my legs, but nothing like what I expected. By the time I reached the car, I was walking normally, the only discomfort present being the rather airy feeling that comes with a skirt and lack of underwear.
Over the next 10 days, I woke up early to sit on the side of the tub with my handheld shower head pointed at my piercing, and took extra-long showers every night, washing it carefully with Dial. That was about the only pain I felt with this piercing, that lovely sharp feeling of soap in an open wound, the pain that you miss so much after a piercing heals.
All in all, I tell everyone that this was the least painful and quickest healing piercing that I have, and I highly suggest it. Don't expect orgasms with every step, though.
- Never microwave good fettecuine alfredo. No matter how good it tasted the night before (and it was ooooooo so orgasmicly good) the second it hits the microwave, it turns into this oily mess. Can someone please tell me why? It's not like this is the first time, anyone with a brain would have learned over the years to stop saving leftovers from italian restaurants, but no, not me. So, here I sit, rumbling grumbling belly dejectedly regarding a blue bowl filled with noodles surrounded by a sea of yellow oil.
So, I decided to put off eating for a few minutes to post a bit in here. I have been looking around today, and have found some interesting blogs, very inspiring, but I just haven't been able to pull off writing erotica while at work. For one thing, the men that come through my office are definitely not inspiring, and will ruin any mood I manage to drum up, and for two things, getting caught just doesn't do it for me, to His dismay. So, I will have to be content with a simple ponder, rather than a porn.
Speaking of inspiration, I have added a link to Stile on the left side. If you scroll down, there are a few videos of a man fisting himself, as well as one of another man taking a girls arm past the elbow up his ass. Very interesting. Quite frankly, though I had read about such occurrences, I had not believed that it was physically possible until yesterday. After watching the latter video, and measuring my arm against His body, I realized that acting out the video would put my fist approximately in his stomach. He says everything stretches and pushes out of the way (and how would he know? I can't even get a finger up his ass!) but I'm skeptical. If anyone would like to explain exactly how the afore mentioned phenomenon is achieved, please, do so!
- As he slept soundly the next room, I dug out my newest discovery. As we were moving furniture this weekend, I found an old porn stash, including a book of porn. Nothing in the world gets me off like the written word. If you've ever seen the movie Threesome, I'm the girl squirming on the library table while a innocent young man reads big words out of the dictionary. So, needless to say, this was a wonderful find.
Tonight, I started re-reading it, for mental pleasure only, I've never been able to orgasm without aid, either a second person, or a battery operated toy. For some reason, my own hands just don't cut it for me. Even the addition of a piercing through my hood hadn't helped. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Just informing. So, I started tonight with no goal in mind, just some pre-slumber amusement.
I read my way through boy on girl, girl on girl, toy on girl, girl on self, paint on girl, ice on girl, so many short stories I can't even keep them straight, all the while, playing with my new Christmas present, a short banana barbell for my hood. Much different than the previous capitive bead ring, a much harsher sensation, very very nice. Soon, though, the stories became too tame. This was a book "borrowed" years ago from a very vanilla friend, and didn't cut it for my rather un-vanilla mood. So, on to the web, where a quick search of my favorite site brought up a very satisfactory story about a personal favorite of mine, lesbian fisting. I love fisting, love the feeling of fullness, but I'm very small boned, and he is very large boned. Makes for rather painful fisting. Very very orgasmic, but very very painful afterward. I have yet to fufill my fantasy of being fisted by a woman. Someday, I hope. No, scratch that. Someday, I know. All good things come to those who wait, and I'm very patient.
As I read, I continued to rub at my clit, occasionally dropping down to play with the ever increasing amount of juices flowing from my cunt. After just one page, I was quite amazed at the feeling slowly rising in me, that wonderful pre-orgasm wave that was slowly starting in my depths. My first instinct was to sneak into the dark bedroom and try to retrieve a toy to help, but a moment later, a little stubborn voice inside me piped up, telling me to see how far I could go. I had never made it this far before, why not keep going? So, I did.
I pinched my clit, rubbing that hard little metal ball back and forth under the hood, then backed off for more juice. I rubbed hard, like I had seen porn stars do, but have never had success with myself. Today, success. The wave kept increasing, then, with startling suddenness, broke over me.
Short.
That is my biggest memory of my first non-assisted orgasm. Intense, almost as triumphant as my first fisting, but much more pleasant afterwards. Wet, very wet, I never imagined getting this wet with nothing my me. Amazing, simply amazing. Is this what all my friends did, while I franticly searched for larger and more interesting things to shove into my hungry cunt? Is this what they enjoyed while I wore out batteries by myself and with boyfriends?
Wow. Have I been missing it.