Category Archives: Non Fiction
After thirty-some-odd years on this planet I’ve seen a lot of bad things happen to people. I’ve seen the after affects of someone’s body consumed by fire. I’ve seen people die of various deceases. I’ve witnessed at least two people get hit by cars, I’ve seen a stabbing, I’ve seen a lot of fist fights. That’s not even getting into the consensual shit I’ve seen, which would include things like someone getting their tongue sliced open with a scalpel only to have their mouth peed into and some really atrocious things involving a fork.
My own story is hardly that dramatic, but for me, it was at least somewhat traumatic. Mostly because it happened to me and mostly because it happened to my penis.
Why do I keep apologizing?
I haven’t said it out loud, but it keeps repeating in my head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
That’s why you get hit, right? You were bad. And even though I am really sorry for all that I did and all that I deserve I also know that this isn’t punishment. Punishment is too easy. She is hitting me because she wants to hurt me. She is hitting me because I want to be hit. This pain is not a consequence, it’s an act all of its own. That makes it scarier because punishments have definitions, limits, sentences. This is pain for pain’s sake.
The dungeon. It’s cliché, I know. This kind of place was never part of my kink and really it still isn’t. The aesthetic is just all wrong. The leather and the stone and the seriousness of it all always seemed silly to me. I could never have imagened, let’s say four years ago, that this was a place I’d like to frequent. Then again, I do a lot of things now that I never would have imagined doing a few years ago.
Truth be told the way the place looked is important, certainly, but not vital to the games I wanted to play. I think of it like the library I go to, the one near my office. Twelve blocks away there is the most beautiful library in the city, possibly the country; the Main Branch of The New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street. It is huge, a marble monument to knowledge. It is atmospheric, with history and vast ceilings painted with murals. It’s epic, but you can’t borrow books from it unless you have special permission.
A block away from my office there is a very small, very dingy library. It is painted institution green and mostly has large print best sellers, but they will order any book I want from any library in the city and they have all of the things I need. It is easy to get to, it is easy to use. It is handy, like the dungeon.
The dungeon is a place where you can play. Where you can scream as loud as you want and hit as hard as your partner can take and you don’t have to worry about neighbors hearing or roommates coming home. You can just play.
I can’t stop thinking. Over and over I am telling myself to let go. I’m telling myself to submit, but I really have no idea what that means in this context. I tell myself to relax while every fiber of my being tightens and closes up. Some instinct in me is forcing me to protect my center.
I’m tied to a chair, my wrists bound behind me with thin hemp rope and she is hovering above me; interrogator, torturer, top, woman, beauty. Those eyes are unwavering. I wouldn’t say they are cold, but they are certainly unnervingly calm and predatory. Those are the eyes that made me want to do this. Those eyes are studying me, figuring me out. Figuring out how to take me apart.
Her nails rake my chest, then a hand in my hair pulling my head back, then a solid punch to my chest. My jaw clenches and I ready myself for this. I can take anything she can give me. I am a rock and I am unbreakable. She is this immense dangerous force, this powerful, intelligent woman, but I can take anything. I want to take it from her. I want to show her how tough I am.
In exploring BDSM in a variety of ways I found my base power position (top) relatively quickly. I like to be the one doing things, hitting, fucking, tying, commanding, humiliating, etc. The complexities of topping versus service topping and other mixed dynamics certainly came up later, but have never really concerned me. I feel like I am naturally toppy, especially in many of the relationships I have been in so far, but that’s not all I am. I contain multitudes and stuff, you know the deal.
Sometimes a chaste kiss is all you need.
At the movie your arm brushes against hers. In the dark her lingering perfume is a constant reminder of her proximity. You think about how your body is positioned and how hers is, what it all means. Is she moving closer? Are her legs positioned away? She she trying to give you a sign?
After the movie you make small talk. Funny movie! Serious movie. Scary, sweet, political. I remember this movie once… That happened to my cousin.
A bite to eat? Sure. Eyes become bolder over a table. No dark I hide behind. You can make look right into her eyes while you talk and when she looks back and your gazes linger your heart starts to pound. You can make jokes that are a little more pointed. You can flirt.
You loiter at your table after the check has came and went and the waitress is getting annoyed. Out in the street walking down a quite block, you pause. She looks at you, then down, plays with her hair. You move in and she meets you. A kiss. Center kiss, upper lip, bottom lip. Bolder, you move in. She smells like fruity body spray. She sighs onto you as she pulls away.
“We should go, it’s getting late.” one of you say.
You get to the train. She moves in now before you can. She is pulling away will half her body and pulling you in with the other half. The kiss is hungrier, sucking each lip. Open mouths for a second but then she is away.
“I should go.”
“We don’t have to. We could get a drink.” but it is half hearted. You don’t have the strength or really even the desire.
She is blushing she looks up through her bangs. She doesn’t trust herself. She had rules she can’t afford to break. You like making girls not trust themselves.
“You kiss really well.” she mumbles, again her hand in her hair, twisting and playing.
You move in but she moves back.
“I got to go, thanks. I had fun.” and then she is gone.
You smile because it is nice to just have that, just a chaste kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. You don’t want any more and you probably couldn’t handle anymore. She is just a good girl and it is lovely to make a good girl blush. She knows you’re not going to be her boyfriend. She knows what one more kiss could do.
She is a lovely flower but you have roses on my mind. Oh the roses you have in mind.
Gentle readers, I am going to tell you a true story now. The story of when I had my first sex blogger date. In wonderful sex blog fashion, said date included three people.
Janie Blooms of The Late Bloomer Finally Blooms, who by the way is in full bloom and lovely in her geek chic glasses and buxom brashness. Then there was the ever so charming Mariella from In Media Res… who is exquisite. A coquettish little lolita.
We met at a bar, the three of us, after a little mix up. There were perfunctory conversations. We laughed at the awkwardness of it, even though that awkwardness didn’t seem to exist. We were quite comfortable in fact.
I didn’t know what to make of it all before I got there. Going in I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d spoken to each of them separately online. I loved both of their blogs. I already had crushes on both of them to tell the truth. I thought I would meet them, I would see what happened.
The thing is when you read about someone in the fashion you get to know very specific things about them. When you meet them in person all the little holes in the story get filled up very quickly. So to speak. I was expecting sexy people I was expecting flirting maybe. I wasn’t expecting two completely brilliant extremely interesting women.
I wasn’t expecting the chemistry.
In the dark bar we found a quiet corner. I wonder what wandering eyes did see, though. The three of us instantly slipped into private jokes and inside information. We were following each other’s lead, though somehow I ended up the ring leader.
Mariella is a very particular kind of girl. That clumsy giggly kind of girl who’s just figuring out that she is sexy. She’s walking around with a body like a loaded gun. She is falling out of her dress. She can’t stop fidgeting. She twirls her hair and bites her lips. She bends over you, not realizing or at least pretending not to realize that her breasts are in your face. She twists and turns and squirms, almost in your lap.
When you kiss her she gives it her all. She’s overtaken by it and she has to pull herself away from it when it’s over, though she sits there with her eyes closed trying to recover.
Her body is hot to the touch, her dress is tight. A hand on her side and she melts into your grip, pressing and wanting more. When your hand finds her naked leg she is biting her lip and she doesn’t know what to do with all the want. Every bit of her is trying to pull your hand up her thigh. Every sweet breath and kiss and flirting look is making you inch closer to slipping your finger into the spot you know is wet and hungy and burning hot.
Janie is a whole different animal. Janie is more like me.
She looks at you fearlessly through her glasses. Measuring and evaluating. Daring you to move in. Giving you signals, but still making sure you have the balls to move in.
The challenge in her eyes set me off a little. We were locking glases over beer, over Mariella who was at first sitting in the middle and then by the end of the night sandwiched between us.
The flirting was ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting as most people know it. We are, all three of us, obviously advanced. The entendre was four or five layers thick. Our eyes were locking and dodging and hungry and saying a million different things. Well, really only one thing. “I want to fuck”
There was literary conversation and anecdotes, stories about relationships and sex, but all of the pretty words only made us realize that we probably could have skipped it all and went to bed right then and there. But it was too late. It was a Tuesday. Maybe it was too amazing to move on. The flirting and the kissing and eventually the touching was a whole new kind of sex. My knee is still shaking 24 hours later.
It started when Mariella went to the lady’s room. I moved in and sat next to Janie. She has a cocky sort of grin. So I kissed her. Just a little kiss. Testing the waters. She didn’t budge much, but she kissed me back. We smiled. I think I passed the first test.
A bit later Janie went to the bathroom and I whispered in Mariella’s ear that we had kissed. She said we had some catching up to do.
Mariella’s kiss wasn’t a test. A kiss and she liquified. She turned into molten lava. Tongues and hands and I started getting dizzy.
We told Janie when she got back like two kids who spilled something on the sofa. She smiled wickedly and told us we should kiss again, this time in front of her. So we did. The next time I kissed Janie she let go a little, opening her mouth falling into the kiss.
I can only imagine what the waitress saw. Two bespectacled geeky people staring into each others eyes from both sides of a squirming sex pot. All I know is she came over and offered us a free round.
It continued like this. Climbing like a thermometer in July. Kissing one of them, then the other. Kissing leading to touching. Then the shock of naked air as we pulled ourselves apart. My hand on Mariella’s leg, his side, scratching her back, while Janie did the same from the other side. The best moment was fingers meeting someone else’s fingers under her skirt. Our eyes meeting as we explored the achingly smooth skin of the younger girl between us. Oh the plans our eyes communicated.
And so I am now the king of the East Village. Stalling before getting on the train we took turns kissing, sometimes looking into the eyes of one while kissing the other right in front of the subway entrance. I was embarrassed, but Janie told me how rock star I was.
And now? Every day will be torture until we pick up where we left off.
Delicious excruciating candy coated fucking torture.
My most recent ex, The Musician, and I have a pretty friendly relationship. Basically I broke up with her because I don’t think we would do well together for the long haul, we are too different.
That being said we are still good friends and she occasionally calls me and says something like “I really need to get fucked can I come over? If you cook for me and fuck me I will blow you and and let you do what ever you want to me.”
This works out well. It’s sort of funny that my cooking is just as much of an impedes for these booty calls as my cock. It’s nice to get my sex ego and my cooking ego stroked at the same time.
Deep down, hell most of the time even on the surface, I am a nice guy. So fucking a girl who is in love with me takes some moral sidestepping because I know she is going to get hurt. I brought this up and she said she is ok with it. She’s a grown up and the sex is amazing, so we will see how it works out in the long run. I’m expecting her to find a nice boy with a nice job to take care of her pretty soon, until then I will enjoy our little sleep overs.
She came over last night, but just for a home cooked meal. She was rather emphatic about this.
Chicken, potato and carrot curry over rice. Naan. Followed by a carbohydrate haze. We played a little Scrabble. We lounged on the couch. When my hand lazily grazed her breasts she said “No sex, mister.” which honestly I was fine with. I was tired. Of course knowing her the way I did all I had to do was not try and have sex with her if I really want it. So I smiled and eyed her and put on the television.
She tried to kiss me during a commercial, but I pulled away. She said no sex and so we shouldn’t even get started. She pouted. I smiled. She nuzzled my neck and I gave her a obviously fake look of annoyance. It was amazing how well ignoring her worked. By the next commercial she straddled me and pulled off her shirt.
Oh those tits. She is this tiny thing, 5 feet tall, those tits look like they are going to make her topple over. That size ten waist with those DD tits that she doesn’t even know what to do with, and damn how I missed that ass. So thick and so spankable. It’s too bad she can’t take much of a spanking. The first few slaps make her eyes glaze and her lips pout. Then she winces and squirms away. There are so many things I like about the Musician, but she is so very vanilla in a lot of ways.
Still, the fact that if she rubs her clit while I fuck her slowly from behind she squirts. The fact that she will come over just to suck my cock because sometimes she just needs to suck cock. All of this makes her a lovely pet to have around.
I remember a cute little moment. It was one of the first times we were together. She was trying hard to talk dirty, but her little girl voice made it almost comical. It was adorable.
“You like that big dick in my tight little pussy? Give me that dick! Do me with that dick!”
It was dick this and dick that and it sounded oddly childish the way she said it. I grabbed her and said “Cock. Say cock. And fuck!”
She kind of giggled, turned red and timidly tried out the harsher words.
“Fuck me with you thick… cock.”
For all of her vanilla she does have a streak of dirty. Wrist restrains and rope were out of the question, even calling me sir wasn’t her taste (let along Daddy… that was an awkward conversation). She does like to be called a slut, though only when she is primed for it. I pushed it a little farther and told her I should pay her for sucking dick so well. The idea made her eyes roll back in her head with shame and pleasure. The fact that I was rubbing the head of my dick over her clit at the time might have helped.
I wondered if I went to far for her, but in a few minutes when I had that big ass in both hands she looked back at me, hair across her face and asked how much. She said I should offer her money to fuck her. This led to a whole little prostitution game.
She ended up not even staying over. Leaving me alone on wet sheets to ponder what happened. She IMed me later that night to tell me the idea of me paying her for a blow job was all she could think about and she fingered herself in cab.
I tend to talk big online, but most of the dates I go on are relatively boring. I was in a five year monogamous relationship that ended badly a little over a year ago and ever since I have been on a dating tear. So I tend to go on a lot of dates with new people all the time, most of which I find online. I’m looking for someone to hold my interest, but so far none have held it for any more than a week or two with the exception of The Librarian who I dated for about three months and met on Craig’s list and The Musician who actually lived with me for two months and who I met on some forum somewhere.
More than anything else online dating has become a thing to do. A hobby almost. I’m not specifically looking for sex most of the time. I’d actually be happy enough with some new friends, but new playmates are equally important. The primary qualification is intelligence, with sexy and open minded close behind.
Often my luck in dating over the last year has surprised me. I don’t consider myself a catch really, I’m a chubby sort of overly sarcastic wannabe intellectual who has fits of shyness and is much better on paper than real life. Still in the past 13 months I have had a good run. Before my long relationship I had some interesting times as well.
I’m giving you a little back up so that my stories make a little more sense.
This is leading up to last night and The Mouse.
The Mouse is a little thing, although roughly my height she is somehow shorter somehow. She doesn’t have the best posture. She is 22 and works in a museum. She finished her degree early and is going for a Masters in something vague and obscure. These are things that tend to turn me on.
When it comes to dating (as well as all things) I compartmentalize. I filter. I pre-judge. There are sex dates, kink dates, fun dates and smart dates. This was definitely the later.
It was our second date, the first time we just met for a drink and some dinner. It went well enough, nothing really memorable. She seemed painfully shy, which made me bolder and more outgoing. She has braces, which I find odd. Combined with her body language and sort of awkward Pretty in Pink handmade clothes she seemed even younger than her age which is already ten years my junior.
After the first date I had to go on a trip out of the country and I came back to a few messages from her wondering how things went, wondering when we would go out again. We made plans for a museum, discussion, possibly dinner after.
We ended up on my couch.
I have specific tastes, but sometimes it is fun to find someone with completely opposite (physical) characteristic from what I am used to. The Mouse is somewhat thin. Maybe a size 8. Hardly any breasts. Maybe an A cup. No tattoos here. No fancy underpants. Hell, she goes to church.
We flirted in the museum, we brought up a shared love of rice pudding. She commented that I should make her some. She commented on me making her something or showing her something at my place a few times. Eventually I got the point and the next thing I knew we were headed to my apartment.
On the couch after the perfunctory look around the apartment and banter, the kissing started. It’s always interesting finding new lips, new necks, new buttons to push and mysteries to solve. She is such a good girl I kept keeping my eye out for some speed bump, some stop sign. I didn’t want to go farther than she was comfortable with, but before I knew it she was naked on my couch and there didn’t seem to be any doubts.
I often find awkwardness attractive. She was certainly awkward. In nothing but glasses and braces she had an enthusiasm that was comical and hot at the same time.
She got shockingly wet. Impressively wet. I kissed every inch of her and when I went down on her she seemed shocked by the sensation. I wondered exactly how inexperienced she was. She mentioned in passing during the date former boyfriends, various dates, so on. Still as she came and then collapsed into a fit of giggles I felt like I was an experiment or an adventure.
In bed she grasped my cock with one hand tightly. It reminded me of high school. She pulled and examined.
“Show me how to… touch you…” she said, not meeting my eyes.
I took her hand, we played, I let her explore. Then we rolled around together, rubbing and gasping. I wondered exactly what I should do next. I moved to my nightstand, she watched with a questioning look. I pulled out a condom. She settled back.
Inexperience doesn’t turn me on, per se, but as I said variety is always interesting and taking a break from aggressive girls was fun.
What happened next was a little odd. You see… things didn’t exactly fit. There was certainly a lot of good intentions, not to mention lubrication, but it seemed like it just wasn’t happening so we settled for a lot of rubbing and grinding and so on which made her happy, but left me unsatisfied. She realized this and took me, awkwardly at first, into her mouth. I was concerned, her braces, her inexperience, but things went well. When I felt myself nearing I groaned out a warning. She kept going, never letting up.
We then fell asleep.
Today she told me she knew all along that this was going to happen. She even brought a change of underwear. Who would have known? This mousy girl who wanted to walk around in museums with me was a second date fuck.
Thus proving again that I am old and I can’t read women.
(This happened about 7 months ago)
So… my second date with FancyJobGirl.
It went well. It lasted 18 hours. A solid 7 of those involved sex. With another 7 of talking heatedly about books, music, media, marketing, history, movies, gender politics, etymology, etc.
She is a short girl. Ridiculously intelligent. Mensa smart. Quicker than me. A wordsmith. We both came out no holds barred, our best material. We were both impressed and swooning.
She bought breakfast.
I don’t think either of us were expecting sex. She came back to my apartment and after nice conversation I kissed her. She kissed me. I kissed her neck, bit her ear, found her buttons. She reach down my pants and then we were on the bed.
She is very multiorgasmic. I found her g spot easily and when she comes that way it is violent and emotional and amazing to watch. After she is shaking and incoherent for a good 10 minutes. Her clitoral orgasms are little bursts that go on forever as one long orgasm.
She kept giving me this look, like how the fuck does this guy know how to do this, which made me feel very nice.
The fucking was good. Not great. She is a little body conscious and there are some other issue that I will get in to in a minute. I was good, she could be a little more active. Her oral sex was nice, but short.
So over breakfast she told me that she had lived with a women for five years, which explained so much. I think she thought I would have more of a reaction, but I kind of just smiled and said “this is very interesting.”
She said guys either recoil or act way too interested and say “I have this friend…”
It explains a lot about the sex. Her ability to receive a lot of stimulation. Her mature understanding of how to let herself have a lot of orgasms. Her sort of clumsiness around a cock. As nice as it was she does have a bit of that thing that a lot of bi girls have. That sort of greedy “I’m just going to lie here are you are going to pleasure me for a few hours” thing that I have experienced before. I mean, it is not a purely bi girl thing, but it is pretty prevalent in that demographic.
Still I can work with it. We will see where this goes. I was sort of up front about the whole “casual dating” thing and one of the first things she noticed when she came in to the apartment were the nails in the walls with no pictures on them.
“Almost looks like someone lived here with you and just recently moved out.” she said sarcastically.
I had another journal a while ago that was pretty locked up. Here is a retelling of events that happened about six months ago.
Not sure what to say about my date last night. Very very odd. Surreal.
Half Asian Video Editor Girl. It was our second date.Went to dinner, walked around, I was frankly thinking things weren’t working out. A lot of awkward silences with me like looking around for some way of escape. Then she sort of randomly asked if we could hang at my apartment.
We took a cab back to my place, she pretty much did that thing girls do where they sit there waiting to be kissed, so I kissed her. Things progressed pretty normally from there.
I was pretty confused, because she seemed to send me a lot of messages that this wasn’t going to happen. She shot me down the first date. I slowed down during the kissing and asked her if I was moving to fast and her response was “I want you to fuck me.”
Well, I may not be the best at reading messages, but that one I think I can interpret as a positive.
Let me describe her. My height, chubby-ish with most of her weight carried in her behind and breasts. Shoulder length straight black hair, warm light brown eyes, which are sort of asian looking, but sort of not. Pale skin with lots of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Cute in a dorky way.
I didn’t really think about it at first, but she wore a long sleeve shirt on both dates… though I did notice she did the emo sleeve tug a lot, pulling sleeves over her hands. She took her pants of as things progressed, but only pulled up her shirt and I started to get why.
Cutters. I have been with cutters before. I should have read it a long time back. I saw the first few on her belly, all in a neat little row. The more skin that was exposed the more I realized she was a serious cutter. I mean… rows of neat deep scars. Neat and even rows with the occasional slash across. You could see the attention to pattern and the occasionally followed urge to ruin even her own destructive works.
She has tattoos (chinese characters) on her wrists and up her arms, plus a large character on her chest between her breasts and I would lean later two playing cards on her back. The queen of hears and the queen of spades… significance?
Then I saw an almost successful suicide attempt, big thick slashes down her wrist. She has kangi tattoos all down her arm and the scar splits the dark ink
in half with a golden white scar as thick as a pencil. Which means it wasn’t that long ago. It was after she got the tatoos which I am guessing were done when she was in her early 20’s.
People have issues, I’m fine with that, I understand that. But to be honest I got freaked. I had an equipment failure. I think it was the big scars cutting into the tattoos… I kept thinking about it.
But I worked through it. She had a good time and I eventually found my way through to at least some degree.
I always kiss scars. It just seems like what you should do. Does that make sense? She seemed to be comforted by it.
She had to go home because she didn’t bring anything for her contact lenses… or just didn’t want to stay, who knows.
Weird weird night. I like her, not in any serious way, but she is sort of fascinating in an emotionally fucked up way. Really she seemed bubbly and happy the whole time, I had no idea what would be under her shirt, besides very large breasts.
I certainly don’t want to rattle her or ask too many questions that she doesn’t want to answer… still my curiosity will always overpower any other emotion. Queen of Hearts and Queen of Spades… hm. Dark past or just a troubled youth? What broke that little girl?
Sigh, deep down part of me just thinks of people as stories. Deep down I kind of like that I feel that way.