Monday, January 31, 2005


Allow me a moment of giddiness...

I've been LINKED! :D

Thank you, Virgin-Slut! I feel like I finally exist.

Saturday, January 29, 2005


I'm a slut.

That's right. I'm a dirty, horny little assfucking cumslut who wants to be plugged in every hole. I wanna suck your cock and have you unload all over me. I'm a whore, a loose bitch, a cocksucking slut.

And I am not ashamed.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Sleeping around

Pussy Talk is one of my favourite blogs. DTG writes about sex in a very fresh and artful way; her quality of work is something I aspire to and feel is sadly lacking in most smut writing.

Today's post was fantastic and reminded me of why I love sleeping with my man. It's always amazing when you are so in tune with each other that one always knows what the other needs.

Besides, there's nothing like a well-loved, hard, throbbing cock in your hand to dispel your blues.

Thursday, January 27, 2005


I must issue a disclaimer before I begin this rant. I love my boyfriend. He is wonderful, and a great fuck. He's becoming more and more open-minded and he's a lot less uptight about sex than he used to be. Most of this no longer applies to him in the least. I guess he just needed a good teacher. :)

Maybe I should do some explaining. At first, D was adamant about not wanting to lose his virginity until he got married. As you can probably tell from my recent posts, he's softened his position on that somewhat. Okay, a lot. But he's revealed at the same time his complete and utter ignorance of basic sexuality. I think it's because he went to a Catholic high school, and emerged typically repressed and misinformed.

Perhaps I should enumerate:

1) The day after we had sex for the first time, we were talking on MSN and he admitted he knew nothing about birth control. I had to explain the function and usage of condoms, the pill, and coitus interruptus (the method we had used the night before; risky, I know.)

Him: Isn't the pill bad?

Me: What? No. It's totally safe. What makes you think it's bad?

Him: I don't know. They told us it was bad.

Me: Of course they did. *rolls eyes*

2) I had to explain STDs. He didn't even know what the acronym meant, and when I told him, he asked if they occur spontaneously (as a sort of byproduct) or if one partner actually has to have one to spread it to the other. Christ. No wonder the guy was afraid to have sex.

3) He hates blowjobs. Now, I don't know if this quite belongs in this list of sexual ignorance, but I think it's a symptom of a larger problem. This topic deserves (and will get ) a post all of it's own, cause it just really disturbs me.

4) He has no clue where my clit is. Now this is not strictly true. He has an innate sense of what I like and where I like to be touched, but show him a female anatomy diagram (sans labels, of course) and ask him to point it out and he would be up shit creek without a paddle.

5) He was under the impression that during a woman's period is when she is most fertile. Huh? Where does this notion come from?

6) I know most guys have a horror of all things menstrual, but I'm reasonably sure most of them have an idea what all those pads and tampons are for. Him? Not a clue. I won't tell you what he thought they were for, because it is just too ridiculous for words.

This is nothing against him. This is against the society that can produce ignorance like this. For chrissakes, keep health class in school. Don't let uptight parents and cheap school boards limit or ban sex education. Obviously, even what we have in some schools is inadequate.

Has anyone else ever met someone similarily clueless in this department? Inquiring minds want to know.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

I like toys, part 2

Continued from I like toys.

There is a sex shop two doors down from my church. No kidding. I've driven past it a few times, and recently I decided to finally go in.

I had never been in one before then. I didn't really know what to expect, but this one looked friendly enough, and not freaky like some of the ones I see downtown sometimes. No weird mannequins in the window wearing bizarre outfits. Mannequins scare me.

As I approached the door I saw a punky looking teenaged boy run out of the shop, laughing and hamming it up with his friends. "Oh my god, that is so sick!" they snorted. Oh Jesus. I held my head up and, dressed like a good girl in my Sunday best, walked into the shop.

I don't know what I expected from the staff. A vampy woman with way too much makeup? A leering man? A porn star? Nope, nothing that exciting. A bored-looking 20-something girl in a hoodie was sitting behind the counter. She greeted me and told me to ask questions if I needed anything. She would have been much more at home working at the Gap.

I was the only person there. I guess Sunday isn't a prime sextoy-shopping day. I persued everything, shelves and shelves of lube, vidoes, and vibrators. I really didn't know what I wanted, exactly, but I knew I wanted a vibe that was small and discreet and didn't look anything like a penis in case I left it lying around somewhere.

I told myself I would only spend $40. Being a student, I really can't drop $100 on an iVibe, as much as those little rabbit ears tempt me. Finally, I saw the Natural Contours Jolie. Small, angled for g-spot, and looks nothing like a penis. And $39.99. Perfect.

On my way to the checkout, I saw something that caught my eye. A combo of bullet vibe and anal beads. Next time.

"Will you be needing any lube or toy cleaner today?" the clerk asked. It was so nonchalant, like "do you want fries with that?" Maybe I'm naive, but I thought working in a sex shop would be more exciting than that. I paid and left.

Next installment: trying it out.

Monday, January 17, 2005

Nervous energy

I need to fuck.

I need something to quiet the thousands of voices babbling in my head. I need SOMETHING to expend all this nervous energy.

I hate all the questions. I hate thinking. Make me forget everything except your cock and your teeth.

Bite me. Fuck me.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Gorgeous ass

By Quebec photographer Robert Laliberte. See more of his beautiful pictures here.

I like toys

I am on a mission.

I am going to buy my first vibrator tomorrow. After church. Heh.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Friday, January 14, 2005

These dreams of you

Last night I dreamed you slept with another woman.

She was older, beautiful and exotic, with a low silky voice. We showed up at her door together and she drew us in. She led you into the bedroom, and for some reason known only to the mysterious part of my psyche that invents my dreams, I was ok with it. I sat on her expensive living room sofa while she fucked you, and somehow I knew she was doing it well, doing it better than I ever could.

You emerged some time later, holding her hand. You gazed at her like a man entranced, and kissed her fingers goodbye with the same tenderness usually reserved for me. Jealousy rose like bile in my throat.

"Do you want me to paint you, darling?" she asked in a voice smooth as honey. His wordless answer was obvious. She looked at me. "Do you want to help me paint him?"

"Yes, I want to paint him, but I don't want anyone else touching him!" I said, with more sadness than venom, and a pathetic sort of desperation. I knew I couldn't stop her.

Suddenly you were naked in the living room and she had smoothed wide stripes of glistening oil paint down the deep groove of your back and over the curve of your sweet ass.

I found myself in some sort of gift shop, with people milling around; one of my ex-boyfriends was among them. There was a rectangular terracotta urn on the cash register counter. I was looking at it when my mother came over and said to me: "You are trash. You will never have anything other than trash." As fury washed over me, I noticed these same words inscribed on the urn. I picked it up, and although it was so heavy I could barely lift it, I hurled to the ground again and again until it finally broke into two pieces.

My ex-boyfriend was furious with me. He locked himself in the bathroom, which I suddenly realized was the master bedroom ensuite at my parent's house. I knocked and knocked, and he wouldn't answer. Finally he unlocked the door and I opened it. I sobbed and sobbed, and he took me in his arms and somehow we ended up lying together on my parents' bed. I told him I only broke the urn because I was mad at my mom. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" I repeated, and although he told me he loved me, I knew from the tension in his body that I was not forgiven.


Weirdest. Dream. Ever.

Although I have a good idea what my subconcious is trying to say.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

In praise of the uncut cock

Something I find sort of odd is the proliferation of circumsized men in North America. It is strictly a Jewish and Muslim custom as far as I know; I don't believe it's a part of Christian dogma or that of any other religion. So why are something like 60% of male babies still being circumsized?

I've read some of the reasons, and although I find it hard to argue with what look like valid scientific studies (concluding that circumcision reduces the risk of penile cancer/UTIs/HIV) I still find it barbaric. It's like a woman having her labia cut off. Barbaric and unnecessary. Apparently penile cancer and UTIs can be prevented by simple washing, and to avoid HIV, wear a condom. Duh.

Personally, I love an uncut cock. I don't understand all those women who think it's ugly. It's nature, girls. They're born with it. And let's face it, the male reproductive organs are pretty ridiculous with or without that extra piece of skin; don't even get me started on female bits. But they are both perfectly designed by forces much wiser than us. I hate that we always feel the need to interfere.

Two of my lovers have been uncut, and I like them because a) they're natural, and I'm a big fan of the natural, and b) I think they're cute. They are like shy little turtles: they hide at first, but play with them a little and they'll come out and say hello. When they do, I can never resist giving them a friendly lick. Or ten.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

An old flame

Fuck me up the ass. I don’t want to hear this shit.

I can tell him everything about me, but I don’t want to hear about him.

Never mind that I love my man. This guy has his claws in me. He always has, always will. Wound me, bend me, break me, with a little twist of his hand.

No contact is the best contact. Keep him at arms length, farther even. If he does not touch me he cannot harm me. Or so the theory goes.

Last Night

I can hardly believe that you are leaving tomorrow. I don't know when I will see you next.

We spent an hour or so making love this afternoon and although it was wonderful, that is not what I am interested in tonight. Tonight, just hold me. Let me lie small and quiet, nestled under your shoulder. Let me stroke your chest and stomach, you legs and feet, not because I want to fuck you (although I do) but simply because I love them. I want to remember them: memories for the long, lonely months ahead.

Just put your arms around me, my love, and sleep, and I will watch over you.

Friday, January 07, 2005

Second Last Night

I've never gotten a hotel like that before, baby. Paid for only so we'd have a place to fuck, and to sleep together. For me to spend a few hours in your arms at least, undisturbed, before you leave.

King sized bed - so unnecessary, since we'd be sleeping glued together anyway. Passionate kisses - so hard, so urgent. But I want this slow. This may be our last chance to make love until you come back.

Unbuttoning your shirt reveals your hairy chest and dark nipples. I run my hands joyfully through the soft mat of hair, loving you so much, revelling in the sheer beauty of your naked torso. I remember seeing your chest in the sauna when we barely knew each other, and wondering what it would feel like to touch it, to lick those nipples. Now I know; I've known for a while, but I delight in each renewal of the experience.

I can feel steel against my leg as I press myself against you, and it makes me want you right then and there. Patience. Savour this.

I suggest a shower. I know how badly you want me, but I want things too.

Both of us naked now, you hold me, and we look at ourselves in the mirror. I love the contrast of your strong forearms against my pale, vulnerable skin, your hands cupping my breasts. I love your sweet face, your smooth skin and unshaven jaw. You look so strong, so beautiful, so capable. I place my life in your hands; I am yours.

We step into the shower and you soap me up, and I swear to God, your hands on my skin are like liquid fire, a lava flow. We switch and soon my hands are slipsliding over your body, your beautiful hard body. You are mine; I claim you even as I give myself to you. I kneel before you to wash your legs and feet, and I am so overcome with tenderness and longing that I feel like weeping, and my cunt streams juices like water. I feel raw, all exposed emotion and desire. A naked blade. I am eye level with your cock, your gorgeous uncut cock, and I run my hands up and down your massive, rock hard thighs. I kiss your shaft, just once, a tiny soft kiss.

We get out and wrap towels around ourselves, Lord knows why, considering we are just going to take them off again.

You grab me and push me onto the bed. I can't wait any longer. I pull off my towel and yours; it slips off your hips and there you are, all lean and hard, my heart's desire, with an erection that makes me want to sink to my knees in gratitude. Your thick cock, foreskin pulled back, the head huge and red, begs to be touched.

In one smooth motion you're on top of me, and I moan as you enter me; you thrust yourself home. Home.

You bury yourself in me, sword and scabbard, right to the hilt. It is wild and unstoppable, that force that takes over when you do this. You fuck me so well, my darling, so sweetly and so hard. I can hardly muffle the cries that escape me but I manage it so that I can hear your ragged breathing, the involuntary cries that escape your throat as you lose yourself in me.

You pull out and cum with amazing force on my belly and chest, with my hand I milk your cock until I am awash in your essence. You relax next to me and I smile, content.

I need another shower.

Riding in cars with boys

Driving in this snowstorm, he sits in the passenger's seat. My parents are in the car ahead, and my hand is on his crotch. There's a hard steel rod slowly expanding under my fingers, a sharp contrast to the freezing cold wind outside our cozy little space.

There are mewling little gasps coming from his side of the car, like a kitten. I look over to see his face in profile, eyes closed, mouth open, suffused in ecstacy.

"Pay attention to the road," he says.

He doesn't mean it.

Christ I miss him

The webcam is a blessing and a curse. I love seeing him. But it makes me want him so badly I can hardly stand it.

The sight of his broad back or his delicate ear is torture. A reminder of what I can't have. Of just how far away he is.

Beyond a certain point
distance is a fact and not a measure.
It hardly matters whether I am
five or seven thousand miles away
or whether it is five o'clock
or six where you are.

-Guy Gavriel Kay

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Keep him safe

So my man left yesterday at noon, and now he in a very sketchy area of the world, where muggings and kidnappings are common and he is afraid to leave his hotel. He's a pretty strong guy, but I am seriously afraid for him. I don't know if anyone is even reading this, or if you care, but if you believe in such things, please please say a little prayer for him, and for all the people working in foreign countries, away from their loved ones. And while you're at it, pray for the tsunami victims and all those poor innocent people in all those war torn countries.

Please God, bring him home safely and soon.

I love this song, and it kind of fits my mood right now. Sorry about the melancholy, I have a few new things to post when I feel better, but right now I just feel like crying.

Bring Him Home

God on high, hear my prayer
In my need, you have always been there

He is young, he's afraid
Let him rest, heaven blessed.
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

He's like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son.
The summers die one by one
How soon they fly on and on
And I am old and will be gone.

Bring him peace, bring him joy
He is young, he is only a boy
You can take, you can give
Let him be, let him live
If I die, let me die, let him live

Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home.

--Les Miserables

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

My love...what a great fuck

I left him very early this morning. Our new city is cold and frightening without him. I am dreading his departure, which could come now at any time. He will board the plane without warning. Every parting could be our last.

It has only been 2 hours since I saw him last but already I ache to feel his arms around me, his cock inside me.