Monday, July 17, 2006

Greetings, Fleshbotters!

I think what you're looking for is here, but feel free to make yourself at home!

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Handy tip #56

For the guys in the audience:

If you ever find yourself getting an unwanted boner, here's a useful tip courtesy of my darling M:

Do long multiplication in your head. It'll go away in a jiffy.

When long multiplication becomes too easy, try long division.

(I'm high on BC bud right now, so jokes may appear funnier than they are.)

Monday, July 10, 2006

Love letter

Is it normal to want someone this badly? Is it usual to harbor such lust that the mere sight of his hands, his large, strong, golden hands, turns me to silvery fire? I remember one night, playing pool in my parents' basement, watching his impossibly long arms, his fingers gripping the cue, and wanting him to bend me over the couch and fuck me right then. It took every ounce of my self-control to appear nonchalant.

I could write a thousand florid, purple words to describe his body; such an exercise would be almost, but not quite, as pleasurable as feasting on him in the flesh. He is beautiful like a thoroughbred horse is beautiful: all long limbs and graceful strength. He'll probably scoff at being called graceful, but he's not like other tall men. They are all awkward gangly arms and legs and rounded shoulders whereas he owns his height, and makes it sexy. When we went to Wreck Beach those few weekends ago, we swam naked and I, being cold, left the water before him. As I dried off I watched him, and was pierced neatly through by his unselfconcious beauty. He was like Venus emerging from the surf, only, you know, a guy.

The things he does to me, well, I've written about them before. He knows me, largely by intution. The wonder of that hasn't quite worn off yet. The sheer pleasure of it all, the constant fleshly wanting, is almost frightening in its intensity. Now that we're apart, we have phone sex and I, nonverbal as always, rub myself and listen to his familiar, low voice, cling to it until its sound and my imminent orgasm are the only things in my universe.

The amazing thing, the shocking thing, is that despite all this, I haven't, for a second, been afraid that I'm losing myself. I am no stranger to lust, but this is both alike and different, an all-consuming desire in which neither of us are consumed. Like Moses' burning bush.

On the last night of his recent visit, we lay together in my bed after sweet love had been made. He had his head on my chest, a switch for us as it is usually the other way around, and I was stroking his golden hair with painstaking tenderness, wanting to memorize the way it felt under my fingers, the sight of him, this easy companionship. I was suddenly seized with the desire, the need, to tell him something. The weight of it settled in my chest, and I could not let it out. In fact, I didn't even know what it was. I just knew that it was massively important.

He left before I could sort it out for myself, but I have since realized that it was only (only!) that I loved him, and there was no adequate way to express it. That is, perhaps, a fundamental problem with love: the inability to really show its depths. So I lust, and I fuck, and I long, and I have phone sex and write poetic missives and post them to my blog because these are the only ways I know, beyond those three flimsy, throwaway words, to demonstrate how much I really feel. The intensity, depth, magnitude of my love.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Crazy places I have had sex

include, but are not limited to, the following:

- a university's sports field (at dusk).
- on the grass in front of a campfire with hungry raccoons surrounding us. (I think my dislike of raccoons originates from this moment.)
- a Cessna 172. In the air. With the pilot.
- a univerity dorm room occupied by a presumably sleeping roommate. We made use of both the bed and the closet.
- the front seat of a car in a busy parking lot.
- in the 7' by 5' by 2' crawlspace under concrete stairs in a university building.
- in the bowels of the service area of another university building.

Adding to this list whenever I can...

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Would you let me...?

I want your ass, my darling. I gave you mine, last week, and turnaround is fair play, is it not?

I want you on your knees, elbows against the bed. I want your back arched and that round, firm ass in the air: an offering to me. I want to look down at you the way you've looked down at me countless times before. I want to take you like you've taken me.

I want to feel your smooth skin, caress it with my hands and lips, and then redden it with slaps. You like to do that to me, you sexy, evil bastard; now it's your turn to find out what it's like. You'll love it - I know I do.

I want to watch you stroke your lovely cock while my fingers trail delicately between your cheeks. My tongue will follow the same path my fingers did, wet and a little ticklish, to stop at your asshole. Dirty, you say? No, not this. It's rather wonderful, actually, to lick you here. You'll be tense at first, but you'll relax when you realize how amazing it feels. When you're melting under my touch, when your cock is hard, when you want it badly enough, I'll lube up a finger and slip it inside you. I already know you love this. Keep touching yourself, but don't come. Not yet.

I bought something for you, baby. Your very own dildo. It's time for the penetrator to be penetrated.

I'll press it gently against your ass and it will slide in, slowly, slowly. Like I was, last week, you'll be surprised and pleased at how little it hurts. And how good it feels.

I'll work it slowly in and out of you, and, I imagine, you'll work your cock a bit faster. What a sexy, wanton scene it will be: you, tall, lithe, on your hands and knees, masturbating with a dildo in your ass. I can already hear the sounds you'll make.

Tell me, darling, what's it like to be on the receiving end? How does it feel for you? Do you want to come? Come for me, baby.

And you will.

Good boy.

Last weekend

Last weekend, M came to visit. It had been almost two months since I'd seen him last. Needless to say, I now have no shortage of things to write about, but words are difficult for me right now. I must get everything down soon, lest I forget some of the lovely details, but I seem to be blocked.

Now that he's gone again, I miss him more than I thought possible. Certainly more than the first time we parted. A strange phenomenon, that. I don't understand it, but I sure am glad for it. Loving is such an exquisitely painful pleasure.

What I wouldn't give to feel his arms around me again.