Last night I dreamt that, similar to last time, this guy had decided to ditch his wife and hook up with me instead, which was great because we could both finally indulge in our animalistic fantasies after holding them in for so long.  This time around, for some reason we had decided that I would spend a few nights at his place as if my apartment was being fumigated or painted or something, even though nothing was going on.  The wife would be relegated to their bedroom, and this guy and I would hook up on the couch in the living room while the kids were sleeping.  How ridiculous and completely random it all was! 

One thing I remember vividly was the look on his face when we finally hooked up for the first time (or, at least, the look I imagined he would have), as if we had both been waiting for years for this to happen, and we were meant to be together all along.  I remember how scandalous it all was, with other friends finding out that I was staying at his place and wondering what the hell was going on.  And I certainly remember the instant that we started having sex – the moment of penetration is always so amazingly hot, am I right ladies? 

Ahhhhh, if only this could happen in real life.  But then again, if all of our sexual fantasies came true, they wouldn’t be such juicy fantasies anymore, would they?  : )

Part 1: The European seals his fate

Oh, how I hate this part.

I went over to the European’s apartment on Friday night for our third (and final) date.  It turns out that his “surprise” movie-related plans were actually pretty cool, but unfortunately we had a technological problem and wound up chilling out in his apartment instead.  I got the grand tour of his place (very nice, by the way – this guy must be doing pretty well), we had sushi for dinner that he had picked up at the Japanese market (yum), and we wound up watching Australia on his couch (decent movie, not great, but at least it starred my husband… err, Hugh Jackman).  : )  The night actually went pretty well, just like the previous two times I had gone out with him.  Despite the “no spark” thing, it’s funny how good of a time I was having with him. 

Anyway, as the movie was playing (all 2.5 hours of it), we gradually went from sitting next to each other on the couch with a few inches between us to cuddled up under a blanket with our arms and legs intertwined.  It was cute… but I still wasn’t feelin’ it.  It was extremely – painfully – obvious that he was trying to kiss me, and it was extremely obvious that I was avoiding it.  I mean, honestly, it was really nice to be cuddled up to a warm body, but I guess I’m just not attracted to him in a romantic/sexual way because, had I been really into him, I would have had my tongue down his throat 5 minutes into the movie, you know? 

So finally the movie ends, and we’re sitting there in the dark under the blanket, and I decided to just go for it and kiss him, if for no other reason than to once and for all convince myself that there was nothing there to save.  So I kissed him, and we wound up making out for a few minutes, and… nothing.  I knew it was over, not that it had ever really begun.  Honestly, he wasn’t even that great of a kisser.  Not bad, granted, but not great.  I guess he was really into it, though, because I could feel his cock pressing into me and he started insisting that I spend the night. 

Ummm… no.

And like I said in my last post, he started putting up a fight.  It was SO uncomfortable.  For a minute there I was even a little nervous that he physically wasn’t going to let me leave.  When I got up off the couch, grabbed my coat, and started making my way to the door, he quickly intercepted me, grabbed my arms, and physically blocked my path.  Now, as a woman, I am trained to go into panic mode in this type of situation.  My expression immediately changed and I said in a very serious tone, “Are you going to let me out of here or what?”  And he finally did, but not after holding onto my arms for another few seconds (which felt like hours).  Geez, how crazy what that shit???

This morning we had a conversation and I told him that I think we should stop seeing each other, and that was that.  It was short and sweet.  Done and done.

Conclusions from my brief interactions with the European:  (1) Up until he blocked me from leaving his apartment, he was a genuinely nice guy who I actually enjoyed spending time with.  Too bad it didn’t last.  (2) This was the first guy in probably a solid three years who showed a genuine interest in me.  I had totally forgotten what that felt like, and it was kind of nice.  Very nice, actually.  It reminded me just exactly what I’m missing by having not had a real relationship in a while.  Bummer.  (3) It was really, really nice to cuddle up to a warm body.  Again, I had forgotten what I was missing there.  (4) I figured out why I wasn’t into this guy – he wasn’t masculine enough.  Case in point: while we were on his couch on Friday night, each move that he made had this unspoken “asking me for permission” nature to it, which was really unattractive.  I need a guy who will be a fucking MAN, and the European was just too lovey-dovey and too hesitant and too… I don’t know… weak?  Something like that?  Anyway, it was a total turn-off.  Oh well.

Part 2: The NMP fucks me like a man

Just as I’m coming off my date with the European and in need of a big strong man to take charge and give me the good, solid fuck that I’d been waiting for… the NMP sweeps in and takes care of business.  Not exactly what the NMP is known for, but this time he really pulled out all the stops and gave me exactly what I wanted.  Oh baby.  : )

It was good to see him again, considering that up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t seen him for two years.  We went out for dinner and drinks at one of my favorite bar/pub joints (really good burgers, BTW), and the NMP ordered his typical gin and tonic while I scarfed down an amazing burger with swiss cheese and mushrooms.  YUM YUM.  And the burger was good too.  : )  We had blatantly talked about hooking up in our phone conversations leading up to Saturday night, so there was no beating around the bush with what we had met up for.  We talked about our upcoming sex-fest all during dinner, which was great because it just amped up the already super-high anticipation.  The adrenaline wasn’t the only thing flowing during dinner.

Back at my place, I busted out a fantastic bottle of wine that we lavishly sipped in perfect mood lighting in my living room.  My belly was fully of good burger and great wine, and things were getting a little fuzzy around the edges, and I before I knew it I had grabbed his hand and was leading him to my bedroom.  Now, my usual complaint about hooking up with the NMP is that he’s a little selfish and likes to just lie back and let me do all the work, and I usually don’t get all the things I want out of him.  But this time I was just SO dying for a solid fuck that I absolutely demanded that I get exactly what I wanted, and what do you know?  I got it all.

Here’s what I did: We all know that 99% of the reason that the NMP drove allllll the way to my place was because he wanted a blowjob.  For some reason, this guy is absolutely in love with the way I give head, and he blatantly tells me over the phone how much he wants it and how he jerks off to his memories of it all the time.  His eyes light up at the mere mention of it.  So I said that I would be more than happy to suck him off into oblivion… IF he earned it.  So I made it a point to keep teasing him, to keep giving him a little taste of it, while in the meantime making sure that I got my fill of everything that I wanted first.

First things first: I wanted him to push me down on my bed – hard.  So I stood there and told him to do it, and he did.  (This was such a power trip, by the way.  Such a turn-on.)  Then I told him that I wanted him to fuck me – hard.  And he did.  Then I told him that I wanted his head between my legs – and he did it.  And so on, and so forth, for about two hours or so.  All the while I would tease his cock with my tongue – just a little bit at a time – to remind him of exactly what he’d be getting if he made sure I was completely satisfied.  And because he was such a good boy and really fucked my brains out, I gave him a five-star cocksucking that he’ll probably be jerking off to until the next time we hook up.  So all in all, I think it’s safe to say that we both came out of that night totally sexually satisfied and completely exhausted and happy.  Not bad, not bad at all.  : )

A few notes on the long-awaited and much-anticipated blowjob:  (1) I absolutely LOVED doing it.  Loved it!!  I think I loved it almost as much as he did, which is saying a lot.  In fact, I enjoyed myself so much (and enjoyed seeing how much HE enjoyed it), that I threw in a second one just for fun.  (2) He came like a fucking volcano.  It was awesome.  (3) After it was over, I made him tell me exactly how much he loved it and exactly how good I was – again, this was a total power trip, and I was really eating it up.  (4) He had completely shaved his junk for this, which is something that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.  Most guys do some kind of landscaping down there (which is very much appreciated, BTW), but the NMP was smooth as a baby’s butt… and surprisingly, I loved it.  Who knew I’d be into that?  Everything was just so open and available, and it’s a lot easier to suck on a guy’s junk when it’s all clean and smooth and fresh.  Mmmmmm… absolutely delicious.  Loved it.

Anyway, it was a great night, and today I’m walking around pretty slowly and sore in all the right places.  The sex-fest with the NMP was exactly what I needed, and I got everything that I wanted out of it, and it just couldn’t have worked out any better.  Good boy, NMP.  : )

Part 3: I dig out my tennis racket for the first time since last summer

A few friends and I resurrected our scrappy little tennis league this weekend – yay!  It was GREAT to get back on the courts again, and I had a ton of fun (and even got my first sunburn of the season), but man, I am SORE tonight.  As in, every muscle in my body is aching.  It didn’t help that I also went running quite a bit this weekend, so between the tennis, the running, and the sex last night, I am a total pile of mush right now.  A happy pile of mush, but mush nonetheless.  : )

Well, I think that about covers it.  I know I said that I would try to keep this short, but that didn’t quite work out, did it?  I guess there was a lot to say.  So I’m back to square one on the dating front, but at least I got my sexual cravings satisfied and got a little exercise in the great outdoors to boot.  All in all, not a bad weekend.  I’m going to sleep well tonight.  : )

Oddly enough, I’m finding the thought of masturbation with the NMP highly intriguing.  We’ve done it in person a few times (totally hot, by the way – go figure), and he started jerking off over the phone a few weeks ago (before I freaked out and hung up on him, ha!), and Sunday night I’m pretty sure we were both halfway to getting off when we finally hung up… and then we talked about how great the orgasms were the next morning (I had to step outside at work to take the call!).  I can’t really explain it, but I’m seriously turned on by the whole thing.  I’ve brought up the topic of phone sex before, and he wasn’t into it, but I think if I try again he might be a little more open to it, what with the conversation Sunday night and all.

DD confession: I’ve never had phone sex.  Can you believe it???  The only long-distance thing I’ve ever had was the five-year BF, and that was way back when I was a young chickadee and much more shy about everything sex-related.  So… I’m curious!  And the NMP and I are already 75% of the way there, I think.  I really think this could be totally fun and really hot, and the adventurous part of me is really itching to try it.  Plus, like I said, I’ve masturbated in front of him (in person) a few times before, so phone sex is even a step back, right?  Piece of cake!

In a way, this kind of lets me hook up with him without actually hooking up with him, you know?  So I’m kinda sorta sticking to my rule, right?  : )  And in all seriousness, I admit that hooking up with the NMP doesn’t feel quite right, but over the phone is different… kind of.  Right???  Help me convince myself here.  : )

Damn, I’m getting totally turned on just writing this post!  I might just have to bust out the vibrator that the NMP so generously bought for me and do a phone sex dry-run.  Well, more like a wet-run, right?  Something like that.  Hahaha.

So, thoughts?  What’s your phone sex experience?  Role-playing, props, D/s?  Think I can convince the NMP to go for it??

Essentially, the dream involved this dude completely ditching his (very nice in real life) wife so that he and I could devour each other after the sexual tension had been building up over the last few years (not that there is ANY sexual tension in real life… but there certainly is in my head).  So he tosses the wife aside, and he gives me this incredible look, the look that says, “DD, I want you NOW.”  And of course I completely melt at this look, because it’s the exact look that my subconscious has been dying for ever since I met him.  So I follow him into an absolutely decadent bedroom where we have some super hot sex and I finally get to pounce on this hot piece of ass.

The details are a little blurry (why does that always happen???), but I have a few juicy little flashes of memory.  First and foremost, I remember absolutely devouring his impressively large cock.  It was as if I hadn’t sucked a cock in years or something – I was loving it.  I couldn’t get enough.  I also remember that I loved his chest – it was very manly with just the right amount of hair.  I don’t know what it is, but a hairy manly chest really does it for me.  YUM.  (Note that I’ve never actually seen this guy’s chest in real life, so who knows what it really looks like.)  I also remember seeing him pound into me in profile, as if I were watching the whole thing from the stands or something.  Hot hot hot. 

The best part, though, was the feeling that I was finally indulging in my animalistic sexual desire for this guy – both physically (in the dream) and mentally (when I woke up), neither of which I would have ever allowed myself to do consciously.  Mmmmmmmm.  Love it, love it, love it.  In fact, when I realized that I was awake and my hot little dream was over, I immediately closed my eyes again and tried to fall back asleep so that I could get back into that hot fantasy world.  I tried for about an hour (!), but alas, the dream was gone and I wanted some breakfast.

But oh, what an amazing feeling that was to finally get my shot with this guy, albeit completely imaginary.  He IS a total hottie, after all.  Yum yum YUM.  Give it to me, baby!  Mmm!!

Well.  There was no sex, and there were no blowjobs.

But he did wake up naked in my bed on Sunday morning. 

Yeah…. about that.  I’ll tell ya – the entire night/morning was so strange.  I wanted to write about it earlier but really had no idea how to process the information in my head.  Honestly, I still don’t know what to make of it, but this unwritten post has been lingering on the tips of my fingers all week, and I just had to get it out.  I could write an epic saga about this one, but I’ll try to keep it short (for your sake and mine).  Here’s how it all went down:

I had been talking with the NMP all week about how fucking ANGRY I was that he was being so immature, especially after he told me that he was going to be right by my apartment over the weekend (visiting his family who live in the city).  I was like, just fucking stop by on your way home!  He lives allllll the way upstate and is so rarely around, and it would have been such a shame to miss out on this opportunity to catch up after TWO YEARS of not seeing each other.  Finally (finally!) he agreed to stop by, and we made plans to catch up over a glass of wine on Saturday night at one of my favorite wine bars.

We were driving to the bar, and he picked me up, and I swear, when I got in the car with him, I hardly recognized him after all this time.  I had to do a double-take to make sure I wasn’t getting into the car with a complete stranger!  I mean, it was definitely him, but I guess the image I had saved in my mind wasn’t exactly what he looks like in real life.  Strange how that happens.  He didn’t look bad, just different than what I had pictured.  And you know what?  I wasn’t as attracted to him as I had been in the past, and I think that’s a very good thing.

Anyway, it was so weird to actually be in the same car with him after all that time.  Weird, but good.  It’s funny – even though we hadn’t seen each other in so long, I really did feel very close to him after all the hours upon hours of conversations we’ve had over the years.  The whole thing was just so unusual, you know?  But I was happy to see him, and yes, he was happy to see me.  I was glad that this all seemed to be working out after all.

We had fun at the bar.  We found a nice table in the back corner and just chilled out there for a few hours – I was drinking an amazing riesling, and he had a few gin and tonics.  We caught up about everything – work, school, his ex, my miscellaneous dating shenanigans (such that they are), family, friends, the whole nine yards.  It was great! 

But here’s the problem: I was starting to get a little drunk.  Yeah, you know where this is headed.  And I wasn’t the only one getting drunk, so you can’t blame this all on me, right?  Right??  : )  It started with playing with each other’s feet under the table, and then we were making out in his car, and then we were back at my apartment, and then we were naked in my bed.  Damn.  How did that happen???  I swear, there’s no rationalizing with drunken DD.  It’s useless.  Regular DD is an unfortunate bystander when drunken DD is in charge.  I swear.  (You all totally believe me, right?)  : )

But like I said, we didn’t have sex, and I didn’t give him a blowjob.  I did, however, give him a hand job (after which he called me “the ultimate sexual package,” which I think is overstating my hand job skills just a bit, don’t you think?), and there was some decent fingers-in-pussy action.  There was also some pretty hot mutual masturbation, which we’ve done before and is surprisingly good, all things considered.   So really, it was just a minor little drunken hookup, and he spent the night, which was nice.

Noteworthy thoughts that ran through my head that night: (1) I was totally right – hooking up with the NMP is NOT something I want to do – it felt kind of strange and just didn’t click the way it’s supposed to.  I knew this would happen, which is one of the reasons why I didn’t want to do it in the first place, but I went and did it anyway.  Shocking, right?  (2) It was really, really nice to have another warm body in my bed – I had forgotten just how WARM someone else can be, and I really liked glomming onto that mass of heat all night long.  (3) Perhaps the most striking observation for me – I am really, really lonely these days.  Having the NMP over that night was so nice – just to feel the touch of another human being, to be wrapped up in his arms, and even just to have someone to look at when I wake up in the morning.   Someone that I’m comfortable with and that I actually care about as a human being.  It was shocking to me what a huge difference that was from my normal routine, and it underscored how different (and how much better) my life could be if I shared it with someone else.  Geez, how depressing, right?

When he left the next morning, I definitely regretted hooking up with him, but I was kind of sad to see him go.  All told, it was good to catch up with him in person, and it’s a shame that we don’t get together more often.  I think things will be weird between us for a while now, especially because I know he still wants to have sex and I know that I definitely don’t, so we’ll see how our next phone coversation goes (whenever that may be – I’m going to hold off for a few weeks, I think). 

Oh!  And he finally gave me my birthday present – a shiny new vibrator, which I’m happy to report is quite competent in the orgasm-inducing department.  A girl can’t say no to a new vibrator, right?  Oh, the horror!  So of course I accepted it, and of course I tried it out right away.  In fact, just writing this makes me want to go use it again.  : )

But what a strange experience it all was.  It was so weird to feel so close to him but to regret hooking up, you know?  Wait… maybe that’s what this whole “platonic friends” thing is all about. 

[Bangs head against desk.]

I may be 30, but I still have a lot to learn.  Oh DD, you are such a mess, I swear.  But it makes for an interesting story, right?  God help me.

So I happen to find myself chatting with the NMP over the phone really late one night last week, like after midnight on a Tuesday or something.  I was telling him about my upcoming grad school campus visits, and he was telling me about his upcoming job search, and everything was going just fine.  I was ziplocking my mini shampoo bottles and planning out my interview outfits, and he was straightening up his apartment or something.  Business as usual, right?  Or so I thought…

All of a sudden – like mid-sentence as I’m talking to him – I start hearing these very strange-sounding noises coming from the other end of phone.   I swear, I thought he was either crying or had just seriously hurt himself or something.  I started panicking and was all, “OMG are you ok over there???”  No response, just more noises.  And then they started to sound like moans.  Finally it hit me, and I was like,  “NMP, what the hell are you doing over there???”  But of course I knew, and he was totally jerking off over the phone.  WTF????

So I flipped out, started screaming at him, and hung up before he could finish and spew cell phone cum all over my ear.

I guess I didn’t have to hang up on him, but it just caught me so off guard that I just went with my gut reaction and got the hell out of that situation!  Which is so ironic because the idea of phone sex had just recently come up between us (don’t judge me, I’m only human!), and he was adamantly against it (acting like the adult in the conversation for the first time ever), and now I find him jerking off and moaning while I’m trying to pick out which pants make me look like a smart cookie for my campus visits.  Geez, NMP!!!!  WTF?

Sometimes I am just so flabbergasted by the male species that my only response is to throw my phone across the room in utter exasperation. 

But after I got over it, looking back, it was actually kind of hot.  Kind of.  I’m still tossing around this phone sex idea after all…  : )

P.S. – This post was indirectly brought to you by Lance, who is a total sweetheart (and super hot sex machine) and recommended me as a sex blog worth reading, and so I figured I should actually post something sex-related.  Oh, and please check out his post and the other great sex bloggers on his list!  Lots of naughty little blogs that always get my juices flowing.  : )

I don’t know exactly why this is happening, or exactly when the shift occurred, but I have a few ideas.  For one, sex has been a pretty rare event these days, as has any physical contact with men in general since I pretty much gave up on dating after that awful troll date, so I’ve been really enjoying the interaction with NYL – an attractive, completely non-troll-like, red-blooded man.  Also, I’m able to experience a decent level of intimacy with him because we’ve dated in the past, and we’re comfortable together, and we’ve actually been having fun hanging out lately.  And of course, since we’d actually be dating right now if I had my say about things, I admit that sex with him satisfies a little bit of my delusional fantasy – when he looks into my eyes, I kinda sorta pretend that there’s more there than there actually is.  Oh, don’t look at me like that.  : )

Or maybe it’s just the fact that I’m lonely, and it’s winter, and it’s cold and windy and crappy out, and sex with NYL is all warm and cuddly and comforting.  And I like it when he looks at me with those kid-in-a-candy-store eyes.  And I like it when he cuddles up to me afterward.  And, I don’t know, it’s just nice to be that close to someone, even if it’s not 100% real.  You know?

But that’s the thing about sex – it fucks everything up.  You get screwed, and then you get screwed again with the aftermath.  Things are getting all swirly and confused in my head.  I can feel myself attaching to him emotionally, which, OF COURSE, is exactly what I know I should NOT be doing.  Of course.  Of COURSE this is happening.  But I actually kinda like it, and right now it’s fulfilling a spot in my life that I’m deliberately leaving open in my last few months in this crazy city.  And even if it’s all in my head, I’m really getting something worthwhile out of the intimacy. 

It’s strange to say this, but it’s making me feel somewhat human again.  And honestly, that’s not a bad thing.

**********

P.S. – After reading this post about how I’m getting emotionally attached, here’s another realization: this isn’t very much of “change” for me after all, is it? 

P.P.S. – I’m super emotional today.  I saw two polar bears nuzzle up against each other on tv and started crying.  It’s all hormones, I swear.  : )

As NYL and I were cooking a big pot of curry last night, chopping and stirring and “accidentally” bumping into each other in the kitchen, I was warm.

As we cuddled up on the couch to eat dinner, watch the new episode of LOST, and watch the episode of Jerry Springer in which NYL was in the audience and made the funniest/most inappropriate comment ever, I was warm.

As he put his arm around me, kissed me, and pulled me in, I was warm.

As we found ourselves buried under the covers, naked, intertwined, and devouring each other, I was warm.  And as NYL pushed me down on the bed, smacked my ass, and pounded into me like a fucking MAN, I was warm.  (Actually, I was *really* warm here.)

As we soaked in the hot tub, magically protected from the outdoor chill, I was warm.  And as I rested up against NYL and let the stress of the week melt away in the hot, bubbly water, I was so incredibly nice and warm.

As we found ourselves back in bed, hot and sweaty and playful and intense all over again, I was really, really warm.

And finally, as we curled up in bed, tired and content, my forehead resting against his, our legs tangled up together, his arm around me pressing my body into his, I was warm.  And as his cats curled up next to us, their furry little bodies radiating heat on a cold winter night, I was warm.  And as I fell asleep, buried under his huge comforter, cuddled up against him, listening to the purring of the cats, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so wonderfully warm.

There is something to be said for being warm.  It’s comforting and reassuring, peaceful and secure.  It’s a magical barrier against the chill outside, the falling snow, the harsh wind.  There is something to be said for the warmth of another human being.  It’s so much more natural than being alone – I think people were meant to be together, if only to share the comfort of the warmth that another person can offer – physically, emotionally, spiritually. 

There is something to be said for being warm.  And last night, I was so, so warm.  : )

We wound up bar hopping for most of the night – grabbing a beer here, a glass of wine there, and finally winding up at a very crowded bar with a live band where we had this crazy, grinding, completely sensual hook-up/dance-fest in the middle of a packed dance floor.  It was probably the sexiest hour or two of my life.  Wow.  I was fairly drunk (thanks to all the beer and wine), and I just remember all the blurry flashing lights, and NYL grinding up against me, and me sticking my tongue down his throat and my hand down his pants, and him lifting up my dress in the middle of the crowd, and the amazing looks passed back and forth between us, and the deliciously dirty things whispered (or probably more like screamed, considering how loud it was in there) in my ear and in his.  The entire place was hot and sweaty and pulsating, and it was as if nothing else mattered except the beat of the music and the desire to blend my body and his into one big hot sweaty pulsating mass of sexual desire.  So fucking hot, I’m telling you.

At one point I said something like, “I fucking want you,” and his eyes lit up and we booked it out of there and back to his place where we had what can only be described as a unbelievable marathon of drunken awesomeness.  The sex was fantastic, and there was just so much of it.  This is one of the things I just love about this guy – he can go on forever, and he’s so fucking good.  Since we were both feeling kind of dirty, there was a lot of doggy style and screaming commands at each other and slapping each other around a bit.  Earlier in the night I was talking about how much I loved to be spanked, and he got really into it back at his place.  How awesome is that???  Not many guys are willing to do this, in my experience.  I just loved it. 

All through the night there was great chemistry between us, and I really had so much fun just hanging out and chatting with him, all the sex and grinding aside.  We talked about all sorts of stuff – work and family and all the things we’d love to do one day, but I admit that toward the end of the night the conversation got more and more sexual… which was great.  We had this amazing, completely open and honest conversation about kink and sex toys and nasty stuff we’ve tried (and have been meaning to try), and it just made me want him all that much more.  So hot, I’m telling you!

At one point we were sitting at a bar, drinking some great wine, talking about being aggressive during sex and taking control, and about how I like a guy to throw me up against the wall and tell me what to do.  So he looks at me with this completely serious face and says, “kiss me.”  I look around at all the people surrounding us, and look back at him, and he says it again – “kiss me.”  So I lean over and kiss him, and I swear it the most sensual, body-shaking kiss I’ve had in a while.  So amazingly sexy, right at the bar in front of everyone, with him telling me what to do and me obeying like the naughty girl that I am. 

At the end of the night, after all was said and done, things actually got kind of cute, and we had a bit of a pillow fight in his bed.  How cute.  We cuddled up and went to sleep, and I left in the morning.  What I like about these random nights with NYL is that he always insists that I spend the night, and we always fall asleep in each other’s arms.  It’s sweet, unlike the fuck-buddy sex that I used to have with David where I could barely get him to stay for 5 minutes after it was over.  NYL is a good guy, and I have fun with him, and that night on Saturday was just so sexy and such a great release from the stressful week leading up to it.

I know how I feel about NYL, and I know he doesn’t feel the same way, but I’ll take these once-in-a-while crazy nights over not seeing him at all.  I know that’s kind of sad, but I’m ok with it for now.  Hell, I’m moving in a few months, and I’m enjoying this while it lasts.  Plus, I’m enjoying this whole getting-laid thing, which has been notoriously absent in my life these days. 

For now, I’ve got a big smile on my face and I’m loving all the little flashes of memories from that night that somehow made their way through the alcohol-haze.  I swear, it’s nights like these that make me so glad that I’m single.  : )

Two friends and I had plans to have dinner at one of my favorite new tapas restaurants and then head over to a bar for some live music/drinks/partying/etc.  Dinner was great (sooooo delicious), and we made it over to the bar as planned.  Because we just so happened to be right near New Year’s Lips’ place (and yes, I can see your eyes rolling), I had invited him to come out and meet me for a drink, and lo and behold, he was actually up for it.  So we get to the bar, have a drink or two, and then NYL shows up and winds up hanging out with my friends and me for the entire night. 

Let me tell you: it was awesome.

Not only did NYL fit right in with my little group of friends, but he actually busted out some pretty damn good dance moves and we all wound up having a blast.  Many drinks were drunk and many booties were shaken.  About halfway through the night NYL and I started getting pretty touchy-feely on the dance floor, and when he leaned in for a kiss, I gladly took him up on the offer.  DAMN.  NYL is so hilarious – he was all “you were always a good kisser… wow…” and meanwhile I’m just about DYING from what an amazing kiss that was.  Does he really not know how good he is?  Anyway, we pretty much made out for the rest of the night, which was totally fine with my friends because they just happened to be making out with other random guys at the bar.  Win-win-win, if you ask me.  A little while later he asked if I wanted to go back to his place, and I was like, “ummm… YES.”  Score.

But the night was far from over.  It turned out that my two friends who can usually drink me under the table wound up getting REALLY sick at the end of the night.  And by “really sick” I mean “holy shit, that was more puke than I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”  It was awful.  I felt so bad, and I was actually getting pretty worried and was on the verge of calling for an ambulance because they must have been getting so ridiculously dehydrated.  Not to mention the fact that all four of us (my two sick friends AND me and NYL) were covered in puke by this point.  I must have apologized to NYL about a dozen times, but he was surprisingly a really good sport about the whole thing and even helped me pry my friends out of the bathroom and got our coats and all that good stuff.  What a nice guy, right?  I was starting to remember why I liked him in the first place.

As we’re leaving the bar, NYL looks at me, looks at my friends, looks at my puke-covered boots, and says “well, as usual for us, I guess we’ll have to reschedule for another night, huh?”  Well, you know me… I wasn’t about to pass up the invitation to go back to his place… so I asked if he would be up for waiting up for me while I took my friends home and put them to bed, and he was all “absolutely” and that was that.

Getting my friends home was quite the adventure.  It was a non-stop puke-fest the entire time.  There were many stops along the way.  Recall that it was fucking FREEZING on Friday night in New York, which made the trip home all the more agonizing.  Man, what a trip.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m more than happy to take care of these girls and love them to death (hell, they took great care of me when I got sick a few months ago) – but the whole night was just so hilarious and such a ridiculous disaster.  I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried!  Also, it was pretty awful to see my friends so sick – I had definitely never seen either of them in such a bad state before.  My heart was aching.  I hope I never see them like that again.  Anyway, I finally managed to get them both home safe and sound, and by that time it was about 3:15 in the morning.  I called NYL to see if he was still up, and he was, and so I made my way back over to his place.

He had left the door unlocked for me, and when I walked in, I could tell he had fallen asleep on the couch.  Aww, how cute.  I gently brushed the backs of my fingers against his arm, he smiled at me as he woke up, and he kissed me hello (thinking back, he always did make a point of kissing hello and goodbye – very cute).  By this point it was almost 4 in the morning, and I was completely exhausted and covered in puke, and I kind of just collapsed on the couch with the granola bar and cup of tea that magically appeared in my hands from his kitchen.  I curled up in his arms and drank my tea, and we laughed about what a huge disaster the night had turned out to be, but how it was still a pretty fucking fun time, what with all the dancing (so fun!) and making out and rocking out to the band (which was actually pretty good).

Eventually we sleepily dragged ourselves back to his bedroom, cuddled up under his comforter (it was freezing, and I was wearing a sleeveless dress), and had what I can confidently say was some damn good sex.  Sex with NYL had always been good – very good, actually – and this time was no different.  Well, I guess the difference this time was that it was kind of scandalous and casual, but at the same time, it was actually pretty sweet.  I was reminded of the following: (a) NYL is one hot piece of ass – I think he’s fucking gorgeous; (b) NYL’s tongue can do magical things; and (c) he is absolutely adorable and was smiling at me like a kid in a candy store the entire time.  I was also reminded that he has seriously intense orgasms for a guy and can really fuck the daylights out of me.  Did I mention that it was damn good sex???

Afterward I brushed my teeth and curled up with him in his bed and we finally drifted off to sleep somewhere around 5:30 in the morning.  We cuddled up all night, and his cats found their way into bed with us, and I got that snuggly warm feeling that I had always loved when I had spent the night at his place in the past.  Surrounded by warmth on a cold night, not to mention that the majority of the warmth was coming from a hot naked man.  Dude, it was awesome.  We woke up late, cuddled and chatted and made out for a few hours in bed, and I finally dragged myself out of there around noon or so.  He kissed me goodbye with a big smile on his face, and I ran my fingers through his hair and smiled back at him, and he mentioned that we should do this again sometime.  I agreed, and that was that.

I seriously had so much fun with him that night (even just rocking out with him on the dance floor – so fun!), which on one hand is great and is keeping me all warm and fuzzy as I write this a few days later, but on the other hand is so frustrating because I know full well that my strange little interactions with him are doomed.  Regardless, the night was quite a roller coaster and, if nothing else, will make a good story to tell down the road.  I just can’t help but be charmed by his adorable smile, his hilarious dance moves, his willingness to help my friends while they were essentially puking on him, and the way he was so sweet with me back at his place.  *Sigh.*

It was a good night.  : )

As you all know far too well, my relationship with Hot Marine has been somewhat entertaining and distracting at best, and completely toxic, debilitating, and destructive at worst.  My feelings toward him range from lust to desire to adoration to infatuation to hate to loathing and everything in between.  For some inexplicable reason, he possesses a power over me that, so far, no man has been able to match, or even come close for that matter.  Despite my numerous attempts (of highly varying levels of dedication), I can never manage to escape his intoxicating grip and electrifying pull.  I am magnetically drawn to him whether I like it or not, and most of the time, I think I actually like it.  It is strange to me that I enjoy torturing myself like this, but I have accepted it as one of the foundations of my existence, supporting me yet simultaneously threatening to topple my entire world, one unreturned email at a time.

Two years ago, I fell for Hot Marine very hard and very fast, and my intoxication with him grew just about as fast as his boredom with me.  He proceeded to disappear into thin air and I crashed just as hard and fast as I had been swept up in the first place.  Several months of severe depression followed, which I think was the most disturbing period of my entire life, followed closely by my mental breakdown after “the incident” last fall and my year-long withdrawal after the five-year BF and I broke up several years earlier.  Finally he resurfaced, apologized casually without really meaning it, and in a fierce yearning to keep him in my life through any means necessary, we started having occasional casual sex and exchanging sexually explicit emails and photographs.  If I couldn’t make him like me, I could at least make him want me.  And I was ok with that, but the long-outstanding wound from the initial devastation never fully healed, and I admit that my feelings for him remain, often below the surface, to this day.

Lately I’ve been realizing that Hot Marine has a genuinely human side, just like the rest of us, and that perhaps I should stop masking the multitude of intense feelings that I have for him and just put it all out on the table for him to peruse, to soak in, to take or leave as he pleases.  Honestly, how could our completely dysfunctional relationship possibly get any worse?  Perhaps he could appreciate the human side of me, just how I was beginning to see the human side of him.  I see a man who is frustrated with his job, misses his family, wallows in the loneliness of singledom in the throes of a huge city, and takes occasional comfort in the sight of a familiar face and the touch of familiar lips, even if for only a brief moment and accompanied by the need to satisfy his primal sexual desires.  I hear him talk about trust and friendship and life and work, and I decide to tear down the wall and let him see me for who I truly am – for better or for worse.

And so I sent him the text of this post, completely unedited and uncropped, which put my feelings for him out there in the light of day for all to see.  I hesitated in hitting send for quite some time, as my finger hovered perilously over the irreversibly final button, finally closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, and sending it off into his inbox.  And then I waited.  And I wondered if this was the end.  And a little over a day later, he responded with a one-line email that said that my writing was “unbelievably moving, on many levels,” and I took that to be a relatively good sign.  It was a human response.  It was nice to see a glimmer of emotion in his tone – a rarity.  And I thought and thought about how I wanted to respond, if at all, but before I came to a decision, another email popped up in my inbox this afternoon – a completely unsolicited follow-up to his initial response.  Hesitant again, I opened the message and proceeded to break out in tears at my desk in the office.  It was something that I had long-since accepted that I would never see, but there it was, in black and white, with an underlying emotional tone that completely swept the wind out of me.  It read as follows (slightly edited to remove personal information):

“[DD] – your writing here has been very moving to me.  I honestly never realized this side of you before.  As I reflect, I am even more painfully sorry about hurting you in the past – something I never realized fully.  I know it’s long-gone-water-under-the-bridge, but I wanted to say this to you anyway.”

He apologized.  After two years, he apologized.  A truly heartfelt, emotional, genuine apology.  He apologized once before, several years ago, but it was painfully obvious that he only half-meant it and didn’t really understand what he was apologizing for in the first place.  He was trying to get me into bed – how pathetic that I slept with him anyway.  But it seems now that by finally exposing him to my unedited stream-of-consciousness, he finally realized the magnitude of the impact he had on me, and that perhaps I am a human being with emotional fragility instead of simply a semen receptacle.  What a novel idea. 

This email has had me in a semi-catatonic state ever since I first opened it this afternoon.  It was a long time coming, and I’m beyond floored that it actually arrived in my inbox.  I think I’m still in a state of shock, but at the same time, I’ve already shed countless tears at the knowledge that this finally provides some closure on a long-outstanding wound, closure that I had long-since accepted would forever elude me.  I’m glad that he finally came to the realization that he holds an intense power over me that still lingers all these years later, that surfaces in my fingertips as I explore his body in my bed, that brings a smile to my lips and a tingling to my stomach at the thought of seeing him, smelling him, tasting him.  Part of me wonders why Hot Marine is still a part of my life so long after our brief affair came to a tragic and destructive end, but another part of me doesn’t question the small blessings that simultaneously add joy and pain to my life, for without pain, one could never appreciate the amazingly awe-inspiring joy.

Receiving this email brought joy into my life today – for being treated like a human being, for getting a bit of emotional closure on a scarred, battered relationship, and for being seen in a new, raw, naked light.  Isn’t it ironic that after years of having sex, I feel as if Hot Marine finally saw me naked for the first time.

How much of him can I absorb in these precious few tranquil minutes while he lies in my bed, my face buried in his neck, our legs intertwined in some kind of intimate-but-casual purgatory?  Are we friends, lovers, or somewhere in between?  Do I have a right to want to soak him up like this?  Are my wandering, yearning fingertips trespassing on another’s territory? 

I dismiss these thoughts and focus on the task at hand, as my hands slowly and purposefully move from his thigh to his stomach to the little curve of his waist that I’ve long known is one of my favorite spots on the male body.  I linger there for a few moments, caressing the soft skin of his side, allowing his body to cradle my hand, to warm it, to comfort it, to envelop it with its sensual yet innocent embrace.  Simultaneously, his arm is wrapped around my back, and the skin of his side is wrapped around my probing fingertips. 

I sense the softness, the smoothness, the warmth of his skin radiate from his side into my fingers, traveling up through my arms and into the core of my body, where it festers and ferments until a soft but subtle smile makes it way to the corners of my lips.  I don’t think he notices. 

Having wantonly taken what I desired, my hands move northward up the side of his chest and up to his outstretched arm that lies peacefully on the pillow above his head.  I wrap my fingers around the biceps that I’ve grown to worship over the years, remembering each and every curve as I rediscover them for what I imagine must be the millionth time. 

My arm is outstretched over his as we lie there, breathing, touching, resting, and I acknowledge my yearning to wrap his fingers in mine.  But my fingers know better than to reach for the hands of the gods, and so I soak up the last of his biceps and move back down his arm, his side, his thigh, where I start my journey all over again. 

His hands are left untouched, undisturbed, full of the radiance and warmth and comfort and belonging that I dare not steal from their precious vessels, for the body is overflowing with sensations to be stolen, but the hands require a certain permission that will never be granted, and I dare not reveal my desire for it, my yearning for those fingers that will never be mine. 

And so I go back to memorizing his thigh, his side, his arms, as my nose buries itself deeper in the heavenly scent of his neck, doused with a cologne whose name he refuses to divulge, claiming it as his signature that will forever link the scent in my mind to his body and his alone.  And we lie there, breathing in, breathing out, as I soak up the last few moments with him, flirting with the line that I dare not cross, that shall never be crossed, that will forever tease me as his scent draws me closer, but as his hands remain just out of reach.

I got home from work late with a one-line email in my inbox asking if I wanted to “hang out.”  A few quick emails back and forth ensued, and a few hours later he showed up at my door in the most adorable Abercrombie-frat-boy-esque outfit, proceeded to flash me those gorgeous blue eyes and his signature smile, ripped off my panties and fucked me with my dress still on, kissed me goodnight, and vanished into the ether from whence he came.  So simple!

This time he specifically requested that I write on the blog that he’s, and I quote, “hung like a moose” – his words, not mine.  Although I will say that he has quite the magnificent cock, but you already knew that.  : )

Not much else to report!  What can I say?  It’s nice to get laid.  Happy Friday, everyone!

You should tell your blog audience how you’ve totally changed your appearance since I saw you last.  You are amazingly beautiful.  I was beyond stunned when I saw you and felt how deliciously-sexy-thin you are.  Wow.  Your hair, too – ever so hot.

Let’s recap, shall we?

• 12-week session of Weight Watchers: $144
• Bottle of curl-construct mousse: $2.99
• 2 months of depriving myself of fat, cheese, and sugar: torture
• Being called “deliciously-sexy-thin” by a guy who makes me melt: priceless

Yeah, it was totally worth it.  : )

Click below for the down and dirty play-by-play.  Oh come on, you know this is going to be good.  : )

I had been going back and forth about this for a while and had firmly decided against it, what with all the drama this boy has caused me in the past (need I rehash it all?), but then Friday afternoon came along, and as I was sitting at my desk trying to wrap up the work week, I stopped, thought about what I had been doing to myself with all the thinking/analyzing/debating, and decided to stop being so fucking logical.  Screw all the bullshit, screw all the past drama, screw the fact that I’d probably hate myself afterward.  That boy is insanely attractive, he’s been asking to come over for weeks now, and I fucking need to GET LAID.  There – decision made!  Now wasn’t that easy?  What took me so long???  I sent off a quick email, and 10 minutes later, my fuck-buddy was back in business. 

Witness, the (abridged) email conversation:

DD: Still up for getting together?
Hot Marine: Still at work, but see you at 9 tonight?
DD: Let’s make it 10, and wear something hot like your jungle warfare shirt.
Hot Marine: 10 works.  Will follow your shirt request.
DD: Bring me some wine – white wine, chilled please, chardonnay preferred.  : )
Hot Marine: Done. 
DD: You still have the 6-pack?
Hot Marine: Still the same guy.
DD: Good.  See you at 10.

And that was that.  When he arrived at my door, he looked just as I had remembered him, even though we hadn’t seen each other in over a year.  (Can you believe it had been that long?)  The golden blond midwestern hair, cut short military-style as always, the radiant blue eyes that cut right through me, the muscles bulging out of his chest-hugging jungle warfare shirt (oh, the hotness – can you imagine him training in some exotic jungle, dirty, sweaty, ripe with testosterone?), the ass-hugging jeans that get me every time, and the patented Hot Marine smile combined with the way his eyes light up and squint when he sees me – ohhhhhh, my dears, he did not disappoint.

As for me, well, I looked fucking fantastic.  I was rocking my curly locks and smoky eye makeup and wore my skinny jeans and a slinky black top, topped off with my leopard-print heels.  I was absolutely delicious, if I do say so myself.  And he noticed.  The first thing out of his mouth was, “Oh my god, DD, you look amazing!”  Damn straight, babe.  Instantly he gave me a big hug, and I could feel his hands up and down my chest, my waist, my ass – he couldn’t believe it.  You know, I worked damn hard to drop those ~15 pounds, and it felt SO good to get some appreciation for it.  I swear, he was loving it.  In fact, later on in the evening he told me that I easily look 20 times better than before, which is quite the compliment, especially coming from him.

[Side note: Isn't it awful how guys are obsessed with a woman's weight?  He totally played into the superficial stereotype that New York guys are famous for.  All they want is a skinny blond model, and since I'm never going to be blond, at least I can get the skinny part.  Also, later on in the evening, he told me that he loved the fact that my bones are starting to stick out and that he could hardly contain himself and came faster than usual.  Should I be flattered or concerned?]

Anyway, we talked for a few hours and drank some wine – just normal catching-up stuff that we usually do when he comes over, especially after we hadn’t talked in so long.  Then he kind of leaned in so that his face was about an inch or two away from mine, and I leaned in closer to smell his neck (he always smells so fucking good), and next thing I knew we were on our way to my bedroom.  He walked behind me and wrapped his arms around me as we made our way to the bed (aww, how cute).  And then – and this is why I get such a kick out of this guy – he puts those biceps to good use and pushes me down on the bed, HARD, and fucking takes control of me like he knows I’ve been waiting for. 

As his lips are working their way from my stomach to my ribs to my breasts, I tell him that he’s my drug, I’m totally addicted, and I keep coming back for more even though I know I shouldn’t.  He smiles.  He tells me that he can’t believe how good I look, that he’s so amazingly turned on.  I’m loving it.  Clothes disappear, and I wrap my legs around him as he leans in closer and kisses me – ohhhhh, those lips.  Those soft, wet, hungry lips.  I could have devoured them all night.  And let me just say, it felt SO good to feel the weight of him on top of me again, to witness the blur of naked bodies that I had long been missing, to feel his tongue down my throat, his 5 o’clock shadow brushing up against my face, his rock-hard cock rubbing up against my soaking wet clit.  Ah, it really doesn’t get much better than that… oh wait, yet it does.  : )

His kisses were lippy, as always, and I love that he kisses me during sex and looks me in the eyes.  I really could have kissed him all night.  We took a few minutes to soak in the nakedness and the kissing before I just couldn’t wait any longer.  Hot Marine is so predictable – it’s actually kind of funny.  As usual, he sits back and starts stroking his cock and says that he wants to watch me play with my pussy.  Who am I to refuse such a request?  He kind of sits there watching me for a while, hand on his cock, smiling like an idiot.  It was hilarious.  Meanwhile, I’m thinking to myself, “fuck me already, babe!”  But alas, I didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was that he was doing – boys are so silly sometimes.  Anyway, he finally decides that he’s good and ready, and FINALLY slides that cock deep, deep into me, and we both let out the most delicious moan. 

And then, the sex.  Oh, how I’ve missed it!  He probably could have done absolutely anything, and I would have eaten it up no matter what.  But I got the solid fuck that I’ve come to expect from Hot Marine – the perfect combination of midwestern politeness and a red-blooded American pounding.  Mmmm… absolutely scrumptious.  As his cock thrusted in and out of me, I dug my nails into his back and started telling him all the nasty things I wanted him to do to me.  I know that kind of stuff turns him on even more, so I ham it up a little to get a reaction out of him.  He kissed my neck as we fucked, and with every collision of his pelvis with mine, I remembered more and more why I absolutely love sex with him – not just sex, with sex with him.  Hot Marine is insanely attractive (at least, I think so), he’s absolutely adorable, he’s aggressive in all the right places, and he really takes charge like a fucking MAN.  A man with BALLS, to be more specific.  He really fucks the living shit out of me, and he leaves me feeling completely ravaged and satisfied.

About halfway through, I turned around to lie on my stomach so he could fuck me from behind, which I know he loves.  Hell, I love it too.  I feel like a fucking piece of meat that he uses to get himself off, and the little slut in me absolutely loves that feeling.  In fact, he even made a comment at one point that he likes that I’m “a little slutty.”  Ha, if he only knew how sex-deprived I’ve been lately!  So there he his, pounding into me from behind, as I arch my back and push back to meet him… the entire bed is shaking, I’m screaming “fuck me baby,” he’s screaming “make me come,” and the whole thing was just so surreal.  People, I really need this to happen everyday.  I totally get off on this stuff!  Who doesn’t right?  Finally he fucking explodes inside me and lets out the sexiest moan as he collapses on top of me and lets out a deep, satisfied breath.  So sensual.  He pulls out and watches as I rub one out and then wipe my soaking wet fingers all over his chest, flashing me a big smile as I do it.  So fucking hot, I swear.  We both wash up and then cuddle (aww) for a few minutes while basking in the post-orgasmic sex glow.

Post-coital conversation includes the following: He asks me what I’m going to write about him on the blog (hahaha, he knows me too well.)  I tell him not to worry about it, as his sexual prowess always garners a good review from me.  We talk about porn and threesomes and anal sex, and I tell him that his cock is never getting anywhere near my ass because I don’t trust him.  I think I said something like, “Hmm, a cock in your ass… that’s personal.”  And he thought that was hilarious.  I tell him that he can be such a jerk sometimes, and – get this – he actually admits it, although he clarifies his confession by saying that he “doesn’t mean to be.”  Ha, whatever babe.  And finally, after things got a little quiet and we were both half-asleep, he busts out this little gem:

Hot Marine: You’re special to me, DD.
DD: What does that mean???
Hot Marine: It means exactly what I said.

Ummm…. ok.  What, if anything, am I supposed to take from that???  I don’t know what it means, and I’m not going to read anything into it because (a) we had just had sex and (b) he says shit like that all the time and it really *does* mean absolutely nothing, if I’ve learned anything in the two years that I’ve known him.  So whatever.  I just thought it was so cute and fitting at the time, especially because he’s been known to say “nice” things to me during post-sex cuddling in the past.  Remember “DD, do you trust me?  That’s important to me.”  WTF, babe?

Anyway, Friday night was a much-needed return to the DD we all know and love, and I was glad to have done it with him and not some random new guy who I’d probably never see again.  You know, I think I give Hot Marine a lot more credit than he deserves sometimes.  Really, he’s just a random midwestern transplant to the east coast, working for the man like we all do, single, frustrated, a little shy… just a normal guy who just so happens to be the physical male ideal but is too humble (or too in denial) to fully realize it.  I think I’ve brought him down a little from the pedestal that I usually keep him on, and it feels good to humanize him a bit.  It was extremely comforting to be around him again, mostly just because we’ve known each other for a while at this point, and he knows all my shit, and I know his.  It was just… nice.  And I really needed that.

The next day, I walked around with a big dopey-ass smile plastered across my face all day, and I don’t think my feet touched the ground once.  I went out for drinks with a friend last night, and she just kept laughing at me as I drifted off into my daydreams, remembering every inch of his magnificent body and every flash of his naughty little smile.  The only problem is that now I’m suddenly reminded of all the benefits of getting laid and need to get him back here as soon and as often as possible.  Oh, and the pussy survived with no injuries, which makes me incredibly happy.  It looks like I’m back to normal – FINALLY.

So that’s the story, my dears!  As jerky as Hot Marine can be, he still fucks me like a champ.  Thanks, babe.  I needed that.  : )

Remember me?  It’s DD, you long-lost friend.  You know, the person who carries you around all day, cleans you, grooms you, keeps you nice and fresh and perky.  What’s that you say?  You’re hungry?  Well, yes, I know… but unfortunately I’ve got nothing to offer you these days.  The cupboards are bare, my dear, and you’ll have to just live off all the memories of cocks gone by.  You know, all the juicy pieces of man-meat that you’ve encountered through the years, welcoming them into your home, making them feel oh-so-good, allowing them to make you shudder with delight.  Yes yes, I know, memories are just not good enough, but come on, pussy!  You had some fun back in the day.  Hang on a little while longer, my dear, and pretty soon you’ll be rewarded for your patience.

I know it’s been a rough year for you, but I’ve tried to keep you going with plenty of crappy internet porn and masturbation.  Don’t you enjoy our time together?  Pussy, speak up, I can’t hear you… I said, don’t you enjoy our time together???  Hello???  Oh, don’t go all silent on me now.  I can’t handle a revolt at this point, so just bear with me here.  Please pussy, for the sake of our sanity.  I need you on my side here.

Now pussy, please take the following news with a clear head and an open mind: I have the opportunity to feed you a nice, juicy, midwestern cock – you know, the one that comes and goes as it pleases, barely stopping to take care of your meager demands.  I know it’s a poor offering, but it’s an offering nonetheless.  Listen, I know you’re excited at the prospect, but we must be strong!  Although this midwestern cock promises us a playdate, I think that we just might be better off without it. 

Wait… pussy… don’t walk out on me like that!  Come back here, my dear.  Please – just listen to me for a second.  I know you need to be fed, and I know you’ve been such a good little girl waiting out this marathon dry spell, but really, I don’t think he’s worth it this time.  Why are we wasting our time on him when he’s just going to disappoint us like he always does?  Yes, I see you nodding your head – you remember, don’t you?  You remember all the bullshit this perfectly chiseled cock has brought us in the past, and how just hours after the sex haze has passed, we start wishing we’d never let him come over.  Remember this?  Yes, me too.  And I think we should resist his luscious temptation this time around.  We can wait for a better one.  We can be strong.

Oh, pussy, you’ve been such a trooper though all this, and I really can’t thank you enough for sticking by me all this time.  Rest assured that I have your best interests at heart.  You really deserve a shiny new toy to play with, don’t you?  : )  Oh, I see your tail wagging, you naughty little girl!  Yes yes, you most certainly deserve a little reward.  If I can’t have any chocolate or Cheetos, the least I can do is give you a few decent orgasms.  Oh pussy, you’re still my BFF.

With love and sloppy wet kisses,

~DD

This afternoon’s appointment had been on my calendar for several weeks now, and although I usually look forward to a doctor’s appointment with about the same level of enthusiasm as talking to my mother about why I don’t have a boyfriend, I was genuinely impatient – even eager – to get this one under my belt.  On the agenda: a vaginal reconstructive procedure to restore my embattled vagina (and associated paraphernalia) to its natural working order – a state which had existed only as a fond yet distant memory for the past year or so.  I was told by the ever-friendly, ever-optimistic gynecologist (thank god for intelligent, informed physicians) that it was a minor procedure and that it had a high probability of garnering the permanent results I was looking for.  That was all I needed to hear.  Nonetheless, the thought of going under the knife – again – left me with a restless knot in my stomach for the last few days as the long-awaited appointment approached, and I woke up this morning both excited and terrified.  Focusing on the hope that the end was near, I gathered my strength, marched into that office, took off my pants, and closed my eyes until it was over.

Lying on a gynecological exam table, naked from the waist down, legs propped up in stirrups and knees spread apart, is akin to voluntarily assuming the highest level of vulnerability that I can imagine, just short of being physically restrained to the table a la 1950s-style electroshock therapy in a brightly-lit, tiled-from-floor-to-ceiling mental institution basement.  Although I’ve become a regular at assuming the position, it never really gets any easier, and the fact that there’s a fresh knife on the counter-top doesn’t help to ease my anxiety.  First, the game plan: the doctor explains what’s going to happen, using her fingers to illustrate the intricacies of the upcoming vaginal butchering session.  A few cuts here, a few stitches there, some reshaping, restructuring, remodeling.  Redecorating?  Perhaps, if you count the handful of multi-colored topical medications I’ll be regularly applying as the skin heals over the next few weeks.  As the doctor’s mouth is moving, my mouth is hanging open as I attempt to absorb the information while maintaining my composure and smothering my gradually-swelling urge to scream.  Next, the action: I lie back while a blur of needles and instruments are passed back and forth from the nurse’s tray to the doctor’s hands to the most quintessential part of my feminine existence, all the while clutching the exam table until my knuckles are white and my palms are sweaty.  The anesthesia masks the pain of torn flesh and prodding metal, but my numb tissue can still sense the motions of deliberate restructuring and delicate hand-sewing.  I watch as clean gauze is brought in and a blood-stained mess is brought out.  After a few “are you ok?”s and “we’re almost done”s, it’s over.  I release my death-grip on the table and let out a deep breath of relief, hopefully the last one in this room for a while.

As the doctor provides her concluding remarks and directions for at-home care, I sit up and feel the slight discomfort of foreign material inside my body.  I memorize my instructions, thank the doctor for her good work, and start to get dressed as the exam room door is closed.  The sight of fresh blood on my gown reminds me of the pain that I’m going to feel once the anesthesia wears off.  I conduct a mental scan of my medicine cabinet and am relieved to recall a leftover bottle of pain killers from my last procedure.  Ah – salvation.  There’s only one hurdle left to clear: facing my fear and taking a look at what I imagine to be something straight out of Frankenstein’s laboratory – black stitches on tortured, contorted, blood-stained flesh, swollen and sore, oozing with who-knows-what.  The trip home (at last – an afternoon off from work!) is garnished with the revelation that getting up and sitting down will be a challenge for the next few days.  I don’t even allow myself to wonder how I will manage to use the bathroom – I’ll cross that foreboding bridge when I come to it.  Finally, when I am once again enveloped by the comfort of home, I grab a hand-held mirror and brace myself for the painful sight, gathering both my courage and plenty of blood-absorbing materials for my exploratory journey to a familiar but altered landscape.  And when I expose the gynecologist’s handiwork to the light of day, I am surprised to find – not a tortured creature – but an artful masterpiece worthy of exhibition at the very museums that I flocked to for comfort when New Year’s Lips and I broke up in the first place.  When all was said and done, my fingers were stained with a combination of fresh pink blood and gooey medication, but my mind was finally at ease.  Perhaps as the skin heals in my new-and-improved vagina, the mental scars from this year-long odyssey will finally fade away, leaving only a cautionary reminder that even the most diligent armoring of the human body can’t completely eradicate its vulnerabilities.

If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s that you just never know what life has in store for you.  As I sit here writing this, pain medication coursing through my veins, a soft cushion protecting my delicately stitched and still-bleeding vaginal tissue from the agonizing rigidity of the chair, I take comfort in the hope that this embarrassing and worrisome chapter of my life is finally coming to a close, and that I might resume my normal state-of-being by the time summer officially arrives.  I’ve also resolved that my health is a precious thing, worthy of the utmost protection and care.  Although I have always been extremely (ridiculously!) careful when it comes to safe sex, I will now be even more thoughtful and deliberate with the choices I make.  No man is worth what I’ve gone through in the past year, and this somber reminder has been delicately and permanently stitched into the core of my existence.

This whole thing got me thinking about how my feelings toward casual sex have changed dramatically in the past year after the whole STD drama went down.  Before, I thought casual sex was the best thing since sliced bread (even though I always used protection, always).  Now, it pretty much scares the shit out of me.  Also, I look back on some of my casual sexual encounters with a much, much different feeling that I had when they actually occurred.  For example, remember about a year ago when I randomly texted Bachelor #3 for a casual fuck one Sunday night?  We had gone on a few dates and things didn’t work out, but I decided that he was cute and I was horny, and, well, why the hell not?  The original post was on the old blog, so I don’t have the link, but below are a few snippets to refresh your memory.

Here’s how it started:

The awkwardness instantly disappears when he walks up to me, wraps his arm around me, presses his already-hard cock into my pelvis, brings his lips right up to mine, gives me the best pair of sex eyes I’ve seen in a while, and says, “Actually, I think this could be really hot…”  He kisses me – a great kiss, forceful and sloppy and passionate.  He pushes me down on the bed, and we start going at it like a pair of teenagers.  Clothes are flying off, hands are roaming, he’s kissing my neck, my fingers are quickly remembering all the curves of his body, his muscles, his face.  Dude, this guy is totally hot.  I start giving him a hand job while he’s playing with my clit, and after a few minutes his cock is throbbing and aching for my soaking wet pussy, which (of course) has been dying for a juicy piece of cock.

Then we proceeded to have several rounds of crazy animalistic sex, complete with kinky porn in the background.  Here’s how it ended:

By the end of it, I was completely spent, and the sex haze was absolutely fantastic.  You know, Bachelor #3 is actually pretty cute, and I’m glad that we were able to have great casual sex without it being all weird (at least after the first five minutes).  After I catch my breath, I get out of bed and say, “Well, I’m so glad this worked out.”  To which he responded, “Yeah, thanks for thinking of me.  This is great – no cuddling afterward, and I don’t have to call you tomorrow.”  And I was like, “Yeah, don’t call me, and thanks for the solid fuck that I needed tonight.”  I get dressed, find my shoes, give him a kiss goodnight (it’s only polite to kiss goodnight, after all), and get the hell out of there with enough time to get home and get a good night’s sleep.  So easy!  Well shit, I was kicking myself for not thinking of that a few weeks earlier.

I wrote the old post the day after I saw him.  Doesn’t sound too bad at all right?  In fact, it sounds pretty damn hot and pretty damn convenient.  At the time, I was so proud of myself for going out and ravaging this guy and was feeling very smug, not to mention that he had done a bang-up job of satisfying my sexual craving.

But you know what?  Looking back on this night almost a year later, the one thing I keep coming back to is that he wouldn’t look into my eyes during sex – he kept looking behind him or above my head to focus on the porn.  In fact, at one point he got into what I can only imagine to be a very, very uncomfortable position so that he wouldn’t have to look at me and instead could see the porn out of the corner of his eyes.  This is so incredibly degrading and it makes me feel like a worthless piece of meat.  I also remember how I accidentally left my earrings on his nightstand and how he had to snail mail them back to me.  We couldn’t even meet for coffee because it was so embarrassing and weird.  Looking back, I always get an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about that night, and I really wish I had never done it.  We didn’t give a shit about each other, and it was so incredibly obvious, and it makes me feel like shit when I think about it now. 

Not to mention the fact that I had to call him a few weeks later telling him that I had unknowingly exposed him to an STD and that he’d better go get tested ASAP. 

So really, what did I gain out of this experience?  A temporary sexual fix and a year’s worth of stomach aches, embarrassment about the way we treated each other, and guilt about exposing him.  Honestly, not worth it.

Not all of my casual sexual encounters have been like this, obviously.  But this one just reminds me that my feelings toward casual sex have definitely changed, and perhaps I’m not quite so willing to fuck some guy who I hardly even know.  Then again, I almost did it a few weeks ago.  So clearly I’m not perfect.  All I know is that my night with Bachelor #3 is still giving me stomach aches almost a year later, and that says a lot.

Me: A tired, sweaty chick galavanting around with a friend on a gorgeous (but hot and sticky) summer-like day.  My flip-flop-enveloped feet are covered with a thick layer of dirt, my shirt is stained with sweat, and my flat-ironed hair has long since turned into a curly mess in the heat of the city.  I’m lugging around all sorts of random shit that I’ve picked up along the day’s adventures.  My makeup has turned into a cakey disaster, my mascara is running, and I have chocolate-chip-cookie breath.  In other words, I am a total mess.

You: A hot, sweaty guy who happened to be on the same subway as me, at the same time as me, for some magical unknown reason.  You’re wearing a white cotton button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a pair of adorable khaki shorts.  You have dirty-blond spiky/tousled hair, brilliant blue eyes, and the chiseled face/body of an underwear model.  You are the perfect shade of tan, and the perfect level of tired/sweaty that makes me want to roll all over you so we can revel in our bad, dirty selves.  In other words, you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in New York, like, ever.  I shall call you: the Subway Adonis.

The situation: My friend and I run into the subway car, and there are no seats to be found.  I find myself standing back-to-back with you in the middle of the very crowded, very hot car.  We accidentally bump into each other a few times as the car is jolted left and right.  I imagine that our sweat is mingling on our backs, kind of like how our chromosomes will mingle in my reproductive organs when I have all your babies.

Finally a bunch of people get out of the car, and I find myself sitting directly across from where you’re sitting.  I steal quick little glances at you while you settle into your seat, clearly just as exhausted and sweaty as I am.  Then, suddenly, we lock eyes from across the subway car — and suddenly I’m riding you right there on the train, my tongue licking up every last drop of your divine sweat, your perfectly-chiseled cock shooting underwear-model-baby-making-juice deep within the depths of my dirty, sweaty, writhing nether-regions, and as I let out that fantastically erotic orgasmic scream and as you thrust your chiseled pelvis deep into me — I quickly look away from your gaze, compose myself, gather up all my random bags, and get off at the next stop. 

My friend, as we’re walking away from the subway car: “Holy shit, DD, did you see that?”

And I respond: “God damn, he was utter perfection.”

And you and your mouth-watering, body-shaking, mind-blowing self rushed off in the subway car somewhere into the depths of the city, and I never saw you again. 

Oh, Subway Adonis, I will forever think of you as the ideal specimen of a hot, sweaty, incredibly sexy, testostorone-filled man.  If you ever run into a tall dorky girl on the streets of New York, please know that it is my burning desire to be bathed in any and all bodily fluids that you wish to offer me, and I will repay you very generously for your sacrifice.  Until then, the thought of you will soak my panties and cloud my brain as I picture you riding off into the dark subway tunnel, nothing more than a dirty, sweaty, completely primal but completely missed connection…

Here’s how it went down:

As you know, Hot Marine and I had been exchanging erotic emails all week.  It was totally hot.  We finally make plans for him to come over on Friday night to have some wine, catch up, and fuck.  My medical situation actually seems to be improving (thank god), so I decided to just go for it because I needed to get laid.  Everything is set to go.  I went off to play tennis last night (which was great, by the way), and we texted back and forth about timing, etc. during my water breaks.  I get home, we exchange a few more naughty texts, and I start my pre-fuck routine of primping and priming, etc.  I’m halfway through painting my toenails and doing my hair when I decide to check my email… and lo and behold, he cancelled on me, via email, an hour before he was supposed to arrive.  What.  The.  Fuck. 

I call him – no answer (typical – he NEVER answers his phone when I call).  Instead of leaving a voicemail, I texted him: “call me.”  A few seconds later he calls, explains that he “completely forgot” that his parents are going to be in town this weekend, and now he has to do laundry, clean his apartment, run errands, etc. and absolutely cannot make time to travel the 15 minutes from his apartment to mine for a quick visit that we had been ramping up for all week.  Silence on the phone for what seemed like forever.  I say, “So you’re really not coming over?”  He says, “I already explained the situation – I’m not coming over.”  More silence.  I say, “Don’t ever ask to come over here again.  I’m done with you, [Hot Marine].  I’m done with this bullshit.”  He hangs up.  I am fuming.  Five minutes later I get an email from him saying that he’s “truly sorry about this.”  I don’t respond.  End of story.

Last night after all this went down, I was so angry that I was shaking all over.  I don’t remember being that angry in a really long time.  And I wasn’t even all that angry at him – I was angry at myself for getting into this ridiculous situation that didn’t have any possible good outcome except for the fact that maybe I’d temporarily satiate my sex-starvation.  I should have known that he’d flake out on me because disappearing has been his M.O. for the entire two years that I’ve known him.  As Twitter-friend @mgrabois so bluntly pointed out: why did I expect any different of him this time?  He was just being himself, the jerky guy that he’s always been.  What killed me was that there was absolutely no compassion or friendliness in his voice (I hadn’t actually talked to him in almost a year) – he was just so flat and matter-of-fact and cold.  I should have known.

Actually, I guess I *did* know, but it’s one thing to know something in your mind, and another to actually hear it in someone’s voice and see the completely predictable outcome play out in real-life right before your eyes.  You know?  It’s just a complete slap in the face.

I can be such an idiot sometimes, I swear.  Why do I do this to myself?

So that’s the story, my dears.  I’ve really had it with him and his bullshit.  This was the last straw.

Another observation: most of my friends have only slept with one or two guys (mainly long-term boyfriends) in their almost thirty years, and for the married ones, I’d say 9 out of 10 have only ever slept with their husband.  A handful have never even kissed anyone other than their husband.  I make absolutely no judgments and respect the fact that different people make different choices, etc., and like I said above, I love my friends regardless of their personal choices (that are none of my business, really).  But with that said, I find myself as the outlier and feeling kind of, well, slutty.  Does the fact that I’ve slept with more than one or two men make me a sexual deviant in my conservative little group?  It sure feels like it sometimes!  What’s a girl to do?

Here’s a classic example: When I first started seeing The Editor (I try not to bring him up, but this story really makes my point), we were having a bit of a sexual/flirty phone conversation after work one night, and he mentioned that regular condoms are too tight for him.  I was like, “Oooooh baby, what do you use, Trojan Magnums?”  And he was actually *surprised* that I knew about magnum condoms.  He was like, “Oh my god, you know about those?  How did you hear about that?”  And I conveniently managed to dodge the question and change the subject.  WTF, right?  Is it *really* so unusual for a 29-year-old woman to be aware of different types of condoms?  I have perused the condom aisle at the drug store once or twice (ahem)… and I guess I assumed everyone else has too.  Hello?  Was The Editor totally coming out of left field or what?

This goes back to the classic question: how many sex partners is “taboo?”  Is it really that unusual that I’ve slept with more than one or two guys?  I didn’t think it was, but it seems like everyone around me is in the 1-2 boat, and I’m… well… not.  As a single woman in her late 20s, I just can’t imagine having slept with so few guys… it just comes with the territory to have a bit of a list, no?  Also, although I’ve been recently complaining about my six-month drought, my single friends have all been going MUCH longer than that and don’t seem to be complaining about it nearly as much as I am.  Is their sex drive just naturally lower?  Is mine abnormally high?  What gives?  Am I a freak in the dork world???  (Note, I don’t think I can handle being a freak AND a dork – it’s just too much for this girl to handle!)

My gut feeling is that I have a perfectly healthy sex drive and a perfectly average stack of past lovers, and I just happen to hang out with people who happen to be on the lower end of the scale.  We *are* dorks, after all.  But it just makes me feel so weird, you know?  And it makes me feel really, really uncomfortable talking about sex with them, which sucks because you’re *supposed* to be able to share the dirty details of your sex life with your good friends.  Now do you see why I couldn’t tell any of them about the STD situation?  Ahhhhhhh!  This drives me crazy.

Single girls/guys out there – what do you think?  Are your friends on the same level as you with respect to sexual experience, desire, etc.?  If not, do you feel uncomfortable talking to them about it?  Are you an outlier in your social group because of your sex life or lack thereof?  Have you ever heard of Trojan Magnums or am I the only one???  Oh pleeeeaaaaaase [rolls eyes].  : )

Now, long-time readers may recall an old post (from the old blog) in which I whined and complained like a spoiled brat about how I hadn’t had sex in two weeks and was going absolutely insane from starvation.  Recall that I had just gotten out of the thing with New Year’s Lips (which had involved some pretty rockin’ and frequent sex), and my fuck-buddies were disappearing left and right.  I was going through withdrawal after getting my fix so regularly for so long and then suddenly having my supply cut off.  Poor, poor DD.

So getting back to the present… it’s been over six months.  All I can think about is sex.  I want it, I need it, and it’s driving me out of my mind.  I’m scared to death to sleep with some random guy because the last time I did that, I wound up with a fucking STD that’s still causing me trouble almost a year later.  I don’t want to go through that again, but I really need to get laid.  Shit shit shit.

Sometimes being a late-20s single woman in a city full of jerky guys really, really sucks.

First of all – I didn’t have sex with him.  I replied to his email saying, in a nutshell, that my medical drama (which I had told him about last summer) is ongoing and I just can’t do it right now.  Actually, I think I used the phrase, “I’d love to get my hands on that smokin’ hot body of yours,” but that’s besides the point.  Oops.  : )  Anyway, he replied with a shockingly nice email.  It was as if he switched from treating me like a piece of meat to treating me like a normal human being with actual feelings and who actually deserves some respect.  Who knew he had it in him?  His email was so comforting and surprisingly caring that I silently and immediately slipped back into the Hot Marine haze without even realizing it.  Damn it!  I am so vulnerable when it comes to this guy.

He said that he was so sorry to hear that I was still going through medical issues.  He said that he cares about me.  He said that he wants to catch up since we haven’t talked for so long.  He said that I should call if I ever need him for anything. 

Hot Marine, is that you???

I’ve gotta say – after our shockingly nice email exchange, I went to bed last night with a feeling of comfort and peace that I haven’t felt in a really long time.  (Oh god, this is such a slippery slope!)  All day today I felt as if something had shifted (note to self: it was my shift from sanity to insanity).  I hate that one minute I can consider him to be such a jerk, and the next minute I want to cry into his shoulder and have him tell me everything is going to be ok.  Oh, Hot Marine, why do you torture me like this?  Why can’t you just disappear for good?  Why do I always fall back into your extremely hot but dangerous trap?

And tonight I made it worse.  Now that Hot Marine is back in the picture, I couldn’t help but start up one of those “steamy” (such a midwestern boy term!) little email exchanges that I used to love so much.  We’ve been going back and forth with erotic one-liners that have made me remember with such vivid clarity all the times we’ve slept together… our hot, wet, naked bodies entwined in each other, blurred into a sea of pulsating, electrifying extacy… DAMN. 

He fucking gets me every time.  Why can’t I ever escape him?

Now don’t go getting your panties in a bunch – there is no substitute for real-live cock.  You all know I love the cock.  : )  But there’s something to be said for really, really good masturbation.  In fact, I notice that, with a few exceptions, I tend to have better orgasms by myself than with whatever schlep I happen to be sleeping with.  It takes a while to really figure out how to get me off in that mind-blowing OMG kind of way, and unless I’ve been dating a guy for a while, it just isn’t happening.  Then again, I’ve been getting myself off for years, and I know just how I like it.  : )  Yay masturbation!

I guess I hadn’t really gotten off in a while, what with the drama of Chicago Boy and the damage I did last weekend, but last night I decided it was safe to wake up the pussy and have at it.  And let me tell you, I think absence makes the heart grow fonder.  The pussy was in some kind of orgasm-deprived hyper-excited uber-sensitive state, and I was having one body-shaking, earth-shattering, OMG THIS IS AMAZING orgasm after another.  This does NOT happen very often.  In fact, I’d say that the pussy only chooses to enter this kind of nirvana-like state about once a year.  Little did I know I was in for such a treat!  Yum yum. 

Today I am a little sore but still floating around in my multiple-orgasm glow.  Awww, how cute.  No matter how many douchebag guys dangle their oh-so-delicious goods in front of me, I will always love the pussy… <3

Here’s how it went down:

I wanted to get together with this guy that I’ve been seeing – who shall henceforth be known as Chicago Boy – at some point during the weekend, but turns out that the only time we were both going to be in town was Friday night (last night).  He was free, but I already had plans to do dinner/dancing for a friend’s birthday that night.  We went back and forth trying to find an alternate time to meet up, but it just wasn’t working out.  Sooooo, I decided to invite him along for the after-dinner birthday festivities with a handful of my friends.  Good idea?  Bad idea?  It was too late to really think about it because by the time it hit me that our third date was going to be with a bunch of my friends, I had already invited him along and it was too late to back out.  So, I went with it. 

After dinner, my friends and I met up with Chicago Boy at a bar, and we all hung out for a few hours drinking beers, chatting, etc.  To my surprise (and relief), my friends seemed to approve, and he really held his own during the conversation.  Thank god!  I was bracing myself for disaster, but this part of the night actually worked out really well.  I even felt comfortable enough to run to the bathroom at the bar, leaving Chicago Boy to fend for himself with my friends for a few minutes.  He even bought us all a round of drinks.  Excellent!

The bar scene was kind of dead last night (at least at the few bars that we went to), perhaps because last weekend was St. Patrick’s Day, and maybe this weekend everyone was just taking a break or something.  Whatever.  It was kind of a bust in the dancing department, so we all decided to part ways for the night and head home.  I said goodnight to my friends, which left me and Chicago Boy to our own devices.  We decided to head elsewhere for one more beer, and we wound up in a very cute little bar that I don’t go to often enough.  Must add this to my list of regular hangouts.  We chatted there until about 1:30 or so, and the conversation and flirting and all that good stuff was going pretty well.  Again, thank god this part of the night was going well because little did I know what I was in for later on…

After we leave the bar, he invites me back to his place, and of course I am more than happy to oblige.  I say something like, “Ooooh, I get to see the bachelor pad!” through my drunken haze.  Real classy, DD.  Nice one.  At this point it was 100% obvious to the both of us that we were headed upstairs to hook up, and once we got into his apartment, we just headed straight for the bed and got going.  I walk into his bedroom and am surprised to see what I think is the biggest bed I have ever seen in my life.  Dudes, this thing was GIGANTIC.  He said it’s 8 inches wider than a king-size bed, and seriously, I believe it.  You could probably fit five or six people comfortably in this thing.  Killer.  And what a nice playground for me and Chicago Boy to play in! 

We start making out and almost instantly his hands are in my pants and I am playing with the cock.  Clothes are flung in all directions, and before I know it we’re rolling around naked in his huge bed.  Now, my dears, here’s where the disaster begins.  First of all, although I think Chicago Boy is totally adorable and we’ve been getting along pretty well, the first time in bed with someone can be a little awkward, and this was the poster child of awkwardness.  What the fuck, right?  Wasn’t expecting that.  But here’s the real problem: remember how I had some gynecological-related drama a few months back and haven’t had sex since?  Ummm, yeah.  I was surprised and extremely embarrassed to learn that one cannot just go having sex full force after something like this, and, well, it just didn’t work.  Also: ouch.  This only added to the awkwardness.  So we didn’t have sex, but instead just fooled around for a while until we both kind of just crapped out from being tried, being drunk, and getting a little frustrated with the total awkwardness.  Ugh. 

As we’re basically collapsed/cuddled up and drifting off to sleep, I notice two things: (a) his bed is seriously the most comfortable bed I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping on in my entire life – it was unbelievable how amazingly comfy this thing was; and (b) that “ouch” I felt earlier was something that definitely needed to be investigated in the bathroom.  So I get up to run to the bathroom (also to get some mouthwash – I hate going to bed without brushing my teeth – eww!), and I realize that some damage has been done in some extremely hard to reach places.  Shit shit shit.  There wasn’t much I could do about it in the middle of the night, so I resign myself to just get some sleep and see a doctor first thing in the morning. 

And here’s where the disaster continues: I walk out of the bathroom into a dark hallway of an apartment that I’ve never been in before.  I am tired and still kind of tipsy and worried about whatever I had just done to myself in my lame attempt to have sex.  I guess I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going because suddenly I walk right into this HUGE metal/slate hallway table and manage to create a massive gash on my thigh.  By this point I am cursing and screaming and really not doing well at all.  I make my way over to the bed and Chicago Boy is trying to decide if he should be worrying about me or laughing hysterically.  I think he was doing both.  I was so delusional and in so much pain that at one point I uttered the phrase, “I want my mommy.”  Again, nice one, DD!  Way to attract a man.  We proceed to laugh and laugh as I am doubled over in pain and trying to predict just how big of a bruise I’ll have in the morning.  He said he could already see it forming on my thigh, not 5 minutes after I crashed into the table.  Oh god, I am SUCH a dork, I swear.

So after all that drama, we finally stop laughing and fall asleep in the super-king-size, super-comfortable bachelor pad playground of a bed.  It was cute that we actually cuddled up all night, and it was nice to have that kind of close contact with another human being.  I had missed it, to be perfectly honest.  I fell asleep entangled in his arms and legs.  Aww. 

We woke up this morning in a fairly good mood, considering that I had basically maimed myself and we didn’t really get all that much sleep.  He had to be out of the apartment early, so I got dressed while he showered, I kissed him goodbye, and we both headed out.  And that was that.  Immediately after I got home, I hopped in the shower, surveyed the damage to both the girly bits and my poor thigh, and made my way over to the closest urgent care center I could find.  A few hours and several embarrassing conversations later, I was armed with antibiotics and instructions to make an appointment with my regular doctor when the office opens on Monday.  And the bruise on my thigh is getting bigger and uglier by the minute.  Sigh.

So that was that, my dears.  Am I a walking dating disaster or what???  I seriously don’t know whether to write off last night as somewhat of a success (Chicago Boy and I continued to get along well, and hanging out with my friends went well, and he seemed to stick by me even after the sexual fiasco) or a total disaster (I completely embarrassed myself in more ways than one and am probably out of commission for any further sexual activity for several weeks; I’m sure that will go over REALLY well).  Ahhhhhh.  I’ll tell ya, if this guy ever calls me again after what happened last night, he will win major brownie points for embracing an injured and completely uncoordinated mess.  If he doesn’t, well, I’m sure I’ll have the opportunity to embarrass myself in front of another eligible bachelor soon enough.

I swear, dating will surely be the end of me.

P.S. – Ouch ouch ouch.

So, what makes these two so incredibly sexy?  Allow me to elaborate:

Lance is so cocky and confident that it’s totally attractive.  He likes dirty sex and likes to tell us about it.  He seems to get women left and right, intoxicating them with his charm and what I imagine to be quite a magnificent package.  I want Lance to find me in a bar, throw me up against the wall, have his way with me, and leave me with nothing but a post-orgasmic sex glow and a “thanks babe” as he moves on to his next victim.  He’s the ultimate player who girls say they hate but secretly want.  Well, the secret is out: I want this boy.

EA is incredibly sexy and sensual, bringing me to my knees with his seemingly never-ending stream of erotica which he so graciously shares with the blogosphere.  I imagine my encounter with EA to be slow and torturous as he takes off my blouse button by button and I savor each and every drop of him.  EA is the embodiment of all things sexual and kinky.  To use a phrase from my college days, he is “sex on a stick.”  Ladies, if you leave a comment on his site, he will respond with a message that will require you to masturbate immediately.  Enough said.

My ultimate sexual fantasy involves the incredibly juicy and mind-blowing combination of these two male specimens.  Seriously, the pussy is throbbing just thinking about.  I imagine that I’m having a drink in a swanky New York nightclub, and I spot Lance on the other side of the room, surrounded by hot chicks and getting phone numbers left and right.  We lock eyes, and he leaves his harem and walks over to me, realizing that I am way hotter and more interesting than everyone else in the bar.  Immediately I am overcome by his charm and we start making out up against the back wall of the club.  As Lance is kissing my neck, I happen to spot EA sipping a drink at the bar, and he sexily walks his way over to us, maintaining eye contact with me the entire time.  He arrives, says something sexy in his English accent, pushes Lance out of the way, and proceeds to unbutton my shirt with his teeth.  I run my fingers through his hair as he reaches my waist, and then I pull him back up so that his lips meet mine.  His pelvis is pressed up against mine, and I am loving every inch of the bulge in his jeans.  His ass is just as spectacular as I imagine it to be.  I decide that I need to be ravaged by both Lance and EA that night, and I lead both of my servant boy-toys out of the bar and back to my place.

Fast forward to my bed.  I see myself giddy with excitement as two gorgeous cocks are whipped out, pulsating, dying for a piece of me.  It’s the best of both worlds – EA is slow and deliberate, teasing me with every kiss, every touch, every painstaking motion… while Lance is pounding into me, giving me the headboard-breaking sex that he knows I love.  There will be blowjobs for all, of course, as I simply cannot be in the presence of such hotness without tasting it for myself.  And as my reward for being such a devoted cocksucker, my servants will provide me with all the oral sex I desire, and they will fuck me until I am physically and emotionally exhausted.  At the end of the night, I am covered in an intoxicating US/UK mixture of sweet, salty cum from head to toe.  I am completely satisfied, as every woman should be after they have just lived out their ultimate sexual fantasy.  I kiss them both goodbye, imagining that perhaps someday we’ll meet again, but knowing that we probably never will.  Such fantasies are made all that much sweeter by knowing that they are virtually unattainable except for one fortunate night where we all happen to be at the same place at the same time…

To Lance and EA – Thank you for inspiring my little fantasy, and rest assured that the thought of you will continue to wake me up in the middle of the night, hot, wet, and begging for mercy.  I only hope that the next man that I have the pleasure of ravaging is half as good as I imagine you to be.

As I’m leaving the office this afternoon, I notice that someone had sent me a text message around 5:30 pm.  I never get random texts during the day while I’m at work.  Curious, I open up my phone, and there he is: HOT MARINE.  His message?  “See u later?”  What the fuck?  I was pretty sure that it was text spam or a mistake or something and just brushed it off.  Whatever. 

Fast forward to 9:30 pm tonight.  I get a random email – from Hot Marine.  No subject.  Now I’m starting to think that his Blackberry has a virus or something and is sending out random texts and emails to all his contacts.  But again, I’m curious, so I open up the message.

Get this: He’s forwarded my original email from A YEAR AND A HALF AGO asking if he can come over to fuck tonight.  Note that there has been absolutely NO contact between us for at least 6 months.  I had all but completely deleted this guy from my memory.  Un-fucking-believable.  The entire email conversation, for the official record:

- Hot Marine’s random message (dated today, March 11, 2009): forwarded my email from October 17, 2007 that said “Hey – are you still single?  Wanna fuck?  : )”  He didn’t even add anything of his own, just forwarded my old message.

- Me: “Well aren’t you a naughty boy…”

- Him: “I wanna see you – lemme come over tonight – I can leave in 15 min and be there in 15 min”

- Me: “Sorry, babe, can’t do it.  But be sure to think of me when you jerk off tonight.”

That’s it – no further response from him.  Can I just say something here – I fucking LOVE that I had the opportunity to reject his horny little ass like this.  Let him fucking suffer.  Let him track down one of his other random chicks to fuck tonight.  I cannot believe he had the balls to contact me after all this time and think I would just drop everything and sleep with him, after all the shit he’s pulled on me, after all the drama and all the disappearing and all the bullshit over the past two years. 

Love.  It. 

Oh, Hot Marine, how long before you come crawling back again, begging me for it, begging me for that sweet pussy that you’ll never fucking get again?  It’s always the slimy ones that manage to slither their way back into my life, but god damn it, he will NEVER slither his way back into my bed again. 

Sorry babe, hope you enjoyed that sweet honey while it lasted.

As I was surfing around MSNBC tonight (my favorite place for news, by the way), I stumbled upon this online sex survey that was conducted a few years ago.  The results are interesting, if not entertaining at the very least.  Most of the survey participants were people in monogamous relationships, which is totally NOT me right now, but whatever.  My jaw dropped when I read this paragraph, taken from the survey results:

Do you engage in oral sex? Four in 10 women and men said they rarely or never give oral sex. Here’s some insight into why: 58 percent of men said their partner doesn’t like receiving oral sex; one in five women said they’re not comfortable enough with their genitals to receive oral sex; 45 percent of women said they don’t like performing oral sex while 21 percent said they’re uncomfortable with this sex act.

WHAT THE FUCK???

People, is this true?  Are my eyes deceiving me?  Do people really NOT like oral sex?  I seriously cannot understand how this is possible.  I mean, seriously, oral sex TOTALLY ROCKS.  I love giving it, I love getting it, I love everything about it.  Why in the world would you be “uncomfortable with this sex act?”  I just don’t get it.  And how can women be “uncomfortable with their genitals” if they’re having sex with someone, particularly their monogamous partner who they’ve probably had sex with many, many times?  If this guy has been playing around with your goods for years, how can you suddenly be uncomfortable putting them on display for your man?  And don’t women love cock?  I just don’t understand how you could dislike giving blowjobs so much that you would just stop doing it all together.  And even worse, that you would dislike receiving oral sex so much that you would refuse to let your partner do it.  Damn, is this why over half of marriages end in divorce?  People, I have the solution: suck that cock!

Ah, people drive me crazy sometimes.  Here I am, ready and willing to blow my little heart out, and these women are passing up the opportunity left and right.  Sigh.  BJ-phobic women out there: can I borrow your man for a few hours?  I’d be happy to service him if you won’t do it yourself.  Seriously.  Get over yourselves.  Cock = good.  Simple as that.  : )

So, some of you *may* have noticed that this blog has been decidedly ass-free these days.  There have been all sorts of miscellaneous things going on in my life that put sex pretty low on the agenda, but the tides, they are a changin’. 

Exhibit A: The STD drama is OVER!  (Well, according to all medically available technology… I guess only time will truly tell.)  The pussy is better than ever and is itching to make it’s post-STD debut.  Perhaps it should dress up in a fancy ball gown and prance down a big flight of steps with eagerly-awaiting eligible cocks fighting for the first dance?  I can only imagine the possibilities…

Exhibit B: My other health-related drama seems to be over as well.  This winter was one hell of a ride in the health department, and I’m happy to say that (knock on wood) everything seems to be in order, and I couldn’t be happier about it.  Good riddance! 

Exhibit C: I think I’m *finally* dragging my sorry ass out of the post-”incident” funk that has left me all whiny and bitchy for the last several months.  Who knew it would take so much out of me?  It was truly ridiculous, and total and complete bullshit.  I’m so over it (mostly).  I still say that “the incident” was by far my biggest, most regrettable, and most scarring dating disaster, but the time has finally come to accept it and move the hell on.  Agreed?

Exhibit D: There are a few other non-blog-worthy issues that have recently been resolving themselves, which just adds to my overall state of refreshment and rejuvenation.  Excellent.

So, now that I’ve been returning to my old, impulsive, scandalous, and cock-hungry self, I miss my fuck-buddies!  Waaaaaaaaaa!!!!  I could really use a good, solid fuck in a drama-free, dating-free, and – most importantly – STD-free situation.  BUT, therein lies the problem.  My old fuck-buddies have abandoned me, and with good reason.  If your fuck-buddy called you up one day and said, “Hey, you’re a great fuck, but I think I may have exposed you to an STD,” you’d probably stop sleeping with them, right?  Right.  My old options are options no more. 

Hot Marine?  As is his M.O., he’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and I’ve been SUCH a good little girl about not contacting him, even though I really, really, REALLY want to.  I made a decision many months ago that I’m DONE with him, and that’s that.  Not to mention that he probably wouldn’t respond if I contacted him anyway, but WHATEVER.

Bachelor #3?  Well, there was that porn-tastic night at his apartment last summer, but I think that ship has long-since sailed.  Truth be told, we never really got along all that well, and after the initial “I need to get in your pants RIGHT NOW” phase was over, there wasn’t much left.  Plus, there was the whole STD issue which I’m sure sealed the deal for him.

The new male prospect?  Well, we all know how that’s going.  Let’s be completely honest and tell it like it is: I totally dig the new male prospect and would pounce on him in a second if he wasn’t in a serious relationship right now.  And not just for a fuck-buddy either… we all know that I like this guy.  But no sense dwelling on this right now since it’s a moot point.

Anyone else?  Nope, I think that’s it.  My fuck-buddies of last spring/summer have vanished into the depths of my hot little mental filing cabinet, and I’m left with a clean slate.  Damn, I miss having a ready and willing cock at my beckon call!  Just a phone call and 15 minutes away!  How incredibly convenient!  But here’s the catch-22: I really need to be much more careful about the whole STD situation from now on (regardless of the fact that I already WAS uber-careful and managed to catch it anyway), and I don’t think having casual sex is the best way to avoid this kind of shit.  Am I right? 

So what’s a girl to do?  I want a fuck-buddy but don’t want the risk associated with casual sex.  Umm… not sure where to go from here.  Get myself a full-body latex suit?  Require a full STD-workup with signed and sealed paperwork to back it up?  Conjure up an imaginary fuck-buddy and just masturbate a lot?  Give up and join a convent?

Why does sex have to be so complicated???

Cocks I Have Known and Loved

1.  Mr. Perfect – the longest cock I have ever seen in real life.  I think I gasped out loud the first time I saw it.  Enough said.

2.  The new male prospect – the thickest cock I’ve ever had the pleasure of playing with, not to mention the most beautiful, well-defined head.  Truly a rare specimen.  Hope the NMP’s girlfriend is enjoying it as much as I did!

3.  The five-year BF- the cock I would have given up almost anything for, except my apartment in New York.  Long story.  But he really knew what I liked, and I give him a lot of credit for that.  DAMN.

4.  New Year’s Lips – the cock that gave me countless hours of headboard-breaking, mind-blowing, urban-legend-worthy sex, and then gave me a mother-fucking STD.  Worth it?  No fucking way.  I’d cut off this bad boy if I ever saw it walking the streets again.  Fucker.

Needless to say, there have been a few (ahem) more cocks to cross my path, but those are just the ones that popped into my mind.  The best cock ever?  Well, that’s hard to say… I think it would require a much longer post and much more detailed analysis.  Hmmm… I could rate performance, aesthetics, size, length, stamina, fluid production, agility, flexibility, smell, taste… oh, my dears, the list could go on and on!  I’m getting all tingly just thinking about it.

Ok, must get to bed.  But I know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight… mmmm… I’m drooling already.  : )

My perfect porno includes the following totally awesome components:
1.  A real-life couple who actually CARES about each other
2.  A real female orgasm (or two, or ten)
3.  A decent-looking, non-gorilla-like guy
4.  Hot monkey sex (of course)

That’s it!  So simple!  The key here is #1 – I want the couple to actually care about each other.  I want all the making out and the googly eyes and the “baby I love you”s.  I want these people to be so fucking INTO each other that they totally forget about the camera and just go at it.  I want to see his hands in her hair.  I want to see a cute vacation photo of them on the nightstand.  I want to BE this woman with the great sex-machine boyfriend who can’t get enough of her.  I want her to have crazy, earthquake-like orgasms.  Oh, and I want him to go down on her – always a plus. 

See?  I’m easy to please.  I’m not asking for anything too complicated here, right?  All I want is a nice couple who can go at it like bunnies in the springtime.  No gimmicks, no douchebags, no camera guys, no big production… and NO cheesy soap-opera-like dramatic music in the background (I hate when they do that). 

Women of the world, unite.  Let’s get us some hot-ass porn that we can actually USE.  And the next time we find ourselves watching bad porn, let’s promise to find something better… well… unless it’s actually GOOD bad porn… damn it, I even love the crappy stuff.  Porn, you are still my BFF.  : )

10.  Looking bored.  Please.  You’re having sex.  I’m home alone watching internet porn.  You should AT LEAST be looking a little more entertained than I am.  If I see ONE MORE hot chick looking bored while fucking some random dude (especially a HOT random dude), I’m going to throw something at my monitor.  Listen, bored internet chick, you’re having sex and might even be getting paid to do it, so put on a fake smile!  Do something!  Don’t stare at me with those “I’d rather be texting” eyes.  Suck it up and pretend you like it.  Give me an “ooooh baby” or something.  Please.  Don’t be more pathetic than I am.

9.  “First time” videos.  Again, please.  First of all, this is NOT their first time.  This is not their first time having sex, and this is not the first porno they’ve made.  We see through your clever little scheme!  Secondly, eww.  Most of these “first time” girls are about 14 years old.  Not only disgusting, but illegal.  Double eww.  And the worst part?  These fake “first timers” make such bad videos!  It’s all so pathetic.  “Hehehe, I’ve never done this before!”  Please, she’s probably fucking the camera guy.  Whatever!!!

8.  Fake orgasms.  There are some women who have sadly mistaken internet pornos for Oscar-worthy performances.  They think this is their big break.  They think if they lay on the acting, someday they’ll be an extra in a shitty movie instead of fucking some guy in their basement.  How sad!  The fake porno orgasm is super loud, super shaky, and super, super transparent.  We see right through you, bitches!  It doesn’t do me any good, as a female, to watch you fake an orgasm.  I want the real thing.  Oh, and what’s even worse is when the poor sap she’s fucking actually seems to BELIEVE that she just came!  Poor, poor bastard.  Buddy, you are too dumb to be making porn.  Think about THAT.

7.  Big hairy guys with hot women.  Come on, now.  Do we REALLY need to be watching this???  First of all, how did that big-ass ugly guy ever get such a hot little piece of ass?  HOW, I ask you???  Listen, I know I’m watching porn.  You don’t have to throw it in my face and announce that it’s fake.  You could at least try, you know?  Give me something that I can actually BELIEVE.  Give me something halfway plausible.  Secondly, all the hair.  Eww.  I mean, there’s a reason everyone shaves before making a porno.  I don’t want to look at all your body hair.  It’s gross.  The combination of your fat ass and the hair that’s covering it makes me want to puke.  And if I want to puke, I’m sure your hot little semen-receptacle wants to shoot herself and get it over with already.  Next!

6.  Douchebags.  Need I say more?  The dumb-as-shit-but-totally-hot guys who have that totally douchebaggy look on their face as they pound into some brainless bimbo and announce to the world that they totally rule.  Newsflash: everyone knows you’re a douchebag.  We don’t want to fuck you.  We want you to get off the screen already so we can watch some quality, non-annoying porn.  And yes, we see your alligator-print J.Crew boxers ever-so-strategically positioned at the foot of the bed.  Thanks for the visual, babe.

5.  When the gf yells at the bf.  Oh my god, this can be either really annoying or REALLY FUCKING FUNNY.  I saw this one video where this real-life couple was fucking in their shower, and the girlfriend was clearly NOT in the mood to have sex, and she was all whiny and telling the poor guy to get away from her.  The best part was that the guy was so oblivious, clearly didn’t give a shit, and would do just about anything to get laid already.  Note to potential future porno stars: don’t be all whiny.  Don’t yell at your man.  Nothing ruins the mood more than couple drama.  See #10 above.  You’re having sex!  Be happy!  Put on your fake smile!  The reason this one is worse than “looking bored” is because these chicks actually went a step further and are actively being whiny bitches.  Get off my screen, god damn it! 

4.  Fake lesbians.  Pleeeeeaaaaaase!  WE KNOW THEY’RE NOT REALLY LESBIANS!  Listen, when I’m in the mood for a little lesbian porn, I want to see chicks who are actually INTO it.  How fucking annoying is it when you click on a juicy-looking girl-on-girl video only to find two completely gorgeous but completely clueless chicks asking the camera guy what to do next?  Or how about when they get all embarrassed?  Or when they have to leave the room for a second because they can’t believe (OMG!!!) that they’re about to hook up with a girl?  Ahhhhhh!!!!  Drives me fucking crazy.  Oh, and one more thing: most actual lesbians are NOT gorgeous anorexic 18-year-olds.  Just sayin’.

3.  Women fucking the camera instead of the guy.  Oh come on, you know what I’m talking about here.  The girl who gives you those big, eyeliner-covered eyes, looks directly into the camera, oh-so-slowly sucks on her fingers, and is completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a cock inside her.  I bet they could actually replace the guy with a dead elephant and she wouldn’t even notice.  This goes back to my whole “looking bored” complaint in which the girl has absolutely no interest in sex.  What makes this one SO ANNOYING is that, honestly, watching a girl look at me through my computer monitor does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for me.  There’s a reason I’m watching porn, and this is NOT IT.  Move along, bitch.

2.  No female orgasm.  As if the fake orgasm wasn’t bad enough, some videos have the BALLS to NOT EVEN BOTHER with the female orgasm!  Hello???  THIS is why I’m here, dumbass.  As a woman, watching another woman get off while having sex is exactly what I’m looking for.  I want to BE that woman.  I want to fuck some random hottie and GET OFF.  When you’re fucking and fucking for what seems like forever, and you’re getting all into it, and the guy sprays his jizz all over your tits, and all you get is a “thanks, babe”… umm… NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!  Guys, does this bother you?  Because it sure as hell annoys the shit out of me.  An internet porn video without a female orgasm is completely useless to me.  Period.

And the number one thing I hate about porn…

1.  The magically appearing penis!  Yes, we’ve all seen it.  It spreads through the world of internet porn like… well… like a lot of other things (eww) probably spread through the world of internet porn.  Ahem.  Let us all take a moment to appreciate my undying love for the magically appearing penis.  It must lead such a lonely life, being just a penis with no body attached.  It’s clearly so embarrassed that it only pokes in from the side of the screen for a few split seconds at a time, quickly disappearing into the darkness.  It always manages to be fucking some extremely hot girl, but sadly, the magically appearing penis doesn’t get any of the limelight.  It pokes in, it pokes out.  We barely see it.  How sad!  I wonder if it’s like a corndog on a stick or something?  Maybe it’s a muppet?  Maybe it has a secret mutant power and can survive without a body?  Who knows!  All I know is that the magically appearing penis generates such a hatred in the depths of my soul that I can no longer focus on getting off.  And THAT, my dears, is a problem.  Oh internet porn, why must you torture me like this???

So there you have it!  The 10 things I hate about porn.  Note to all future porno stars: DON’T DO THESE THINGS.  Got it?  Thanks.  : )

It’s so cold outside tonight, and I remember those winter mornings in front of your fireplace.  I remember cuddling up on the couch, naked under a blanket, soaking in the warmth of the fire.  I remember how I drifted off to sleep with my head on your shoulder.  It was so warm, so peaceful.  And when I woke up, you ran your fingers through my hair and held me tighter.  So warm.  You brushed your fingers up against my cheek, turned my chin to face you, and kissed me – god, I used to love your kisses.  I would melt every time.  You were an amazing kisser.  I can still feel the warmth of your lips against mine, the softness of your tongue, the muscles in your arms pulling me closer.  And when I pulled back to look into your eyes, I knew exactly what you were thinking.  You pulled me off the couch and gently led me to your bed… where you weren’t very gentle at all.

You knew how to throw me down on that bed just the way I liked it.  You knew how to slowly, deliberately peel off my clothes so that you were absolutely torturing me and I absolutely loved it.  You knew that I liked a few smacks on the ass to let me know just how much of a bad girl I’d been.  And when you were good and ready, and when I was absolutely dying to devour you, you’d finally let me have what I’d been waiting for.  I still remember the feeling of your cock inside me, of you pounding into me, hard, rough, fast.  I remember the headboard banging up against the wall, the bed shaking, the sweat pouring off your forehead… and mine.  I remember how you filled up my mouth so perfectly, so completely, how the warmth of your cum tickled the back of my throat, and how you absolutely loved to watch me lick up every last drop.  I remember how you used to throw your head back against the pillow when you came.  God, I used to love watching that.  Then came the goofy post-orgasmic look in your eyes… how cute.  And the best part?  I could always count on your for round two, and three, and four…

Oh baby, why don’t you come rescue me tonight?  Why don’t you let me remind you of how much fun we used to have?  I’m getting all warm and tingly just thinking about you, and my bed is so empty tonight… you know this isn’t right.  You know we fit so perfectly together.  So please, baby, climb back into bed with me tonight, make me moan and scream and call out your name.  Make me forget all those inferior men.  Make me remember you, and only you, and always you.  Please baby, don’t make me beg…

Qualities of a Fantastic Fuck, by The Dateable Dork

- A fantastic fuck involves some sort of minor injury or bodily harm.  I should be gasping for air, I should lose my voice, I should be completely exhausted and dehydrated by the end of it, and several muscles should be sore.  Maybe I might even pull a muscle.  Maybe I might even discover I muscle that I never knew was there.  I shouldn’t be able to walk the next day.  The fantastic fuck should ravage my body, leaving me helpless and in need of recovery as I smile from ear to ear in my post-orgasmic glow.

- A fantastic fuck involves waking up neighbors, no matter how far away they may be located.  Not only should I be screaming, but the guy should be really vocal as well.  I want to know exactly how much he’s enjoying it, and I want that surprised and goofy-eyed “Holy shit!” as he realizes that I’m a much better fuck than he might have thought.  And don’t be shy – yell at me, baby!  Order me around a bit.  Take control and make me worship your gorgeous body.  There’s nothing worse than silent sex.  A fantastic fuck is loud, very loud.

- A fantastic fuck always involves a little spanking.  Let’s face it, my ass needs a little attention.  And seriously, after all those years of Catholic school, a little spanking makes me feel like I’m really breaking the rules and being a bad, bad girl.  Most guys I’ve encountered aren’t really into spanking (dumbasses), but I’ve certainly come across some spanking enthusiasts – Mr. Perfect and Mr. Great Kisser were excellent spankers.  : )  A good spanking should leave a mark.  Don’t be shy – smack that ass!

- A fantastic fuck involves some sort of minor furniture damage – a dent in the headboard, a crack in the drywall, breaking a spring in the mattress, chipping the kitchen counter, etc.  Nothing too serious, but just a little reminder to look at later and say, “Remember that night?  Yeah, that was a fantastic fuck.”

- This should really have been first on the list, but a fantastic fuck always involves a handful of orgasms for both of us, but more importantly, for me.  : )  Not only does the fantastic fucker know exactly how to get me off, but he knows how to do it again and again, and he WANTS to do it again and again.  And the orgasms should involve some variety – make me come in every way imaginable.  Make me come in ways that I’ve never come before.  Make me remember you for your amazing moves, your perfect touch, your mastery of the female anatomy.  And in return, I’ll get you off all night long.  I know my way around a gorgeous cock, and I’m not afraid to bust out my best moves on a well-deserving guy.  Shit, just typing this is getting me all excited…

- But moving right along… a fantastic fuck involves some sort of meaning.  Yeah, I know, I’m being sappy here, but we’re talking about a fantastic fuck.  FANTASTIC.  And yeah, I want a guy to actually care about me as he’s pounding my brains out.  It’s nice.  I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me how beautiful I am.  I want him to hold me and kiss me and make me feel like it all actually means something.  You know how sex with someone you really care about is so much better than casual sex (most of the time, anyway)?  That’s what I call a fantastic fuck.

- A fantastic fuck might, but does not necessarily, involve a few props.  Vibrating props.  Enough said.  : )

- A fantastic fuck involves oral sex, given and received by both me and the lucky bastard who’s naked in my bed.  I cannot understand how some guys are just not that into oral sex.  I mean, come on, people!  A good cocksucking and pussy eating are requisites for a solid fuck, and really good oral sex makes for a fantastic fuck.  Allow me to mention here how there has STILL been no oral with Hot Marine [still no oral as of September 2009!].  I just don’t think he’s into it!  Or maybe he’s just not into it with me?  Who knows.  It’s all very strange.  Anyway, oral is important, and I demand it as a component of a fantastic fuck.

- And finally, a fantastic fuck involves fluids.  LOTS of fluids.  What would sex be without all the fluids?  The more, the better.  I want to be completely covered in bodily fluid by the end of it.  I want to drown in a sea of cum and sweat and all that good stuff.  Pour it on, baby.  That’s why summer sex is so great – all the sweat.  Oh, and did anyone notice that summer is right around the corner?  I need to find me a new man, and fast.  I’m due for a fantastic fuck.  : )

We hadn’t seen each other in about a week and a half.  There was the email of doom [in which he said something totally rude and we didn't talk for several days], then he got the flu, and he was away at a bachelor party last weekend, and I’ve been hanging out with my girlfriends, and things were just kind of fizzling out.  But I missed him, and I think he missed me.  And despite our best judgment, I don’t think either one of us was ready to let go just yet.  So we decided to go out to dinner “someplace nice” on Wednesday night and make it a nice evening out.  I suggested a cute little French bistro – great food, cozy atmosphere, and definitely someplace where we can get dressed up and have a nice night out.  He said he’d pick me up at 7:30.  I said I’d see him then.

I had some time off work on Wednesday afternoon, and since I was all excited about seeing him again and getting dressed up later that night, I went on a little shopping spree that afternoon to ensure that I looked smokin’ hot for my date.  Since we were getting dressed up, I decided to get a new dress, and let me just say – I don’t wear dresses that often, especially in the winter.  But there I was, shopping for dresses on a random Wednesday afternoon, and I found the perfect dress.  I guess you would call it a “shirt dress;” the top is fitted like a shirt, it’s got a belt in the middle, and then a skirt attached.  Sounds strange, but man, it was a hot dress, and it fit me perfectly.  Just enough cleavage but not too much, showed off my flat stomach, and made me look nice and tall and lean.  Love it.  Picked up some fabulous shoes to match.  With the 4-inch heels, I was a solid 6 feet tall.  Whoa baby, I was a tall drink of water.  I looked great.  My legs were like 100 feet long.  I did my hair and spritzed on some perfume, I threw on some hot new underwear, and I was ready to go.  It was going to be a good night.

He shows up at my door at 7:30 as planned.  He looks great.  He’s wearing a nice blue dress shirt and black slacks, his hair is perfect, he smells great, and – the best part – he’s still got a few inches on me, even with the 4-inch heels.  Perfect.  We arrive at the restaurant just in time for our 8:00 reservation.  Before we get out of the car, he puts his hand on my thigh and pushes my skirt up a little, totally checking me out with this naughty little look on his face.  We get inside, and miraculously, they seat us at a corner booth right by the window – perfect.  Nice and cozy and somewhat cut off from other people in the restaurant.  He orders a martini.  The food is fabulous.  We share some chocolate mousse for dessert.  “Looks” are being exchanged throughout.  I give him that coy smile, and he gives it right back to me.  It was so nice to spend some time with him again, and I was just really enjoying the whole thing.  Despite my best effort, he insists on paying for dinner.  We get up to leave, and he leans in for a little kiss right before we start walking away from the table.  Very cute.  I feel butterflies.  This is a good sign.

Back at my apartment, we cuddle up on the couch.  I sit next to him and put my legs up over his lap.  He asks if he can unbutton another button on my dress, since he’s been getting glimpses of the cleavage all night, and he wants a better view.  Of course, I oblige.  He runs his hands up and down my legs – which look fabulous, by the way, especially in the new shoes.  Even I am turned on by how great I look.  Ha.  His chest feels so strong and muscular under his dress shirt.  And his arms – I’ve mentioned before that he has great arms – love those biceps.  This guy is hot.  I remember now.  I remember why I was so attracted to him in the first place.  And I think he remembers why he was attracted to me.  Mmmm… I’m having fun already, and the clothes are still on. 

He keeps playfully lifting my skirt up, trying to see exactly what I’ve got on under there.  I keep playfully pushing it back down.  It was cute.  We start kissing, and really, once that happens, it’s all downhill from there.  Before I know it, we’re completely devouring each other on the couch, I’m taking his shirt off, feeling every inch of his muscular chest, his gorgeous biceps, the remains of his six-pack.  We move into my bedroom, and he bends me over the dresser and starts fucking me from behind.  God, it was so fucking hot.  The best part was that we could watch it all happening in the mirror.  He’s thrusting into me, and the whole dresser is shaking, and I still have my dress on.  He told me later that he always wanted to just lift up a girl’s skirt and have sex fully dressed (well, he was naked, I was dressed).  I aim to please, and I was loving it anyway.  Very hot.  After a while he was getting a little uncomfortable standing up (he’s still on crutches from knee surgery, after all), so I straddle him on the bed and ride that cock until he explodes inside me.  Oh baby, I’ve missed that.

We must have had sex at least four or five times that night.  Holy shit, it was definitely a sexcapade.  I can’t even remember all the shit that happened.  I remember sucking him off a few times – the last time I had him twitching and squirming and screaming like he’s never done before.  How great!  It was absolutely amazing.  I love to watch him get off, and he loves to watch me suck his cock.  And you know I love sucking cock.  He ate me out a few times, and I love to watch that too.  There’s something about a guy’s face in your pussy that is just such a turn-on.  Holy shit.  There was some 69 involved, which was kind of challenging considering his knee situation, but we made it work.  We took lots of water breaks because the whole thing was just so intense, and I swear, my throat was sore the next day from all the heavy breathing.  I don’t think I’ve had that much sex in a 24-hour period in a while.  And it makes me want to do it again, like every night, for the rest of my life.  It was a really fun night.  Exhausting, but fun.

Holy shit, I need to wear dresses more often.  He was so turned on by it, and hell, so was I.  Remember how I’ve discovered (ha) that men like boobs and legs?  Yeah, I need to remember that.  I think getting dressed up made all the difference that night.

Oh, and we had this really long and detailed conversation about threesomes.  Neither one of us has ever done it, and we discussed all the things we’d like to do and exactly how we’d like to do it.  I’m definitely interested in doing all sorts of things – girl-girl, girl-guy-girl, guy-girl-guy, the whole nine yards.  New Year’s Lips is, of course, into everything involving two girls, but it took some convincing to get him to even consider the guy-girl-guy situation.  Apparently straight guys have a mortal fear of coming in contact with another cock, and a threesome with two guys is just too much to handle for some guys.  But he said he would consider it, and I think I actually believe him.  Although he did say that he would need to be promised a girl-guy-girl threesome as a “reward” for doing the guy-girl-guy thing.  Ha, boys are so silly.  Anyway, whatever.  No plans have been made, but it was definitely fun to talk about it with him. 

So our nice dinner out wound up being a breath of fresh air that managed to (temporarily?) revive our dying “relationship.”  (Notice the quotes.)  We had a great night – good food, good conversation, good sex.  He slept over that night, and we even had somewhat of a lazy morning in bed before work the next day.  It was cute.  He even stuck around while I showered and ate breakfast.  We have plans to go to a friend’s birthday party tomorrow, so at least we seem to be back in the habit of hanging out again.  I’d like to give this another chance, because honestly, I really do like him.  Things aren’t perfect, but he’s a great guy, and I want to give this another shot.  We’ll see how it goes.

Oh, and did I mention that I left my fabulous 4-inch heels on during all the sex?  Very hot.  Mental note: the combination of shoes and sex can really push me over the edge.  God, I can be such a girl sometimes.  : )