I tripped and fell on his cock and then he called me “Sunshine.”

Sunday morning I lay in a strange bed, sunlight streaming in around us. A man lay curled up behind me, his cock buried deep inside of me, my buttocks pushed softly into his thighs. Our breathing was soft and deep. I closed my eyes and he pulled me back into him with a heavy arm. I drifted off to sleep content and happy.

I awoke later and we were disengaged. I turned on my side and spooned him, his round bottom pulled into the cradle of my hips. He stirred and sleepily looked over his shoulder at me, “Good morning, sunshine,” he said as he rolled onto his back and pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“Good morning, Neighbor,” I answered back.

::

Monday night my anger at my young lover had reached another breaking point. I couldn’t justify spending one more minute with a man who blithely joked about taking me for granted and who deliberately turned a blind eye to my boundaries. Stubborn as a mule, and as about as enlightened half the time, he could no longer get the pieces of me he wanted while I sat empty-handed, the girl at the coffee shop furtively glancing at the door waiting for her date to finally show up. I was going to leave the building again.

I had drinks with my friend Lindsey and came home determined to once again end this once and for all. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t even dreading it. I texted for him to come over and “be neighborly.” He said he wasn’t home, but would be soon. He came in and we sat down and I looked at him and said immediately, “I can’t do this anymore. We have to stop. Again. I can’t find love and someone who really cares about me so long as you’re in my bed and you can’t find whatever it is you’re looking for, either.”

He just looked at me, his light blue eyes glued to mine, an implacable look on his face. “I don’t want to fuck you anymore, either.”

My mouth drew into a hard line. “Gee, thanks for that,” but I understood that he was trying to get the upper hand. “But, really, we have to stop this. I cannot be with you when I get nothing out of this. The only reason I picked up with you again was because you weren’t looking for anyone else and we have an incredible time together, but it’s hard on me. You come and go as you please, as your moods and desires dictate. I have no say in any of it. I could justify it all because at least I got sex, but then you love to hold that at bay and torture me with it. The breaking point was when you said you took me for granted the other night. That hurt me so badly, TN. I can’t do it. I can’t be with a man who thinks so little of me that he’d laugh at me and say those things.”

His mouth dropped open a little. He didn’t impress me much the next few hours we talked. He said I should have asked for clarification regarding the “taking me for granted thing.” I said he needed to stop saying reckless, mean things if he didn’t want me to believe them.

“I only meant that sex is the least important part of our relationship. It’s the friendship I value the most! I told you in that moment I’d probably regret saying that…” His voice trailed off as I sat there thinking, “I bet he’s really regretting it now.”

I told him it was bullshit that he wasn’t capable of saying, “Jesus, Hy, I’m so sorry for saying that, for hurting you. I didn’t mean to.” He felt I was condescending to him and he tried to storm out. I had to master my face into a mask of calm lest I burst out laughing at his adolescent outburst.

“No, TN. You’re going to stay here,” I calmly stated as I stood in the foyer doorway, my hand on the jamb. “Go sit down and we’ll keep talking about this.”

He looked at me again as I pulled myself up to my full height. Somehow we were almost eye to eye. I walked over to the balcony door leaving the doorway free. “I’m really feeling the age gap right now,” I said. He walked back to the couch and sat down and waited for me to continue. “What are you going to lose in apologizing to me. You said yourself you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He sighed and said he was sorry. “Thanks,” I said.

I cried when I relived those moments with 4 am girl and him and how he’d said Peyton was six strikes against me. The pain I feel in my chest at being discriminated against for things I can’t control feels like someone has tampered with my oxygen tank. I feel bleak and desperate, strangely lusting for revenge, but possessing of exactly zero weapons. I sobbed and he looked heartbroken.

“Can we still be friends?” he whispered.

“I don’t know, TN. I really don’t.”

“Then I guess I’ll leave.” It was too early and he was going off in another huff.

“Stop,” I said firmly. He turned and looked at me. “Stay. Sit.” He obediently came back and sat down.

Four hours after he came over I stood and told him it was time to say goodbye and to give me a farewell kiss. “Unless,” I added, “You don’t want to say goodbye and you want to be my boyfriend.” He stood a foot away and may have been touching my arms, I don’t know. I only remember him locking his gaze to mine and saying firmly, enunciating each syllable with precision, “No. That’s never going to happen.” He chastely kissed my jaw and said, “That’s all you’re getting.”

I wanted our lips to touch gently and firmly and to hug him goodbye. I wanted to send him off with a sweet kiss and a tender moment, but he is somewhere else.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Thanks, once again, for misunderstanding me.” I walked him to the door and he slipped next door. I hadn’t made any promises of friendship, nor had he pushed me for any. I went to bed feeling accomplished.

::

Friday rolled around and I nervously awaited my date dressed in my favorite yellow dress. His name was Law Student and he was tallish and beautiful with milky blue eyes and rusty golden curls. He wore black dress pants and an impeccably white button-down shirt that lit up our table like a diamond on black velvet. I made a joke about the medical tape on our table from taping my broken finger and he laughed, probably relieved at my comedic attempt.

I poured him a glass of red wine and we settled in, our banter as lively and intoxicating as it had been all week. I’d met him online and our virtual chemistry was instant. It was an enormous relief to discover in person it poured over us both like honey, sticking in all the right cracks.

We met early, at 5, so decided to grab dinner after we’d drained our bottle. We walked to his beaten up Toyota and chatted as he drove the couple of miles to the Mexican restaurant. His cologne filled my nostrils and I sighed with contentment, then I giggled as I remembered how I’d stupidly revealed I wasn’t wearing any panties. He asked me what was so funny. “Nothing.”

Dinner came and went with more laughter and a margarita. He left to use the restroom and in his absence I asked two girls at a neighboring table if I could bum a smoke. “Sure,” one said as she handed me one. “Are you on a first date?”

“Yes. How could you tell?”

“Oh, body language,” she said with a shrug. “He’s really cute!” she added. “Good job!”

I laughed and sat back down. LS returned to me and I could see him appraising me with pleasure. “So, it’s really early,” I pointed out. “Would you like to come back to my place and watch Bull Durham?”

“Sure,” was his immediate response.

He drove me back to my car and he followed me home. I was giddy with excitement, hoping beyond all hope that TN would run into this Adonis of a man trailing behind me with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and smelling like tangy clovers. We made it into my apartment with no mishap and a bad quote from me from Pretty Woman and the penthouse.

“Wow,” he said turning around slowly taking in my apartment. “This place is really nice. Like, really, really nice.”

“Oh, well, thanks. Ignore the pile of laundry in the chair, though, ok?” We both laughed. “Do you want some wine? I only have a little.” He nodded and I poured us two glasses. I handed him one, still standing in the kitchen, when he stepped an inch closer and blocked my way. He looked down at me intently, his mouth parted. I tilted my head up and he grabbed my face and kissed me. Gently at first, then with fervor.

His control unraveled swiftly and his hands roamed all over my body, touching and squeezing my bottom and my breasts. In a deliberate attempt to remain chaste that night, I had left my pussy unshaved. It was clipped short, but there were hairs outside the bikini line and certainly in places I would normally attend to had I been planning on any intimate touching. But I should have known that it wouldn’t matter.

His hand hiked up dress and his fingers found me. I gasped into his mouth, embarrassed and turned on. His finger stroked me, hot and skilled. I gushed around his hand and his ardor increased tenfold. He tore my straps off my shoulders and feasted on my breasts silently. His breath came in heaving gulps.

I bucked against his hand as I released around him again. He pushed me roughly against the pantry door and pinned me like a butterfly to a foam board. I was breathing heavily, my breath quite literally stolen from me. His passionate kiss and touches rendered me speechless. I lifted my chin and looked at him. He kissed me again. I staggered away and grabbed a towel to wipe my ankles and thighs dry and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Jesus Christ,” I managed. “That was fucking hot. Also, I’m not fucking you tonight.”

“Good,” was his simple answer.

I sat there collecting myself and it dawned on me that I was the only one who’d been looking forward to the movie.

We sat down on the couch and talked some more. He kept our glasses full and I watched him walk away with a smile on my face. Not only was he gorgeous, but we had lists of things in common, hadn’t stopped talking or laughing once, and I hadn’t had such a good date in months. I was his first date ever from this website, however, and red flags sprouted like mushrooms all around us. I chose to ignore them and barrel on, however, when he asked me to share some of my bad date stories.

So I regaled him with the all the dates I’d had this year while dating TN. Most were chaste, some were R-rated, but I kept those discreet and not boastful. When I got to Kevin, I said, “Yeah, he was this young kid and he was on my roster for a while.” I froze and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to say that! Not ‘roster’! That’s the old Hy! Not the new one!”

He laughed at me and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it!”

“Oh, well, I had another lover, too. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything –” and before I could say more his mouth was crushing mine again, his smile evident in his kiss.

He loomed over me and I fell back onto the cushions and once again my breasts spilled back out. He maneuvered me so my legs hung off the side and he hitched my knees up over his shoulders. My head spun, I pinched my eyes shut. Oh god oh god oh god. His mouth dove down on me and it was hot velvet. I moaned and pressed my hips into his face. His eyes were closed as he lavished my fuzzy pussy lips with his own clean-shaven face.

He reared back up over me and the passion on his face scorched me. I had to look away for a second to catch my breath. “I’m not going to fuck you,” I repeated for both our sakes.

“I know. I like that.” He came down on me again and the sweet taste of my own body filled my head.

I stood up, trembling. My dress was soaked. I left to change into my pajamas and when I came back he’d put his shoes on. “I better go. Thanks for tonight. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Ok,” I said and walked him to the front door. He opened it wide and bent down and hauled me into his embrace. I wanted so badly for the genie to appear right then and read my mind and have TN see me cradled in this man’s arms, my breasts crushed against him, but, alas, the genie must have been napping.

::

After I broke things off with TN he, as he is wont to do, closed the gap.

He gave me a bottle of wine Tuesday night when I asked for one. He invited me over to watch the debate Wednesday night and when I arrived with the remnants of his wine and some popcorn my girlfriend had left behind Tuesday night he lit candles and incense and reclined on the couch in a familiar way, peppering our shouts at the TV with brushes on my knee and pats on my elbow. When he had to abruptly leave and run to his office he texted me an hour later apologizing and said how much fun he’d had hanging out with me. Thursday night we had our playoff game against his team. We clobbered them and 4 am girl hung back in the dugout and shied away from good sportsmanship entirely. He had strutted and preened in front of me, laughing and joking with me and my team. It was a little glorious, I won’t lie, and when I got home that night — after two more exhausting games — I asked him to come have a drink with me.

He abstained, but we talked some more about 4 am girl. He asked that I stop bringing her up, that it made him uncomfortable and he wished that it’d never happened. I agreed as much to say, “See? I can respect your wishes, so you can respect mine, too” (I had railed on him about his inappropriate comments about women Monday night and he had finally seemed to catch on).

He left later after lots of laughing and I felt mostly ambivalent. I was still chewing on this “friendship” thing. I wasn’t feeling that old draw, my ankles were firmly crossed. I had LS on the brain, and big time.

Friday morning driving to work I got a text. It was from TN. I opened it up and it was his giant, resplendent cock, inappropriately and gorgeously displayed for my eyes only. I ignored it and praised his fluffy comforter instead.

Saturday afternoon was beautiful here. The city thrummed with a cold front and the sky shimmered with promised winter. I read my book, took a shower, found a man to have a drink with me, but he’d basically disappeared. I had plans with Amy later that night and my friend Tina, but I was antsy and bored. I cleaned everything I could, but really wanted my floor vacuumed. I knocked next door.

“Hey,” he said standing in a workout shirt and shorts.

“Could you do me a favor? Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Will you vacuum for me?”

He disappeared back inside and came over a minute later. He cleaned my floors as I folded laundry. The fact that he was clothed a 2 ton elephant in the room. When he was finished I went out on a limb. “Do you want to go grab a drink?” I asked.

Again, “Sure.”

We headed downtown and the wind whipped around us as we parked beneath the skyscrapers. We were near my old downtown apartments and I took him on a quick tour. “I fucked in that hotel,” I said pointing to a tall building with flags cracking in the wind. “I also fucked in the fancy one we drove by.” I rather liked my “Hollywood Stars Homes Tour.”

I showed him my old bedroom windows and those of the Original Neighbor with whom I got entangled 15 long years ago. “Wow. The first Neighbor!” he laughed.

We headed to the bar and ordered margaritas and appetizers. I thanked him again for vacuuming and said at least he got to keep his clothes on. “That’s not really a good thing,” he retorted. I shook it off and left the bait on the hook.

As the night progressed and the liquor did its work he moved closer to me, his comments got more laden with innuendo. I didn’t get drunk, but he did. A rarity. We sat and talked with some chick for an hour and I propped my boots up on his chair. He ran his hands over the leather and kneaded my calves as he spoke. The girl regarded us with an open look. I ignored her.

I invited him to Amy’s house with me, but he begged off. We got in the car and we were nearly home with Tina called and wanted me to come and get her. TN had answered my phone and he agreed, so instead of turning left to get us home, I went straight and the night took a turn.

At the house party TN drank more and I saw him unravel and join the rest of the world by losing his iron-like grip on his control. One little thread at a time. He was all over me by now in an affectionate, protective way. We leaned in and whispered and made jokes and finally it was time to take Tina over to Amy’s. I was not taking TN home first. He was fully on this ride now.

Parked in my friend’s driveway waiting for her to put her son to sleep TN breathed with strain in the back seat. Tina lay half passed out in the passenger side. “I think I’m going to puke,” I heard him say. He jumped out and I ran around to help him.

“Hug a tree, honey. You’ll be fine.” I smiled as he dropped to all fours and retched. I patted his back and giggled. “Welcome to the world of losing control, TN! I’m so proud of you!” He laughed at my strange logic and I helped him to stand.

“Wow. I feel a lot better!” I helped him back in the car and we waited a few more minutes before Amy came bounding out to let us in.

We gathered firewood and got the heat going and pulled up chairs. Tina poured us all some wine. TN declined. Across the fire pit he sat with his ankle on his knee, my two girlfriends between us. The warm, yellow light licked at his face and I felt happier than I had in weeks.

We drifted off into the darkness and gathered more wood and I sat back down next to him. He pulled my chair closer and we put our heads together whispering and chatting, laughing at inside jokes. Tina and Amy gave us our privacy.

When the stars were their brightest I had to go lie down. I made sure TN was ok sleeping on the couch and I headed in to the spare room, but he followed behind and shut the door. He tossed me down on the bed and peeled off my clothes, unzipped my boots, and fell on top of me burying himself inside of me.

I moaned and thrust and writhed under him. He panted and kissed and pummeled me into the darkness. First the night and then to sleep.

::

“We’re not having sex any more, you know. Last night was an accident.” I was smiling as I said this tracing his bow shaped mouth with my finger tip. His hands were tracing lines on my arms as I touched his face.

“I know.”

“Good. We’re just a couple of rutting magnets, but we can do this. No. more. sex.”

“Yes. No more sex,” he repeated.

I drove Tina home and then the both of us. I started to whimper as I climbed the stairs in pain. “You can sleep in my bed for a little while if you want,” he offered.

I fell into a light sleep, woke up 20 minutes later and ran off to fulfill my Sunday responsibilities. “Can I come back over around 1 and nap?” I texted, desperate.

“Ok.”

At 1:15 I showed up looking like something the cat dragged in. I didn’t hurt anywhere except my back and I felt like weights swung from my eyelids. “Aw, Hycie. Come in!” he said with a smile when I knocked. He gently pushed on my shoulders and guided me to his bed. I climbed in and modestly removed my clothes while he lit candles and incense, grabbed me a sleep mask and brought me some water. I slept for two hours pain free.

Dressed again and headed back out to fulfill more Sunday responsibilities I quipped, “Well, thanks Lil’ Buddy. It’s been real,” and I disappeared into my own apartment.

::

I didn’t hear from Law Student at all until today. It was a pointless chat and we have not made plans to hang out again.

::

Every morning I wake up wishing someone could see this:

;

;

I poured whiskey on my tits.

This describes the first sexual encounter I had with Dave. It was November of 2010. I’d already fucked Matt and Ethan to lukewarm results. You can see how hard I tried to make it better than it really was. I no longer fool myself when the sex is mediocre. Can’t say I wasn’t looking hard for what I wanted, though.

::

Dave is a 36 year old single dad. He’s the lead singer for a semi-well-known punk rock band that’s been playing for ten years by night and a regular working Joe during the day. He looks a lot like John Cusack, only slender and rippled with sinewy muscles. You would never guess at the wonderful surprise that is his cock unless you saw it first hand: it’s long and thick and buttery smooth and fits just right.

We went to a local German festival last night. It was out of town and our first official date. He’d come over twice earlier in the week during nap-time and we drank rum-spiked tea and tasted it in each others’ kisses. He wore a black leather jacket and snake-skinned boots. I wore jeans tucked in to my boots and navy blue scarf.

There’s something alluring about a man who is at once nervous and shy, but also committed to an attraction. Dave has this down pat. He never shies from my advances; he makes his own. He talks dirty about what he’s going to do to my pussy, but has the decency to look abashed and turned on simultaneously.

After sausage on a stick and two pitchers of beer we headed back to our one-bed hotel room. I tore his clothes off and told him we should get a fuck out of the way before heading down to the hotel bar. His skin was soft and cool, his muscles tight and bumpy under my hands. He pushed me back onto the bed and kissed my neck, my breasts, licked my pussy until I was writhing then grabbed a condom and in one fell swoop was back on me and in me pressing deep and lifting my hips to meet him with his arm under my waist.

It was short and quick – a place holder. We got redressed, me braless and pantiless, and went to the bar downstairs. We ordered four shots of whiskey (two for each of us) and a glass of beer and smuggled it all back up to our room where the clothes promptly ended up back on the floor.

God, his cock was marvelous. I sucked it and stroked it and heard his moans of surprise and pleasure. When I felt he was close to cumming I sat down hard on him, my soft thighs around his hard waist. I poured whiskey on my tits and let it run down my belly to where we were joined, leaned forward and let him suck it off my nipples. The alcohol tingled on my skin and the fumes filled my nostrils, his grunts of approval filled my ears.

We fucked every which way until we were exhausted and the easy calm rapport that existed drunk and naked prevailed all morning as we drove back home. He gave me a pep talk for my 2 o’clock date with Troy (a 6’6″ tall man I hadn’t met, yet) and hoped I’d have a good time with Ethan for my dinner date even later in the day. He approved my outfit for my date, gave me a kiss and smacked my ass when I dropped him off.
[Epilogue: I would end up dating Dave for about 3 or 4 months. I’d introduce him to Lina and she would fall in love with him. Dave and I never had good sex after that first night. He was a one-position man and, unfortunately for him, I would always seem to fuck him the night after I’d have amazing sex with Troy, week after week. Can you imagine my confusion that I could be a sopping, squirting mess with Troy on Tuesday and a dry desert with Dave on Wednesday? It’s when I began to understand the power of a really good lover and my dependency on their skill. Dave was timid, never made the first move, would be done in about 10 minutes and relied heavily on the 7″ between his legs and his washboard abs and little else at his disposal. I would dread out dates together, but would keep them nonetheless because of my competitive feelings with Troy. Oh, and I wanted to get laid as much as humanly possible. Let’s not forget that part.]

I went spelunking and found nothing.

I’m going to wear this dress all week long.

I have a new policy: I will not fuck anyone whose cock I do not want.

That may sound obvious to some of you, but in the past I fucked in order to discover whether or not I liked the penis.  I would bring a man into my room, peel off his pants with my breath held and hope for the best.  I don’t know why it never occurred to me before that I could just put my hand down his pants and leave it at that.  Well, consider me enlightened.

Monday I met Alex at a local bar with the flush of an orgasm on my cheeks.  It’s how I like to pump myself up for dates.  It’s better than a close shave, perfume, or perfectly coiffed hair.  Sometimes I even dip my fingers into my tender pussy and dab a little of my scent behind my ears.  I know it’s there and like Dumbo with his feather I am now invincibly sexy.  Alex got the benefit of this little trick.

I sauntered in wearing my yellow and white dress, breasts crushed pleasantly against the cotton, and spotted him eating french fries at the bar.  We hugged and so began a long evening of banter and flirting.  I literally have no interest in him as a person other than I find him reasonably bearable; when he talks I don’t mind listening.

He kissed me boldly once or twice and we laughed and teased each other.  I hiked up my skirt to show him my firm, shapely thigh (“You like?” I’d asked)  and I scolded him for wearing jeans with a hole in the crotch.  As the night wore on and the drinks filled my belly I leaned over and kissed him, my hand cupping his warm bulge.  I couldn’t feel anything.  I shook it off and decided it didn’t mean anything.

Outside smoking he did his damnedest to get me to share, but he’d just quit and I refused.  He tugged my hair back and loomed over me and crushed my mouth with his inhaling the tobacco lingering on my breath.  Drunker and more turned on I slipped my hand down his pants and righted his south-facing cock.  He moaned a little and my exploring hand hoped that there was more to come.  He felt only average.

Eventually, hunger distracted me from everything else.  I asked him what I should order.  He said, “Whatever you want to pay for.”  We’d been playfully arguing about the economics of dating all night and I wasn’t impressed with his attitude.  “Women are CEOs now!  Women’s rights!”  he proclaimed as a defense.

“There are, like, 6 fucking female CEOs and I still make $0.75 to your $1, don’t give me that bullshit.  And I wore a low-cut dress,” I added to cut the tension. But the mood was gone and he had a small dick and I didn’t care anymore.  It was time to go home.

He led me out of the building, but instead of heading to my car we walked to a darkened residential street behind a movie theater.  We stopped between two parked cars, a white hybrid hatchback pressed against my back as he kissed me passionately.  The cicadas chirped and buzzed overhead as we were bathed in yellow from a street light.

He pulled my straps down and my breasts spilled out.  He sucked on my nipples and I moaned, he sucked harder and I clasped him to me.  I unbuckled his pants determined to get the best out of him, but he was half mast at best.  To his credit he made no excuses, he only fell to his knees, lifted my dress and looked at me with a question on his face, his hot breath on my sex.

I nodded.

He pulled my white eyelet panties down and lapped at my pussy.  I pushed my hips into his face and moaned again.  This wasn’t so bad after all, cheap skate or not.  His fingers delved into me and I pulsed around his mouth, constricted my channel and pushed out again.  I squirted into his mouth and shuddered a little.

He took a ragged breath and stood up and put his fingers in my mouth.  I tasted tart and hungry.  I took his hand and returned it to my cunt, his mouth returned to my breasts and I grabbed his cock again as a woman casually walked by. I looked her in the eye with glazed desire.  She passed 3 feet away and never made a sound.

I pulled him up to kiss me again and pushed him away.  I thought of the condoms in my purse, but remembered my new policy.  His cock, simply and cruelly put, was not up to snuff.

He held me for a minute and then reached around behind me and cupped my sex and massaged my clitoris.  Involuntarily I gushed through my panties and ejaculate ran down my legs to my ankles.  He was speechless as I stood shivering with my legs wide apart seeking balance.

“Ok, let’s go,” I said.  He took my hand as I wobbled next to him slightly cum dumb.  We kissed at my car and I said goodbye knowing it would likely be our last meeting.  He said he’d be at my beck and call, but he’s not what I want.

I drove home smiling and went on my balcony to smoke.  Downstairs Neighbor was on his balcony smoking, too and I invited him up.  We drank all night long laughing at our ridiculous stories (he’d just lost his buttsex virginity – he topped) and I felt free and open.  The Neighbor came out on his balcony to say Hi.  I drunkenly invited him over, but he sagely declined.  I wondered why he keeps coming out to see me.  I wish he’d just stop and leave me alone.  He’s the only one I want and thinking of him with 4 am girl makes me want to scream.

I was supposed to see Kevin yesterday for a good hard fuck, but he couldn’t get away, and I was dubious about getting what I needed anyway.  I had another date lined up for last night, as well, but his work schedule also got in the way.  I’m hopefully meeting a new man tonight for a quick drink while I’m out with friends and still plan on seeing Josh on Friday.

The truth is, I am hurting, confused, lost, lonely, and above all else exhausted.  If TN wasn’t TN then I wouldn’t know when he was out all night or gone for the evening or when he had 4 am girl over and I would likely not be in this predicament.  When I think back on other breakups I could just hole up at home and nurse my heart uninhibitedly.  But I feel like I have an audience, like I’m in a goddamned fishbowl.

I imagine this is so much easier on him because he has someone else to think about, lust after, fuck, kiss, talk to, spend time with, whereas me, I’m just me.  All alone and desperately wishing otherwise.

I can’t wait to be in the next phase of this.  This fucking sucks.

I promised not to touch him.

This is an archived note I wrote back in August of ’10

My evening started at around 6:45 with a photo of my skirt hiked up and my hand on my inner thigh that I texted to Jimmy, a former lover from eons ago, from a coffee shop on a busy street.

We texted for two hours.  Me, looking over my shoulder wondering if anyone could see the filthy things I was writing or any of his photos.  My pussy pulsed, my heart raced, I couldn’t stop fidgeting.

He was alone, he said.  Had a night “free.”  The girlfriend was out of town.

Eventually, I felt emboldened and texted, “So, for fantasy’s sake, what would happen if I came over right now?”  He’d already given me weak push-back.  I could tell he was struggling, but I certainly didn’t want to break him on the fidelity front.  I really was just testing.

He wrote back, Oh man… I think we’d have some wine… but wouldn’t take long for us to have our hands on each other.”  Then, “I’d want you to take it from me… make me give in.”

I told him to tell me where he lived and he (wisely) gave me cross-streets.  We laughed with LOLs at the evasion, but I knew enough to know he wasn’t far from where I was sitting.

I was so turned on I was shaking, and yet, it was juxtaposed with the reality that I looked like a normal woman sitting at a sidewalk cafe wearing a short, flowing skirt and a white v-neck.  It was incredible.  A fantasy come true.

I sent him a picture of my face and he remarked at how “dirty” I looked.  I felt like I could have slayed a dragon at that moment.  Had there been an armed robbery I would’ve saved the fucking day.

He told me he wished he could cum on my tits.  I drew a vivid picture for him of his hands on my body, his mouth on my tits, him pinning me down and pile driving into me while I pulled him in deeper with my hands.

Then he says this: “Yeah… fuck.  Holy shit.  I can’t even think.”  

I thought he’d just cum and that he was cum dumb and as a joke I say, “Quick, tell me where you live hahaha.”

And he does.  He fucking gave me an address.

My heart starts slamming in my chest, my pussy wetter than when showered, and I ask him if he’s serious.  I give him outs, I tell him to tell me to fuck off lest I walk to my car and come right over, but still he’s hemming and hawing.  He’s concerned that he “can’t” do anything and doesn’t trust himself, but I trust myself entirely and assure him that if it’s weird I’ll leave immediately, but I’d like to hang out if, at the very least, to talk about what the hell it is we’re doing with each other.

Then he says, Come on.”

So I go.

I arrive 10 minutes later outside of his little blue house.  Knock fucking knock.

We’re nervous, it is a little weird, but not bad.  It’s been 7 or 8 years since we’ve seen each other.  So much has changed and yet, nothing.  He’s still tall, good looking, hung, adorable.  When we fucked the couple of times we did back then it was electric and I didn’t know half the things I know now about him now, nor him about me.  We’d been sexting for 3 months.  I felt like I knew the inside of his sexual brain.

I have a glass of wine, he grabs a beer.  We smoke a cigarette, we chat about his house, our lives, a little about sex.  I am going to stay true to my fucking word and I am, literally, sitting on my hands.  I get a little saucy and when he returns from the bathroom I make sure to be leaning over to get some lip gloss from my purse.  I have no idea if he noticed, but a few minutes later he does something that changes the entire trajectory of the night for me.

He grabs my phone and starts flipping through our conversation from that afternoon, which also includes previous sexts.  He’s opening pics, we’re laughing, he keeps moving closer.  I don’t know what to do.  I’m vibrating with arousal.  I don’t want to push him even though he’s told me before that his sexual appetite inevitably ends any relationship he’s in, but I still certainly don’t want to be the catalyst; nor do I want him to associate me with guilt or regret.  He seems so easy and relaxed, we’re laughing, barely flirting, so on a whim I grab the phone and run into the bathroom with a twinkle in my eye.  I think I’m being funny, but not inappropriate.

I take a picture of the bra that he’s just told me is “fucking amazing” in my text pic and I come back out and text it to him.  And now it was my turn to change the course of the night; it brought everything to a whole new level.

And still I think I have it under control.

He gets the text and immediately gets a hard on, strokes it for me and draws my attention to it.  I would never have thought to look otherwise.  He says this is what happens to him whenever I send him a photo when he’s at work.  I tell him to re-enact the work scenario, so he stands up, turns his back to me and takes out his cock and phone and takes a pic of it and texts me back.  Modestly he puts his dick back in his pants and sits down.

I get the text and tell him what I would have texted.  His eyes glimmer, I’m humming between my legs.  I say, “Unbuckle your pants.”

And so he does.

“Stroke it for me.  I want to see.”

And he does.

We’re looking at each other with pain, mirth, and arousal.  I feel ablaze with desire and power and submission.  He could have asked me anything at that moment and I would have done it.

As he strokes his cock I sit on my hands and lean towards it.  I look him square in the eyes and say, “I promise I won’t touch it,” as I let my hair fall forward and tease the tip.  The air is electric.  I lean lower and open my mouth and let my hot breath skate across the head.  He moans.  I take a sip of wine, lean back over and let some dribble out over his cock.  He moans again and I close my eyes and envision devouring it with my mouth, I lean closer, spit on the head and suddenly I feel its heat hit my lips.  I jump up and apologize for losing my balance.

He says, “You didn’t.  It was me.”

I pull way back and breathe, chest rising.  I’m clutching at my thighs as I sit cross-legged for want of him.  I watch some more, my eyes on the heavy meat in his hands, a whole two feet away.

I want to see you! he demands suddenly as he lifts my skirt.  I understand immediately and pull it up around my waist, pull down my panties and start to stroke my clit. More.  I want to see that pussy.  Now.”  I pull my panties down more and plunge my fingers in.  I’m sopping wet.

“I can hear it already.”

I am soaring, climbing.

“I can smell you.”

“I can, too,” I whisper.

Then it’s a blur.  I was happy doing just that but then he’s looming over me, all 6’2″ of him.  “I want to touch you,” he whispers hoarsely.  I nod consent, completely delirious, and his long fingers stroke and enter me, his palm friction on my curls.  I look up at him and his face is intense and consuming mine, watching me.  I close my eyes again, overwhelmed with passion, unbelievably happy this is happening to me, happy with just this, then I feel his lips crush down on mine, his tongue plunders my mouth and he wraps my hair in his hand and pulls roughly.  He kisses my neck and then my mouth again, his hand still tangled in my hair and the other deep in my pussy.

I kiss him back fiercely, whimpering.  He stops kissing and keeps fingering me then wraps his big hand around my throat and I cry out.  This is what we’ve been talking about for months together: his hands on my throat while fucking me.  I clutch at his arms, still afraid to touch his cock, even now.  His hand is working furiously, he keeps bending down to ravage my mouth, I am lost.  So, utterly lost.

I grab his cock and squeeze but I can barely move; I can’t think.  He stands straight and it wobbles in front of my face.

“I want to suck it,” I gasp.

What?he asks.

“I want to suck it, I say throatily.  He nods.

I plunge down onto it and he grabs my head with both hands and chokes me with its length.  I have my hands wrapped around his ass pulling him into me then gag and cough and turn away only to dive back onto it.  My hand is around the shaft, my other hand is clutching his pant leg.

“I want to feel your balls.  Take your pants off,” I pant.  I rip his pants down and start sucking again like it’s oxygen, but still fondling his balls in one hand.  I can feel his hands on my head guiding me.  Then he whispers he’s going to cum.  I redouble my efforts because I know that if I make him wait we’ll do a whole lot more than just this.  My left hand is moving with my mouth, my right snakes around to his perineum and anus and my fingers push deftly at their fuzziness.

His moans tumble on top of one another and I drink his cum like it was the wine he’d given me earlier.  Some spills out down my chin and onto my neck as I suckle it to completion.

He throws himself back on the couch and I do the same.  I’m panting like I just ran a marathon.  I’m so jacked up I’m seeing stars.

He gets me a glass of water to rinse my mouth and I chuckle at the sweetness but tell him, “Don’t worry.  It tasted like nectar.  Really.”  He’s still skeptical, but then again, he’s not the one with jizz tingling on his tongue, either, so how could he possibly understand the beauty?

It takes us a cigarette, a bathroom break, and a lot of nervous walking and chatting before I calm down enough to feel ok to even drive.  He feels like an asshole, he says, but I reassure him he’s not.  If anyone’s the fucking asshole, it’s me.  Let’s be honest here.  He’s worried about me, keeps asking if I’m ok.  I laugh and tell him it’s not about me, then he reassures me he’s actually pretty good.  It’d have happened eventually anyway,” he says while looking at me directly.

I leave him with his thoughts and drive home thinking, “No one knows I just sucked dry an amazing cock.”  When I get home he texts me and I tell him as much and he says, “True… except me :-)”

Yes, except him.  Then he continues to reassure me that he was ok, had rationalized it already, and lamented that he felt like he’d “short changed” me.  I reassured him he hadn’t just as I was having my first orgasm.  After my second I simply said, “Mmm.”

A couple more “I’m good if you’re good”s were exchanged and here I am: sated; nostrils filled with the scent of his cum; fully understanding that I do still have “it”.

Am I a bad woman because of this?  Am I untrustworthy?  I can’t wrap my head around it because I’m still in the goddamned afterglow of the entire night.  We’ll see what happens to my conscience tomorrow morning.

I guess, sometimes shit just happens.  Wonderful, passionate, crazy shit.


I suck big, black cock in my car.

“Oh, yeah, Hy. Suck that big, black cock dry. Suck all the cum out of it!”

Both my hands wrapped around his shaft, my lips wrapped around my teeth to cloak the scrapes. My tongue slipped up and over the head of his cock with each motion and my hands squeezed tightly. My belly rested on my console and his long, dark fingers delved into my slot, my thighs softly wet with my own juices.

I gave it my best shot, but I couldn’t make him cum; the well-endowed man’s curse: teeth and exhaustion. He came close a number of times, but my angle was wrong.

“Come to me after dinner, Hy. Finish me off.”

“I can’t. I’ll be finishing off my dinner date.”

“No. Come to me.”

“It’s not happening.”

And then his plump lips were on mine, his big hand on my breast squeezing gently.

“No, really. You won’t see me tonight.”

And then he climbed out and we parted ways.

Nice to meet you, Nixon. Thanks for the margaritas.

I was picked up in a bar

First (and only) time in 8 years I was organically picked up by a man I met in person, just me, no internet dating site between us.  This happened in July of 2011.

I returned to a bar at 10 pm on a Saturday, alone, to pick up the check card I’d forgotten there the night before during a horrendous first date. Once there, I decided to have a glass of wine at the bar and a couple of glasses in I decided to let a man I’d been talking to on AFF come and meet me, Steven.

Funny thing is, is that I wasn’t dressed to meet anyone. I wore a black tank top with some sequins on it (not fancy, or cute, I assure you), a green skirt with multiple holes I’d sewn shut, and sandals. I was wearing minimal makeup, my glasses, and had my breast-length hair tied in a knot. Seriously, I couldn’t have cared less about my looks and it showed.

And why should I, after all?? Clearly, according to my bad date the night before, I was a troll even at my best, so fuck it. I was gonna sit at the bar alone, lavish attention on my iPhone, drink some wine and meet some dude I was moderately attracted to because he was available for the job and I didn’t want to sit at home alone watching Murder, She Wrote reruns.

No sooner had I pulled out my phone to play games than the man to my left asked me how to spell “rhythm.”

“R-y-t-h,” I start, “No, wait -” and then I was interrupted by the man on my right. A fit, handsome fella with a twinkle in his eye.

“Nope. You got it wrong. It’s R-h-y-t-h-m.”

“I knew that!” I laughed, “I swear!”

“Oh, really?” he countered. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

It was roughly 10:15 when he moved a seat closer to me. I couldn’t stop laughing as I kept pushing my glasses up higher on my nose. WAS I REALLY GETTING PICKED UP IN A BAR LOOKING LIKE THIS??

The answer, he told me, was a definite YES.

I told him a man was coming to meet me later. He said I should just come hang out with him instead, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“My name is Hy, by the way,” I say hurriedly. I felt like Steven was going to walk in any second.

“I’m Hunter. And I was just about to ask you your name.”

We talk and flirt for the next 45 minutes until I got a text from Steven that his arrival was imminent. Hunter graciously bows out with the excuse he has to use the restroom.

The second his seat is empty, Steven fills it. I hug him hello. My first assessment is he’s not as attractive as I’d hoped: “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell him.

And it was true. I did. But it was to wait for Hunter.

He was surprised to see me standing outside the door. I was startled to see how tall he was. “Hi,” I manage to say. “I want to get your number.”

He smiles mischievously and gives it to me. I text him, “Yo.”

The next hour consisted of me giggling and laughing over what appeared to Steven to be nothing. And I felt awful that he couldn’t figure me out, but how could he know that Hunter was texting me intermittently that I should ditch my date and hang with him instead? So, eventually I text him back, “Ok. Midnight,” and let Steven nuzzle my neck and squeeze my thigh.

(I know, right??)

I even had to turn Steven down when he asked for a ride home. But, really, come on. Presumptuous much?

In the end I met Hunter at another bar where he kissed and held me and asked me to go to his place where he said he promised he’d not try to fuck me. I agreed. Nothing hotter than an empty promise, I tell you.

Turns out he was house sitting for his boss and the place was gorgeous. His girlfriend was moving out of their place and he needed a place to crash. Lucky us.

A couple of glasses of wine later and we were all over each other. He discovered I was pantiless and soon had my skirt soaked through with pussy juice. I looked like I’d been hosed down.

“Oh wow,” he murmured into my mouth passionately, “You’re a squirter!”

We romp and fuck and laugh all over the upstairs. I soak the bed he was sleeping in and two towels. We had to move into a different guest room.

I woke up up this morning cradled in his arms. I was shocked at how good and normal it felt. Maybe I should let more men do it. We fucked some more (a good, hard pounding and a spank or two), then I suckled his cock dry (nothing like a good cum cocktail to start the day off right).

I wanted to keep sleeping, but I could sense my welcome was running out, so I got dressed and said goodbye. And now I’m sitting in a taco shop with ridiculous beard burn and fuck hair contemplating the universe and its mysterious ways and relishing my sore pussy.

[Epilogue: I’d hook up with Hunter one more time about 6 months later.  He was sunburned and too drunk and I was dry as a bone as he silently came.  I never called him again.]

I may give mixed signals, but No still means No.

I’m hard pressed to call it “sexual assault” because if I were him I’d likely have tried the same things with me, but I can’t not call it sexual assault, either, because I said, “Absolutely not,” and he did it anyway.

I arrived at his apartment a little after 7:30 to catch a cab to the bar, but we decided to hang out for a glass of wine first.  He smelled fruity in a weird, masculine way; his apartment was tidy and inhabited by a giant 8-month old puppy named Blast who liked my crotch immensely.

We sat on his back porch and sipped our wine.  He’s from the same state I am and we talked about the strange new world we now find ourselves with gigantic bugs who seem to think they own the place, much like their two-legged counterparts.

We called the cab and began the walk out to the busy street to meet it.  The dusk sky was brilliantly smeared with pinked and blue clouds and the breeze was cool on my bare shoulders.  “You look really beautiful tonight, Hy,” he said.

“Well, thank you,” I replied.  He took my hand to help me down a slope and into the cab.

The bar was littered with hipsters and Johnny Cash memorabilia.  Gladys Night and the Pips were playing when we walked in and ordered a shot and beer back — Jameson and a tallboy Lone Star for me, a Stella for him — and Lionel Ritchie saw us out.

Conversation and laughter flowed; I effortlessly led the conversation to sex as I’m wont to do.  I need to make it clear to every man I date where I stand: I currently sleep with other men, I am slightly kinky, I experiment, I ‘m not looking for a relationship, but am open to it, blah blah blah.

His eyes lit up at my tales and I was overcome with bashfulness time and time again, but I worked through it.  I have to get this stuff out there.  I feel compelled to make sure everyone knows where I stand.  My own talk was titillating, I felt warm and smooth and he is a handsome man, so when I had the opportunity I grabbed his shirt from where he stood above me and pulled him down for a kiss.  It was perfect.

He growled into my mouth how much he thought so, too.

The sexual compatibility seemed to be there, on paper, anyway.  That’s the first hurdle a lover of mine must pass.  And the chemistry was decent.

Too soon for my taste he suggested we go back to his place for more wine.  I said OK, bid a silent farewell to the tattoos, piercings and skinny jeans scattered about me and hopped back into the cab.  His hand slid up on my thigh and I let it stay.  It was nice enough.

Back at his place we went to the porch.  Lightening bugs popped in and out of view like fading lights.  He moved his chair closer then stood up altogether and loomed over me.  I looked up at him knowing that he was done talking.  He bent down to kiss me and grabbed me hard by the arms.  I liked it.

“Let’s go in my room.”

And this is where I should have done something different.  This is where I knew things would go wrong, but I couldn’t find the words to set it right.  He took me by the hand and shut and locked the door behind him lest his dog barge in on us.  His bed was low and covered in white down.  He lit a paper lamp on the floor in the corner and sat down and fell on top of me.  We kissed passionately, his whiskers raked over my face.

He grabbed the top of my dress and let a breast fall out.  His mouth clamped down hard and I winced and cried out.  My nails dug into his neck and I pulled him closer to me.  It felt good, but I knew where this was going and I didn’t want to go there.

My other breast fell out and now he pinched the nipple.  I was impressed at his passion and his inclination – clearly he likes it rough like I do – but I couldn’t shake the overriding feeling of I don’t want to do this.  His hand ran up my thigh and hit me me on my flank.  Hard.  I writhed a little and moaned.  Fuck.  I’m doing this all wrong.

When his hand began to fumble at my boyshorts I pulled him up.  “No.  I’m not going to fuck you tonight.  I’m on my period.”

“There are lots of other things we can do, you know.”

“I know, but I don’t want to.  I don’t want our first time to hook up to involve blood.  I just don’t.”

“But your clit isn’t anywhere near the blood.”

“I know that, too, but I don’t care.  I don’t want to.”

And then he slid my panties to the side and lay his mouth on me.

I was shocked.  Horrified, really.  He began to suck and I yelled at him to stop, that if he kept sucking he would fucking die.  He switched to lapping, which was nice, but none of this was supposed to be happening.  I’d just told him No.  I tried to enjoy it, but it was impossible.  I was pissed and a little scared.  What if I made him stop with a tantrum??  Threw him off and screamed at him?  Would he try to hurt me??  He seemed like such a decent guy, clearly I confused him and I should try to exit this situation as smoothly as possible.

I pulled him up off of me and let him kiss me again and ran my hand down to his erection.  Maybe if I could get excited about that then none of this would have happened.  Hot and smooth in my hand — slim — it only served to remind me of The Neighbor instead.   I said I had to pee.

In the bathroom on the toilet, staring at the polka-dots on his shower curtain and trying to keep the dog’s snout out of my pussy, I took my time to think.

This date was fucking over.

I went back into his room and said, “Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m feeling fickle tonight.  I need to go home.  This isn’t going to happen.  I swear it’s not you, it’s me.  I just need to go.”

He looked crestfallen, his bare chest dark and broad beneath me.  He said, “No,” and pulled me down for another kiss, made me straddle his exposed cock, a long, lean piece of meat.  “You swear you’ll see me again??”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Ok, then.  I understand.”

He got dressed and walked me to my car.  Home, I wanted nothing more than to fall into TN’s arms, but he wasn’t there and had only texted me to accept a dinner invitation for tonight.  He was likely with another woman.  So, I fell into my purple sheets in only my panties, tangled my limbs in my comforter and closed my eyes.

No means no, no matter what, but I don’t blame Mitchell.  I blame myself.  I’m not fit to do this right now.  I love The Neighbor — there, I said it.  This admission will likely bring hellfire and bullshit alike down upon my ears, but so be it.  I’m like a zombie out there.  I reel them in, but can no longer seal the deal.  I’m only half alive.  I don’t have it in me anymore to eat all men for breakfast lunch and dinner (just a couple here and there, apparently) and I got myself into a bad situation because of it.

I’ll likely not see Mitchell again not because I’m not curious about fucking him or even excited to do so — because strangely enough, I am — but because he made me say No so many times.  He should have rolled off of me the second I said so and certainly not ignored me.  It’s a shame, really.  I thought he was nice.  But then again, I guess he wasn’t at all if he didn’t listen to my No.

I fucked, gagged, and then I kept giving.

From my archives.  The old Hyacinth (let’s call her Rose) was hobbled by the knowledge that Troy read everything she wrote about him voraciously.  My words were shrouded in hidden meaning, both from myself and him.  I’m torn on whether or not to update this story with what I was really thinking or feeling or whether to just leave it as is, as a reminder of how stunted I was with him. Plus, the story just sucks.  I would write this so differently today (and maybe some day I will…).

I guess I’ll just post it as is.  Maybe y’all will sense what I mean.  The writing is light years away from who and what I am today and this was just last August. 

Fuck.  I have so much joy and thanks for having Hyacinth in my life.  She is much better, stronger, and smarter than Rose used to be.  Much, much more.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Thursday night.

“I want to fuck you again.  Soon. Wanna come over before my date Saturday afternoon?” I boldly ask.

“Fuck, yeah,” he agrees.

On Friday I mention my plans to Troy.  I think he responded with something like this: OMG! Can I come watch and have him finish in my mouth?  PLEASE??  Pleeease???

I hesitated for a second because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but then — come on — of course I said YES!  This girl can’t turn down an opportunity that involves two men.  I wasn’t sure I wanted Troy to only watch, but then again the idea of him watching and cheering me on was a new and exciting idea, so I decided to give it a whirl.

We arranged to meet at my house at 2.  Troy arrived first and we laid in my bed and shot the shit.  It was comfortable and nice.  For a second I wondered why we didn’t hang out more often and fuck just the two of us a couple of times a month, but then remembered we get enough vanilla sex with our other partners.  We’re each other’s kink partners.  Rare and its own thing.  Then, it was show time.  Ryan was at the door.

I jumped up from the bed with Troy and ran to the front door, excited to see Ryan.  We hugged and the men exchanged hellos.  I grabbed us a couple of beers and we sat down in my living room.  Ryan regaled us with funny dating stories and his sexual preferences.

“Yeah, one dude actually wanted to hang out like buddies.  But I’m not into that shit.  I’m not gonna go ride bikes with some dude.”

We all laugh and I realize the three of us are in pretty good company.  We’re open, horny, safe, and willing.

A long hour later I make it pretty clear I was ready to get fucked.  Ryan laughs and comes to stand behind me in my chair.  Troy is laying on the floor at my feet watching.  Troy leans over me and bites my neck and cups a breast, tweaking the nipple.  I hear Troy chuckle.

Ryan intensifies his ministrations.  I pull my shirt down so a breast falls out.  He bends lower and captures the peak in his mouth.  My eyes close and then I feel his hand slide into my shorts.  He makes a surprised noise when he discovers I’m also pantiless.  His fingers slide through my curls to my wet lips, spreads them and enters me.  I arch my back a little.

But I’m getting nervous and make him stop.  Troy’s eyes on me are a nice addition, but I’m feeling bashful.

“Would it help if we were all naked?” Troy asks and pulls his shirt over his head. I can hear Ryan removing his clothing behind me.

But then I think I need to get this show really rolling and stand up and start to walk to the back of the house.

“Are we done?” Ryan laughs.

“Nope,” I say over my shoulder.  I give a meaningful look and the men follow me into my room.

Troy pushes me roughly down on the bed and pulls off my shorts.  Ryan, on the other side of the bed, pulls off my shirt, his engorged cock literally eye level. I scoot forward and take it gently in my  mouth. Troy creeps up beside me on my left to watch.

“You look so hot doing that, Hyacnith,” he says, “Oh my god!”  He takes his phone out and takes some pictures.  He shows them to Ryan who warmly approves.  I suck for a few minutes then say, “Ok, I need to get fucked.”  I sense Troy doesn’t really know what to do with himself.  He was 95% voyeur and 5% participant at this point, a role he doesn’t usually play with me.

Ryan comes behind me, standing on the floor and slowly enters from behind.  I’m on my hands and knees, bearing down.  Troy is to my right now, his head near the action.  Then he wiggles beneath me, his skin warm and soft, and I feel a pressure on my clit and Ryan groan.  Then more wetness and groans from Troy, too.

His mouth is on the both of us, going back and forth between my plump lips and clit and Ryan’s sack as I’m getting fucked.  I soak his face and now I don’t care if he’s supposed to be only observing.  Clearly he’s not.

I take his gorgeous cock in my mouth an start to suck.  It’s been hard from the start, right in my face, and it’s a relief to finally bring him some pleasure and to have my mouth filled with more than just moans of pleasure.

Minutes tick by.  I’m losing myself in sensations.  I roll to my back with Ryan between my legs and Troy stands over me on the floor, his deliciously hard cock and dangling balls inches from my face.  As Ryan invades my body from a new vantage point I grab Troy’s thighs and pull his balls into my mouth.  Both men moan.

My entire being is filled with Man.  I switch to Troy’s cock and let him gently fuck my face. Ryan is pumping harder and deeper.  My chest is feeling numb and heavy, my pelvis delightfully buzzing.  I’m wet as fuck.  I know a g-spot squirt is on its way.

Troy suddenly plunges deeply into my throat and I gag.  Hard.  So hard I pushed Ryan’s cock right out and squirt substantially.  I am laid out, bare, vulnerable, but revered and taken care of.  I gag, push Ryan out, then squirt again.  Now they have an idea.  Troy tries to time his plunging down my throat with a thrust of Ryan’s so I don’t push him out, only clench hard on his giant rod.  He’s not that successful, but it’s fun trying.

Each gag is an extreme measure in subservience and pleasure.  I can’t be more open, more willing, more involved in my own cells and those amassed around me than at that moment.

Tears of pleasure are streaming down my face.  I squirt sideways and we all laugh.  Keep going.

Eventually, Ryan lifts my knees and rolls me up a bit.  His angle is fierce and determined.  Troy takes a picture of my soaking, rosy cunt being split wide by a milk-chocolate pole.

We stop and I lay panting and in (yet another) wet spot.  Ryan stands on the floor and Troy lays on the bed.  He wants to suck now.

On his back with his head slightly off the bed he takes Ryan’s balls into his mouth. Troy’s cock is rock hard and bobbing.  I kiss and suck on Ryan’s shaft, too, but I keep looking at Troy’s big cock so lonely and unattended.

Trying to honor his “observe only” request to the best of my abilities I ask first before impaling myself on him.  He says YES.  I roll on a condom and climb on board.  With Troy’s cock deep inside of me and Ryan’s huge cock deep inside Troy’s throat I start to move.

Troy’s big hands rest on my hips as I move enthusiastically on top of him.  My pussy gushes with abandon, my head thrown back, my breasts jiggling with creamy goodness.

It’s almost more than I can bear.  Being filled with glorious cock, witnessing Troy deep throat a 10″ cock, and seeing Ryan’s face frozen in pleasure, his muscles tense and flexed in front of me.  I’m trying to increase Troy’s pleasure, not take away from his fantasy.  Whenever I sense he’s being distracted by me I slow down, massage his cock with my pussy and let him refocus on the cock he’s dreamed about for years.  I want him to feel wrapped in the velvet of a woman while the silky hardness of a man is rammed down his throat.  This isn’t about me.

Occasionally I lean forward and touch Ryan’s body.  He shudders and tells me how hot it is to see me fucking Troy.  I hadn’t understood the scene he must be experiencing as well.  I lean back and give him full view of me.  I feel on fire.  Sweaty, vibrating, lustful, gorgeous.

He pulls out of Troy’s mouth and starts to stroke himself.  Troy laps at his balls and I lean in for a suck or two myself.  He’s getting closer.  I sit up and bear down hard on the cock inside of me just as Ryan starts to moan in pleasure.  He quickly slips his cock down into Troy’s mouth and keeps sliding until it completely disappears.

I am in awe.  I can feel Troy twitching inside of me and can see Ryan’s surprised face as he pumps load after load down Troy’s throat which is straining and flexed, veins popping.  Fifteen or 20 seconds later Ryan is still buried deep in Troy’s throat, his cock is still in me to the hilt.  I am seeing things through a haze of lust so thick it seems like we aren’t even in Kansas anymore.  We are definitely in Fucking Oz.

Troy taps out and Ryan is beyond words.  He says something about how he’d never done anything like that before.  I am smiling like a fool, so happy for my friend Troy that after all these long months of trying he finally got a load pumped into his throat.  I give him a big kiss and he laughs and apologizes for not being able to let me taste any cum seeing as it was all down his throat.

We take a small break, but I want to suck Troy something fierce now.  I ask him to climb up on the bed but he declines because the woman he’d fucked the night before had “worn him out” and “worked him over.”  A “No thanks, I’m good,” probably woulda sufficed, but, that’s Troy for ya.  I don’t miss a beat and flop down on the bed and ask for my vibe.

Each man is kneeling on opposite sides of the bed on the floor, Troy to my right.  They’re talking about what just happened and their deep timbres and the conversation topic was the perfect backdrop to my orgasm.

“Please, keep talking.  I’m just gonna cum now,” I say.  They chatted for a little while, but were soon distracted by the humming of my vibe. Troy begins to run his hands all over my body, Ryan is stroking my leg and thigh.

“You’re so beautiful, Hy.  Cum for us.  We want to see you cum,” Troy whispers hotly in my ear, “You’re such a good girl…”

And my orgasm, which had been swiftly climbing and wrapping itself through all my fibers, exploded into me.  Maybe a mouth was on me somewhere, more hands, I have no idea.  It tore through me, bigger than anything I’ve had in recent memory.

Ryan had never seen a Magic Wand before and Troy explained it to him while I recouped.

“I’m going for another.”

This time the chatting stopped right away and my breasts were kissed and fondled and my skin caressed.  Troy sneaked his hand between my legs and put gentle pressure on the towel covering my throbbing, sensitive skin.  His voice and words filled my ears with encouragement and praise and even before I knew what was happening the combination had me blasted out of my body and into a sparkling cloud of orgasm, cries, and shudders.

Seriously.  Two orgasms to go in the record books.

I didn’t have to get ready until 7 o’clock for my date, but Troy had to leave for his at 6.  Ryan stayed behind with me and went and laid out at my pool and chatted amiably for an hour or so.

Needless to say, it’s days later and it’s almost all I can think about.  Turns out I had to cancel my date that night, but I had one Sunday and Monday and I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with either of them for fear of the sex not being even remotely as pleasurable for me (well, that and I didn’t feel like fucking either of them).

Sometimes I wonder if this MMF stuff is wrecking me or awakening me. I haven’t figured it out, yet.  I guess only time will tell.

My ejaculate landed on the walls.

Another from the catacombs of my past.  This was my one-on-one encounter with Ryan.  Before the threesome, after an MMF.  Enjoy.

Ryan and I went on a date last Thursday.  We hung out at a dive bar near his apartment, chatted up all the locals and generally had a great time.  He wasn’t affectionate or touchy-feely and I had a moment of panic that maybe he’d decided he didn’t like the way I looked upon setting eyes on me again.  I shouldn’t have worried.

We fucked like maniacs all night long.  I rode his mocha-colored body while we were both bathed in the blue light from his TV.  He lapped at my pink folds and delved his fingers deep inside of me.  He turned me around and bent me over and pounded me so hard from behind we moved the couch a foot.  We finally decided to move to the bed once the rug was soaked from my streaming cunt.

I’m pretty sure some of my ejaculate is on the walls of his bedroom.  He would take his huge cock and  slap it on my clit with quickfire movements and I’d squirt uncontrollably.  I had to hold my hand over my mound to stop the splatter from dusting my own face.  Then he’d slide deep into me, exclaim at my wetness, and how I’d clench down on him.  An hour or more and he never came; he’d stop, yell out at how good it felt and then laugh at what torture it was for him to fuck me.  He wanted so badly to cum, but also didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, he fucked the shit right out of the both of us, sans orgasm for either, and we passed out in the mighty wet spots on his mattress.

I slept fitfully, if at all, and finally decided to go home at 5.  But, I told him, not before he came.

He smiled and rolled over on his back and I nipped his neck, his shoulders with my lips and teeth.  Trailed my hair down his muscled chest and found his turgid shaft ready for me.  I sucked for a few minutes, learning what he liked and what worked best, and when I sensed he was finally ready I sucked harder, though still slow, steady and silky.  He came in a rush, his cum mild and pleasant in my hot little mouth.

“I see why Troy says you’re the best!” he chuckled.

“I want to fuck you again.  Soon. Wanna come over before my date Saturday afternoon?” I boldly ask.

“Fuck, yeah,” he agreed.

There’s something wrong with me.

When I participated in the Bare Your Sexual Soul Day I went back to a place that I loved and memories of my exploits with Troy filed my head and my belly.  The men, the cocks, the raw, animal sex where I felt nothing but my hole and my cells for hours on end; the emotional upheaval of being connected to a sociopathic narcissist; and the intense pleasure I received for abusing my body via sex.  It all felt so good to relive those moments, but I was also walking the edge of concern.

Then, a friend wrote of her father’s passing and another friend wrote of his experiences with a cruel lover followed closely by a run in with my mother — who, besides my father, is the lynch pin in my world view and of my personal views of myself.

The first two things are important because I could closely and strongly relate.  I had a tortuous relationship with my father and I watched him die a horrible death.  I know now that I would never truly wish it on anyone because even a man deserving of no mercy should be granted it.  His spectre haunts me to this day and the pain he caused me is often like a cruel friend luring me into complacency only to rear its unruly head when I least suspect it.  And my affair with Troy was beyond my control, my compulsion to fuck him, to do anything he wanted of me, so all-consuming I felt lost and ravaged for months.  It left me in tatters.  And well, my mother is slowly emerging as a villain to my heart and the realization has been devastating.

I’d already begun asking myself Why do I need sex so much?  Why do I like it to hurt? when all of these things occurred  and it has become clear to me now: I have always meant nothing to those with the most power over me.  Who I am and what I am has never been enough and never will be and therefore I seek out connections that reinforce this belief: I wield sex to fulfill the painful longing in my being.

Last night, a Saturday, I had no plans.  Jason decided that our plans were to be cancelled and The Neighbor was going to a party in hopes of getting laid.  The night before, Friday, he had ridden me until I was a puddle and narrated my journey as he put me there.

As he’d slid his cock deep inside of me he said, “First, you get wet, oh so wet,” and he continued to stroke my grateful body’s cavern.

When he pounded me into my sheets he breathlessly said over me, “Then, you get incoherent.  God, I love watching this.”.

We kept going.  He kissed me, stroked me, buried his face in my neck.  I ran my fingertips along the ridges of his back muscles delighting in the loss of my control, the sensations of impalement.

We turned me on my side and his long shaft found new spots deep within me, he noticed it, too.

And then finally on my stomach with my face buried into my mattress I cried and shook and pressed back on him with all my might.  “Ahhh.  The crying.  The last step.”  And he released himself into the condom, waited a few moments and took me up again to where I was nothing but sensations of a collection of cells and heaving lungs and a tear-streaked face.

We slipped on robes and stood on my balcony watching spa-goers below us.  I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around the soft cotten, pet his hard chest and nibbled on his neck.  He turned around and we stood locked in an embrace high above the people below us.

I felt safe and important, forgetting that my feelings had been bruised by his request to start our evening at 10 pm.  I had been hoping we’d do something more “date like,” but that was folly.  This is what I have with him.  I am no pseudo girlfriend, despite my wandering, uncontrollable emotions.

After more belly soaking sex and an orgasm later we were playing poker together.  Chatting.  I said very clearly that I couldn’t rely on him for anything.  That I can’t.  How could I possibly?  He said that was a terrible thing to say and I made it even more terrible for not recognizing it.  Later, in his bed after yet more sloppy, delicious sex I apologized for hurting his feelings.  He said his feelings weren’t hurt.  I was confused.  He insisted he felt nothing about it, that it was simply an offensive thing to say, but I still couldn’t understand the logic.  I said as much and tried to explain that it wasn’t personal.

“If I’m having a bad day, you’re not supposed to be there for me.  You’re not supposed to come and hang out with me and be there for me.”

He said he would be.  Which only has caused me yet more confusion.

We talked about our relationship.  He believes it will go out with a whimper rather than a bang; he thinks it’s going fantastically; I am down to only one lover now and I can’t have it all be up to him, it’s not fair.  Not to him, not to me.  If I’ve learned one thing in my life is that I am too much for anyone and my sex drive is among the traits most delicately – or indelicately – rejected in me.  I sometimes get the sense that TN thinks I think of nothing else, when in reality, I am inundated with thoughts and feelings so much more pressing I can barely function some days.  Like this week.

So, I sat alone last night after beers with one of my dearest friends.  Antsy, anxious, sad, in pain.  The Neighbor, my crush, gone for the  night, and I alone with my thoughts with no outlet for my building release.  I scoured OKCupid, but saw no one of any interest.  I sipped wine, I watched TV, I read, I ate food that tasted like cardboard.  I remembered to drop off my rent check and so layered on warm clothing and walked down to the office.  The cold night air coated my arms and body like salve.  I felt immensely better for it.

And as I stood by the drop box I looked up at our building and my eyes were automatically drawn to his empty, lit bedroom window.  I stood there numbly, dumbly, wondering why I was frozen in place.  I breathed the chill into my chest and felt more pain as I turned and walked away and then suddenly I was vomiting into the bushes.  Hard and fast, with tears in my eyes and a sense of surrender in my heart.  Headlights alerted me of a coming driver and I quickly dashed up the back stairs to avoid being seen such a mess.

I calmly reentered my apartment and headed for my bathroom sink.  Cold water splashed on my wrist near a nasty burn, crusted and bright red, and I expelled the rest of my dinner.  The burn drew my attention and I contemplated cutting myself and wondered where on earth I’d find a spot on my body that TN wouldn’t notice.  And so it came to me that I am truly broken.

I have been thinking about opening up my AFF account again because this calm, this one-man show who has his eye on a woman who has yet to make herself known to him, is bringing me to my knees.  I have aligned myself with yet another person who finds me wanting. I am a mother.  I do not want more children.  He is looking for something better.

I told him last night, while wrapped in his arms in his giant, unbelievably comfortable bed, that if he were older and wanted no children things would be very different.  He was surprised.  I felt relieved to get it off my chest.  I said no more about it.  He shared that he has always worried about my feelings for him, though I have revealed nothing outright.  It has been a general concern of his.  I was somewhat offended by this since I have been above reproach in most things involving my feelings for him: it is a girlish mistake to make this something it is not; he’s never done this before.  He should be the one that’s the loose cannon.  Not me.  He’s never done this before.  He’s young and inexperienced.

But in the end, he’s right, and he has no fucking clue.  Or maybe he does.  This has been extremely hard for me because the better and more brutal the sex, the more bonded I become.  There is something wrong with me.

I want so badly to be enough for someone.  To be the right fit, to fill his heart and his loins with excitement each time he sees or thinks of me.  I want him to strike my flanks, bite me, twist my tender skin and use me until I don’t know my own name.  And then I want him to cradle me in his arms, kiss my temples and tell me what a good girl I am, to fill that black fucking hole inside of me that my parents slowly stretched wide with their conditional love and cruel character, and to tell me that he loves me.

That’s what I really want.

And so I sat on my balcony and dragged on a cigarette.  Slowly, deliberately.  Feeling the hot smoke fill my lungs and mingle with my breath as I expunged it from my center.  I got my leather-bound journal and began to write in my chicken-scratch scrawl.  I wrote of my pain, where it comes from, why it’s there and, ultimately, my hope for mastery over it.  I told myself I could do it, that I would survive.  Then finally with tears in my eyes I wrote, “I love you, Hyacinth.  I love you.  You are enough.  Always enough.”