Language

I think we all can agree that language and the psychology of certain words and phrases has a very strong and powerful affect on our sex lives. Even the quietest, meekest, most uncommunicative has to admit that a soft word whispered in the ear at the moment of climax can make it just that much better.

Of course, for me, I'm much happier if those quiet syllables equate to something dirty, perverse. Whisper "whore" in my ear and I'll drip all over the bed.

In the not so distant past I lay cross length on his bed, my yoga flexible legs spread apart and up and practically over my head, exposing my sex to him in a most vulnerable and accessible way. Pushing down on my thighs, holding me both apart and still, he plunged his cock into my pussy.

"Mmmm...you're just a fuckhole, aren't you?"

I gasped for air as he said this. Gasped as he pounded me.

"Just a nice place to put my dick."

I could feel the juice from my now overflowing cunt dripping down my ass onto the bed. I moaned, "yesssss...".

"You like being just a cunt, don't you?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

He plowed and I screamed as I left the earth and took off on that sea of unreality.

Sad to See You Go

I realize I've been on the outskirts of the sex blog community for quite some time now. But, I do read my blog rolls at least once a week so as to keep up with what adventures my sexy friends are up to. So, I was sad and disappointed to find that everyones favorite Life Guard, LG in Atlanta, has taken down his blog, Ramblings of the Male Mind.

He was funny and sweet and sexy. A terrible flirt with excellent taste in women (as illustrated by the photos he loved to post of his favorite gals).

I hope all is well, LG. We'll miss you.

Timer is Everything

My good friend Rupert up at the Chateau keeps a countdown timer on his blog so that we, his loyal fans, can track and commiserate with him during the long stretches through which he suffers between sexual activity. Or, maybe I should say between coupling. We KNOW he has uni-sexual activity. :)

I don't keep a timer (although there's a really loud, ticking one in my head - you can't hear it?) but I can report that I hadn't had sex with another person since January. I don't have an exact date on that, but we can say somewhere around the 25th. Close enough. So, seven (7) months since I was fucked.

Well, reset the timer people. We have lift-off. And a nifty lift-off at that, with more on the horizon, I believe.

And...are we ready?...And, it seems he has similar proclivities as well as being a decent, fun, helluva guy.

Let the hair-pulling commence.

All kidding aside -

YAY!

The Cycle of Life

I guess I should be happy, or grateful, or relieved. And, I suppose, I am all those things. I find lately, I'm horny again. Thinking about sex again. A lot. At work. Thinking about sex at work. I don't mean having sex at work...you know what I mean. But, that's not the point. The point is that it's back, I guess. With less of a vengeance, but back.

The problem is that I don't want random sex with a stranger. Well, not really. I mean, if the right stranger came along, I would fuck him for sure. But, I want more. I want a partner. I want a master. Of sorts. I'm always a bit ambivalent about the whole master/slave whatever thing. But, I want that power. That power over me.

I've been dating a little. No-one particularly particular yet. But, you never know who's around the corner. Or so I keep telling myself. I've been praying for miracles. I just have to be smart enough to recognize one when it's in my face. That's the challenge. My own ability to be intelligent enough to see what's being presented to me.

All that aside, I want it.

I want my hair, which is quite long now, to be wrapped up in his fist. I want him to pull my head back and push his cock into my mouth. I want him to tell me, as I kneel before him, helpless to his force, to spread my legs, to touch myself as he fucks my mouth. I want to hear him groan with satisfaction as I do.

I want to be on my hands and knees on the bed while, behind me, he spreads me apart and examines me. My cunt wet and swollen. Dripping from his words as he tells me what a whore I am for showing myself to him in this way. As I push back a little farther, knowing this spreads me apart even more.

I haven't thought of these things in months and now these fantasies fill my head. I can hear in my mind the sound of his hand smacking my bottom red and sore and his derisive laugh as he plunges fingers into me and finds I'm so wet the two or three fingers he uses are not enough to create any friction.

I want it, now. I want it, again. I need a miracle.