Product of Demented Sex

There's a ghost in me who wants to say, "I'm sorry". Doesn't mean I'm sorry.

2011-09-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

So I said it would take me 75 days to get over him. Well, it's been 75 days and I'm still not over him.

I should be happy - I got what I wanted, though 3.5 people's lives may have been destroyed in the process. But I'm not, and I didn't, because secretly, I always wanted more, though I dared not speak its name...

Well, we can't always get what we want, so there's nothing left for me now but to get used to my new existence... as Magic's helpless sex prisoner.

Oh, and to ask myself how something so bright and beautiful in life - sexual love - could have been transformed into something so vile and abhorrent, like a child's face disfigured with leprosy; I feel its taint seeping through every fibre of my body and mind, infecting and contaminating me, robbing me of even the sunlit backdrop of my memories, leaving nothing sweet and innocent in life untouched, casting even my darling baby beneath a long shadow of doubt.

It's hard enough to accept that what was, can no longer be, but that it should no longer even have been what it was, is surely a tragic ignominy!

40 Days of Mourning

2011-08-04T12:41:00.000-07:00

Weary se'nnights nine times nine...

It was an uneven playing field from the get-go: she was the Wife, I was a person of no consequence. But she took me on, she slew me and crushed me underfoot, and even this was not enough for her, vicious and vengeful she-demon that she was, she sought to tear the entrails from my bloodied carcass and stuff them down my throat. Far be it from me, though, to seek revenge - I'm a lover, not a fighter! I shall instead crawl off to lick my wounds, by attempting to console myself with whatever glimpses of silver I can spot in this black cloud. Here they are.

1) Men are nothing but a bunch of motherfucking assholes, I'm better off without them, etc.

2) I lost 2 kilos when he left me. And I had already lost 2 kilos when my mother got cancer.

3) I can finally devote myself even more slavishly to the PoDS. If I don't end up abandoning him at the steps of some nunnery somewhere (if such a thing even exists, today).

4) I no longer have to worry about Magic walking in on us some day. That would have been embarrassing. And almost a little bit funny. But mostly just terrible.

5) I can perhaps finally do something productive with my life. Not that he took up that much of my time - at least not physically. But I was always either dreaming about him or floating around in a state of good-for-nothing euphoria.

6) I was never good enough for him. And I was deteriorating.

7) I was always destined to be alone. It really did seem unnatural to me, to be so happy.

8) I was always insanely jealous - though I think I did a damn good job of pretending not to be!

9) I was also being driven mad with suspicion. It's a well-known fact that a woman commits adultery when she finds herself in an unhappy relationship, whereas a man is predisposed to it by personality traits inherent in his nature. The old "once a cheater" maxim, tiring as it is. Of course he couldn't really "cheat" on me in the conventional sense, since he was free to do whatever he liked. But I knew that didn't entitle me to his honesty - he told me so himself at that restaurant on rue Orillon. So I knew he was probably always hiding things from me, and yet it's not in my nature to police people and spy on them. I'm a very trusting person... and also, believe it or not, a very private person, which is why I respect the privacy of others. So I would never have been able to pull off the kind of massive undercover surveillance operation apparently necessary to keep a guy like this in check! So hats off to the blood-thirsty harpie, after all.

10) He was probably tiring of me towards the end anyway. At least now I can tell myself that it was only because he got caught that he left me. Were it not for that, he would surely have deserted me much more ignominiously. Whereas now, I can always believe that it is as star-crossed lovers that we parted!

Don't get me wrong - if I'd had my way, it would never have ended. And I do have regrets. But that's the subject of another post (unfortunately yes, there is more where that mindless babble came from).

World Without End

2011-07-20T15:35:00.001-07:00

Seven days of unmitigated (or very slightly mitigated) hell. My life stretches before me like a barren wasteland.

Sound and Fury

2011-07-17T14:07:00.001-07:00

So, it's been almost a month since THAT fateful message, and now I get a message from Magic: "We need to talk. In private." Of course I'm thinking: they changed their minds and got to him after all!

My mouth felt all of a sudden dry and parched, as if I were walking through the Empty Quarter, rather than the streets of London (with high heels and a 20 lb baby). And despite the abject terror gnawing at my stomach, I couldn't help but be impressed at the relative calm with which he had apparently taken this news.

And then, of course, it turned out to be something COMPLETELY UNRELATED!!!!

So I couldn't even distract myself with thoughts of vengeance - not that I had been able to, up to this point, for I knew I would never go through with it, not because of any misplaced sense of loyalty or the kindness of my heart, but because... well, why bother, really? I mean, WTF do I care?

In fact the one good thing that has come of all this is that now I don't feel like I've been unfairly let off the hook, so to speak. I mean, I think I was suffering from some sort of survivor's guilt syndrome, almost. But after this I honestly don't think I can take any more drama!

And the worst part of it is that all those things one does for another person over the years - lugging groceries across town and standing over the stove for hours and hours - it all amounts to nothing, a hundred thousand brownie points cancelled out by one semi-nude picture taken for a stranger on the internet.

18 Days Later

2011-07-12T15:48:00.000-07:00

I am pretty much okay now, during the day - just a little irritable. But at night (which is strange because I hardly ever saw him at night), I feel it like a physical pain. If only things could have been different... a foolish sentiment, and one which I shouldn't allow myself.

I was never jealous of her - what a lie, I was insanely jealous. But I never minded her having him all the time, until it meant that I couldn't have him at all.

L'amour que nous ne ferons jamais ensemble

2011-07-08T14:49:00.001-07:00

How annoying... I now have access to a secret love nest which no-one knows about... and yet no use for it at all.

Maybe he was right about me - I really am incorrigible. I never knew whether to find it insulting or flattering. Generally I just found it rather cheeky, coming from him.

Sometimes I wonder if what I did was a really, really bad thing. Or was it just nothing at all?

Nothing at all, right?

Epilogue

2011-07-06T02:17:00.000-07:00

All it took was just a smidgen of hope that I might not be completely forgotten, and I don't feel quite so devastated. Just a little - how would he say it? - "hard done by". Hard. Hehe. Now, even if we never meet again, at least I can comfort myself with the hapless idea that it is as star-crossed lovers that we parted.

I probably ought to be more concerned that a savage and ruthless harpie has apparently come into possession of incontrovertible evidence of my wrongdoing, but somehow I just can't get myself too worked up about it.

At any rate, I have warned Magic that a blood-thirsty lunatic may be hot on my trail - which strangely did not surprise him at all. Then yesterday he mentioned to me that he might be depressed, so I helpfully suggested that he have an affair, but he just gave me a hurt and bemused look. I also asked him if he would like to join a sex club with me, but he said we would be the hottest people there, we'd just be "trading down". No arguing with that.

And I had a nice talk with the Clone, in which he said a few comforting things, one being that he likes my blog better than "the blog of that girl whose naked pictures you sent me" (I didn't even know she had a blog! must hunt it down, and maybe rekindle my friendship with its author), and another being that he would like to see me again in the flesh, even if it's just for a coffee! How sweet. Now there's a person who has been there for me during the three worst experiences of my life (all neatly packed into a 6.5 month period). What a pity that for once, he didn't ask me what I was wearing...

Breaking Up is Hard to Do - The First 10 Days

2011-07-01T16:29:00.001-07:00

Day 0: An uneventful day for me. My Blackberry is turned off to conserve battery.

Day 1: I receive his message at a farmer's market. I read it twice before I can believe it. An odd sense of relief (I had been dreading this moment for so long), and yet a feeling of disconnect from reality. Am I in shock?

Day 2: Blind panic. Will he make good on his threats? I run up a €200 phone bill asking friends, family and online admirers for advice. My friends foolishly suggest asking him for help! Just goes to show how willing we girls are to believe in love, and loyalty, and the basic goodness of people.

Day 3: I have always been good at games, no matter how much I hate them. He falls for my bluff and folds his hand. It is a Pyrrhic victory. I have already begun to re-read our chat logs. Though now he is an enemy, I miss him as a friend.

Day 4: I console myself with the absurd fantasy that one day, not now but maybe twenty years from now, he might return to me. Or have forgotten me sufficiently to seduce me all over again.

Day 5: I awaken from dreams of having him as a friend. But I have realised the foolishness of hoping. He was out of my league from the beginning. I should be grateful for two years of overwhelming joy. It was more than any human being deserves. I abandon the 20 Year Plan.

Day 6: I am over the worst of it, I think. It's the oldest story in the book. I loved him, he didn't love me. But I never asked or expected his love. All I wanted was for him to be happy, fucking lots of girls, and to remember me fondly. I think the first is well underway. And that does make me happy - jealous but happy. The second, for some reason, has been denied me, though I think I did everything within my power to merit it. But oh, well. Some you win... and Dim Sum, you lose.

Oh, wait. There was one other thing. I did ask him to always keep me in mind as a potential threesome partner if ever one of his future girlfriends is interested and they can't find anyone else. Here's how I imagine that conversation might go...

Him: sometimes I think I would like to fuck you with another girl

(Of course this would most likely all be in French but I can't be bothered to translate and also would find it harder to project as he never spoke to me in French, though I did ask him to... his French was so cute. And sexy. Anyway, back to the conversation.)

Him: sometimes I think I would like to fuck you with another girl

Her: oh really like who

Him: ...one of your friends

Her: haha i dont think so :S

Him: >:)

Her: dont you know anyone

Him: well there was someone but it's too risky... wife knows everything about her

Or maybe... "well there was someone but she fell in love with me so I had to get rid of her B-)".

But really he'd probably just say "no".

God I was crazy about that guy. It's probably a good thing he broke up with me because I would never have been able to end it with him. It's just the way he did it that was so bizarre. First of all, he broke up with me by text message. Yes, really. And right after I'd found out that my mother has cancer. It's almost a cliche of boorishness, is it not? Secondly, it was all "I never want to see you again" and "never contact me again". Like some peevish schoolgirl. When a simple "hey babe, let's call it quits" would have sufficed! And then, if all that weren't bad enough, there were the threats to hunt me down and ruin my life. That was a bit gratuitous, really. When all I ever did was every fucking thing he ever asked me to!

But there it is. He was a fun-loving guy. I was born to cry. :)

Day 7: The anniversary of the day I first felt his cock enter my pussy. Though I am resigned to it being over - I have only to look in the mirror to wonder what he ever saw in me at all - I wish I could have known this was coming, could have seen him one last time. Not now, of course, now that he hates me, but if I could travel back into the past, and see him look at me once more with love!

Day 8: Perhaps I shall just have another baby, and name it after him.

Day 9: I return home to find that if there is a weight loss method more effective than having a mother with cancer, it's having a mother with cancer and being abandoned and betrayed by a vindictive and vengeful ex-lover. But other than that, I am fine. If I had one wish it would be to remember everything. Speak, Mnemosyne!

Day 10: I knew this would be a sad day for me - the first day back home that I could have seen him, if he'd wanted to. And to think that I'd probably have been grumpy about having to get up early, or feeling guilty about neglecting the baby. And now I shall never see him again! I guess that's the strangest thing - though I've been broken-hearted in the past, it was never like this, this total cut-off. I know I should just be grateful for all the good times we had together, which could easily never have happened. He did so many nice things with, for and to me. Reason dictates I shall surely get over him some day. But when? They say it takes 100 days to break a bad habit. But surely it ought to be a function of how long one had the habit to begin with. Maybe 10%? 75 days? I decide to watch the wedding flash, over breakfast...

The Last Time

2011-06-16T15:04:00.000-07:00

I was dying to see him. Yet I could feel another bladder infection coming on. Perhaps I should postpone? But it would be ages before I would see him again. I couldn't bring myself to do it.

He texted me in the morning, to ask when he could come up. "Whenever you like..." I wrote back. He rang the buzzer a few minutes later. I opened the door naked, we kissed as he undressed. He laughed watching me kneel to suck him. "Why are you laughing at me?" I asked indignantly. "I'm not - you're gorgeous," he replied. "Now turn around and lean against the door, because that's what doors are for."

He pounded me against the door - it was excruciating! Finally, when I could bear it no longer, "Now we can move to your comfortable bed... or your not-so-comfortable sofa." "The bed!" I lay back, drawing him over me like a blanket. He raised both my legs up so my ankles were resting on his shoulders, and fucked me deeply, almost painfully. My arm brushed against something rather odd - my baby's foot! It was beginning to stir. He stuck his finger beneath its toes to watch them curl. "Monkey reflex..." The baby beamed at him and burped loudly. "At least there was no spit-up..." I began, then stopped as what looked like a fountain burst from its mouth. We laughed.

He lay back. "I think you need to suck me some more," he said. "Just what I was thinking," I replied, going down on him with glee. He began to fuck my mouth, slowly at first, then faster. I knew he wouldn't come this way, still a part of me never quite stopped hoping. The arm I was using to prop myself up began to ache almost unbearably but I couldn't bring myself to give up. Finally he said, "Darling your lips are going to be swollen to twice their size!" I mumbled something incoherent and kissed his cock - for the last time ever!

He lingered, kissing me by the door, as he always did before he left. And I always felt guilty, worried about how late he'd be. If only I'd known I would never kiss him again...

He used to make fun of me constantly, for imagining it was over, when it wasn't. Who can reassure me now?

Stars

2011-06-14T15:42:00.000-07:00

He always wanted to come over as early as possible, he was so impatient and eager to see me. I made him wait so I could be ready in time. I think I even had breakfast. The buzzer rang twice - he never rang twice. Luckily I only opened the door halfway; it was a package delivered to me for my baby. A beautiful striped outfit and sweater, with no card. I cast it aside in my haste; he was at the door. We kissed, I dropped to my knees to suck him.

"Take this off," he said, pulling at my T-shirt. "I want you naked."

He pushed me down against the arm of the sofa and parted my flesh almost painfully with his erection, ramming into me for a while before allowing me to stumble into the bedroom, where he mounted me. "Do you want me to fuck you?" "Yes!" "Say it." "Fuck me..."

He rolled over and pulled me onto his cock, holding me down as he thrust upwards into me, slowly, deeply. I felt a sort of warmth spreading through my legs, my thighs tingling as I moved against his pelvis in time to his thrusts, and something curious happened, it seemed as if our movements were just slightly out of synch, as if my pussy was trying to draw him into me, constantly aching and yearning for his cock, and this ache gradually built until finally I was riding a wave, a wave which swept over my body like fire! I hung limply over him, drained, just feeling my skin tingle, and he seemed to realise this because he began to move his hands in circular motions over the small of my back, generating curious riples and eddies of lingering excitement everywhere we made contact. And he had done this once before, ages ago, on the sofa with my music playing, and it was like being drugged, and I had wondered if anything so magical could happen again. And there it was!

But I was only permitted to relax for so long. He began to nudge me into action with his cock, and as I gradually and sleepily began to move against it he started to spank my ass and urge me on. I felt a crazy surge of excitement! Before I knew it I was screaming and groaning with pleasure! It was too much to bear, I dragged myself off him and collapsed beside him with my hair tangled and messy all over my face. He looked over at me, smiling knowingly.

The baby began to wail, I stumbled over to its crib unsteadily. Eventually it settled down in its bouncer and I returned to the Professor, who pushed me face down onto the bed - "because you know I love this" - one of his favourite positions for coming. He plunged into me, I could feel the entire shaft of his cock all the way inside me, filling me so perfectly, so fully, almost lifting my ass off the bed with the angle of his erection. And still I pushed myself back towards him, grinding myself against him 'til I could feel his balls hitting my clitoris and at first his hands were on my neck and shoulders, pressing me down on the bed as I turned my head to look back at him, and then his fingers were clutching my ass, spreading the cheeks apart - "I could just pull out right now and come in your ass" - and soon I was the one coming, again and again on his cock.

By now my body really was completely limp, like unresisting putty in his hands as he positioned me on my back to enter me again, pounding me until I could feel his cock swell with come, and then he pulled out, grabbed my face and brought it to the head of his cock, spurting long streams of warm come into my mouth as I sucked.

Take me inside and let the honey slide...

2010-10-20T02:28:00.000-07:00

So, for those of you who don't know, I have been on a voyage of sexual self-discovery lately. In order to avoid doing all the things I should be doing like writing a book (yawn), launching my own business venture, taking prenatal pills, etc. etc.

First I joined a couple of dating websites for swingers. Then I kissed a girl, bought a bunch of sex toys, still languishing in the back of my closet, unused (one was briefly removed from the box), subscribed to Sex and Submission and Public Disgrace, and joined FetLife. And the conclusion I've come to, after all this, is that I'm not a swinger, I'm not a kinkster, I'm not bisexual, and I don't dream of having clothespins attached to my body and my pussy wired so I can pretend I'm being forced to climax against my will in a public laundromat.

No, I'm really just a completely ordinary person.

It's kind of disappointing, really, I thought I might finally fit in somewhere.

So anyway, I was spending a relaxing morning watching Mark Davis order Kristina Rose to lick his boots, suck his cock and submit to a relentless pounding with a steel hook in her ass when I got a text message from the Professor saying that he was downstairs. This was expected, of course (I'm not spontaneous - at all). So anyway I quickly closed all porn windows (there were several, as is generally the case with porn) and rushed downstairs, my path temporarily blocked by this goofy, clownish-looking builder guy in one of those ridiculous hats with ear flaps hanging down on each side (such was my level of turned-onness that I actually even felt vaguely attracted to him... like during the strikes when I was squashed on the metro and all I could think of was how everyone around me would react to a gangbang).

Anyway, thanks to this guy hanging around in the stairwell I couldn't jump all over the Professor the way I normally would - we had to show some restraint and wait for the lift, during which time I ogled him and reflected on how hot he looked (he would probably say he needs a haircut - but if I have one fetish, that's it: hair). And then as soon as we were in the lift his lips were on mine and his hand between my legs, parting my thighs...

Now if there's one complaint I have about Kristina Rose, it's that she's absurdly noisy, I prefer a girl who takes it with relative stoicism, like Jynx Maze - now there's a class act (who, I just found out, is exactly my height and size), and yet bizarrely, I found myself moaning in much the same manner when the Professor ploughed his fingers into my pussy, and this got him so hard that he had to lower his pants to let me suck him a little before he could go to the bathroom, giving me the chance to practice my as yet dubious deepthroat technique (is it? or isn't it? and how do I know when I'm there? it seems from porn websites that the goal is to be able to tongue the person's balls at the same time - in that case I'm not quite there yet).

Naturally, this only got him harder, so I bent over the arm of the couch to present him with my pussy. And oh, that feeling as his long-awaited cock spreads the lips of my pussy apart... I never get used to it. And he fucked me like that 'til my legs were weak and his cock was the only thing holding me up, and then he fucked me some more until I collapsed on the floor, and he thrust his dripping member into my mouth, my back arching to take him as deep into my throat as I could, his fingers tugging on my nipples to make me squirm with pain and yet instead of drawing back I thrust my chest up towards him for more.

Then pushing me on to my back he climbed on top of me and held me there, pinned to the floor so I couldn't move, his cock thrusting in and out of me faster and faster as I struggled ineffectively against him to regain some control, until finally I came so violently that he took pity on me and got up to use the bathroom while I lay practically passed out on the floor with my skirt around my waist and my hair all over my face.

He had me go down on him again a little then, as he lay back and watched, eventually pulling me on top of him and once again holding my body immobile as he fucked upwards into me, and then demanded that I get on my hands and knees, to take him deeper inside me, with his hand on the back of my neck and his fingers in my ass he asked me to fuck myself on his cock, holding me back a little to really make me work for it, and then pounding into me until I felt I might explode, gasping for breath with my face pressed against the bedsheets and my ass in the air as he rammed into my pussy, almost forcing me to extricate myself when I could take no more. Only then as I lay there helpless on my stomach he pulled my legs apart and climbed on top of me, and when I felt him thrust into me in that position I almost choked, I heard the words "oh god" escape my lips, and he repeated, "oh god?" with much the same semi-mockery that I appreciate so greatly in Mark Davis, which really just goes to show how right I am that he'd make a great porn star, he's a natural. And I was on the brink of coming the whole time, so as soon as I felt him harden and swell inside me, his thrusts becoming jerky and irregular as he gasped and sighed and I knew he was close, I pressed my hands flat against the wall to press my ass against his hips and felt myself begin to tremble, my back arching and my pussy clenching as he shot his hot come deep inside me.

Boring and unbelievably "vanilla", I know. Maybe next time I'll ask him to flog me a little with his belt beforehand.

I Discover e[lust]...

2010-09-30T06:48:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Dangerous Lilly

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #21? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

On Making Sex Last: Cheerleading & Open Relationships - as long as the possession stuff can be fun and consensual, and not interfering with each other’s sovereignty, I think the two—cheerleading and possession—aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.

Owned - I had almost forgotten that while here, with him, I was HIS plaything. I was OWNED by him. We had discussed this. I knew the rules. I must not forget again.

The sheer indecency of what we are doing - Is he looking for what I’m looking for? Surely so—all men want that, don’t they? A flaming succubus that comes only in the dark to bring unworldly pleasures and leave behind strange lingering dreams that spice their dutiful daytime lives.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Stop Hating on Campus Sex Education - Clearly, there is a need for this education, because if it doesn’t come from sexuality educators, it comes from word of mouth (which can often provide incorrect information), or from the internet, or from trial and error.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Is it Really "Strange" Sex?

See also: Pleasurists #96 and #97 for all your sex toy review needs.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Kink & Fetish

A teabreak tawsing
Blow job
Caribbean Screw
His evil twin
My adventure in subbing continues
My Big Pink Robot
Play Party!
Sisters unite for the MFW, part 2
The one with the Violet Wand
Turning Lemons into Lemonade
Wanton Wednesday: Bitten

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Cunning Linguists Are We: Cunnilingus 101
Crushing Swingerphobia by Hitting the Club
Coming Out & Invisible Illness
Hold Up Stockings
My First Grue in Review
NSE – New Swinger Energy
Relationships and Emotions
Sadie's Thoughts on Cheating. Confession #507
Three’s Company, Too – Dreaming of the Multi-Relationship Home
The Sisterhood
Thoughts on bisexuality and visibility
When I'm Done With Crying...
Why Lie, Why Cheat?

Erotic Writing

A Raise
Any Idea?
Buttlove
Building the Anticipation
Coming Back to Me
Extraordinary Uses for Ordinary Objects
"Enslaved The Story of Jen" Chapter 13
Fantasy: Waking Up
Hotel windows...
I Give Good Head
Lipstick Kisses
Like Mother, Like Daughter
My first little girly night
One Night With NSVG
Oh, What a Night!
Revisited
Rekindling
She
Something in the Air
sacks, part one
The Quick Ebony Fux
up lateish

Glucose Challenge

2010-09-27T02:39:00.000-07:00

It was the same as it always is: I opened the door, we kissed - his familiar sexy lips - his hands straying down inside the top of my underwear, his fingertips brushing against the ends of my pubic hair, that touch that always sends a frisson of excitement running through my body - but it never lasts long enough - he started finger-fucking me, then he undid his jeans so I could suck him and make him hard enough to fuck me, but he already was, he bent me over and ripped off my underwear. "God, you're so wet," he said as he thrust his cock into my pussy, fucking me like that for a while before pushing me back onto the sofa and mounting me, kissing me while he plunged his cock into me. I was distracted, every time I heard footsteps on the stairs outside I thought it might be Magic coming back to check on me, after the incident that morning, but somehow the fear - the thought that this might be the last time! - excited me further, only not so the Professor - perhaps my relatively subdued nature unsettled him, for he stopped and said, "I think you need to suck me some more," sitting back on the sofa while I got on my hands and knees and sucked, and his cock was just right for sucking, hard enough to turn me on, yet not too hard for me to feel it growing harder in my mouth as my lips closed around the base of it and I ran my tongue up and down the shaft and over the swollen head.

Then he got up to go to the bathroom, and I just sat there on the sofa for a while thinking about things, and then I followed him into the bedroom, where he found me waiting for him on the bed when he emerged. "That's it, get on all fours," he said, dragging me down to the edge of the bed as I wriggled into position, and then holding the back of my neck with his hand and fucking me 'til I came. Exhausted by the strength of my orgasm I collapsed onto my stomach, but he hadn't had enough of me yet, grabbing my ass and pulling it up towards him so he could fuck me more - harder - hitting my swollen, post-orgasmic G-spot with every thrust, 'til all my nerves seemed to ring with the intensity of it, and I clutched the pillows with both hands and buried my face into them to keep from screaming as I came so violently I could hardly bear it.

And then when he turned me around to fuck me more I was limp and unresisting, my pussy slack and wet against his cock as he thrust into me faster and faster, finally pulling back and grabbing my head to bring my mouth to his cock to receive his come. I did as he had instructed me the day before, sucking each long spurt gently, and then as they started to slow, sucking harder to get every last drop of his come into my mouth before I swallowed.

And then he showered and left. I don't think I spoke a single word the entire time.

In my heart, it was so real.

2010-09-25T09:30:00.000-07:00

The thing about carrying on an affair with a married person is that not only will that married person never choose you over his/her marriage (this is common knowledge, I don't think anyone could be stupid enough to have any illusions about this), but in actual fact (and this may not be quite as clear), your whole affair is probably completely insignificant to the other person involved - a flash in the pan, easily forgotten like yesterday's news about someone being stoned to death in Iran. And really you can quite easily see why this would be - it's because the end of the affair changes nothing whatsoever in a married person's life. Whereas the end of a marriage... now that's a whole other story.

And this particularly holds true for men, because they're all homebodies at heart. It's a myth, in my opinion, that men are the ones more interested in sex. They're just less fussy about whom they do it with - but if you think about it, that's quite possibly because they're actually less interested in it. They value it less. Less than work and money and companionship and home-cooked meals and blah blah I can hardly stay awake long enough to finish the sentence.

Of course, they'll tell you all sorts of lies for as long as they actually are still interested, but I personally don't believe this should be held against them. Everyone over the age of, let's say, 20, ought to know that these are lies. Or not even lies as much as, let's say, fleeting truths. But what a downer it would be if everyone felt the need to put words to the unspoken asterisk at the end of all that heartfelt hyperbole. Mood-killerrrrrrr, as Cybersex would say.

And on top of it all, not only is love by its very nature fleeting and a love affair totally meaningless, there's also the fact that the very things you love about a person are inevitably the first things to disappear once you actually enter into a relationship with that person. For instance, one of the things which attracted me to the Professor initially was that he was so forthcoming. He told me everything. Now, talking to him is like talking to a (fire)wall. I programmed a bot at university which was more communicative than he is. Man, I know deaf-mutes that talk more than he does. Not really. I just wanted to be politically-incorrect there for a second. Actually, not really that either - I just wanted to point it out afterwards in a self-referential and bloggishly whimsical manner.

Of course I could replace the Professor in the beat of a heart - an aching, overworked heart. It's just a pity that good looks and personality seem so rarely to co-exist in a person. I know of only a couple of instances where they do. I mean, literally a couple. Of course, one of those is Magic, and yet his is a personality which most people, if not everyone, would find horribly abrasive. But then that's the thing about a personality, it can be quite an unsettling thing to discover in a person. One is so accustomed to its absence. Sort of like a shot of rum in one's Coke. It's a little shocking at first, especially if all you were expecting was a refreshing and sugary drink. But then after a while you get used to it and even start to find it quite enjoyable. Only that's generally not long before the point where you throw up all over the place and vow never to touch the stuff again.

Kind of like love, don't you think?

Pristeen

2010-09-20T05:29:00.000-07:00

Oh man, I don't know what has happened to me, I have become a sex demon again. I would've thought that by the third trimester this would be over. I must have some sort of hormonal imbalance or something. (I actually went once to get my testosterone level measured, thinking my sex drive could be the result of some abnormality - but no, everything was completely normal.)

After bragging about how I was by no means slipping once again into the underworld of pr0n addiction, I actually found myself with two separate videos playing, one on T.V. and one on the Internet, at the same time. Though this time it was a slightly more legitimate activity as I was supposedly watching in conjunction with Magic. I say "supposedly" because in fact watching pron with a man is a distinctly one-sided experience. By that I mean that it is generally the man doing all the watching while I spend the entire pr0n sucking cock and not getting to watch anything. (Though in this case that was no great loss as the film in question revolved around a series of medical experiments gone horribly wrong, with the blonde bimbo doctor forced to fellate the victims to make up for her mistake - actually it sounds pretty hot the way I just told it, but take my word for it, it wasn't really that hot.)

What struck me about this incident, though, was the rather frightening realisation that I had been sucking the Professor's cock for so long that I had completely forgotten how to do it for Magic. All I could remember was that he likes it an entirely different way, without being able to recall, of course, exactly what way. See, this is why I have my doubts about all the online tips one can find on how to give great blowjobs - not everyone seems to like the same things. So anyway, I just tried to make sure to check myself every time I found myself doing something which I remembered the Professor specifically saying he likes. And then since Magic is a sex fiend like me, the two of us are always trying out new things on each other even after ten years of marriage, so I figured even if I made an unrecognised move it shouldn't sound too much alarm.

In fact, I was the one alarmed when at first it seemed that even Magic wasn't getting quite as hard as usual, but then I remembered that at a certain point in the course of a blowjob he inevitably needs to switch to the supine position, as that, for him, is the coming position (at least as far as oral sex concerned). Yes, some people can actually come from oral sex. Though I should think that for most people, like me, it should come as more of a surprise to know that some people can't - but indeed some can't.

It is my secret dream, though, to make the Professor come from oral sex. Not that I actually believe I have any chance of making this happen. Who am I to think that I might succeed where all others have failed?

Lessons on Sexiness

2010-09-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

So now I've set a new record - 3 lovers in 24 hours. And I didn't even shower in between. Oooh, hahaha. Well, technically, one of the three was myself, so that doesn't really count. But hey, who's counting (or even reading) anyway?

Not that I'm slipping back into the dingy world of Internet porn addiction (well, I hope not), but the Viking had sent me a couple of links for my viewing pleasure:

http://xhamster.com/movies/399963/secretary_in_office_gets_fucked.html

http://xhamster.com/movies/90000/amateur_arab_teen_gets_fucked_in_ass.html

I liked them both (more so the first, despite the second being undoubtedly "wonderful of suggestion" as recommended by the Clone, I had my computer on mute so missed out on much of the suggestion - though I did find the girl very beautiful, almost certainly amateur and alarmingly reminiscent of my ex-sister-in-law). But also, in so doing, I discovered this new resource for free online pr0n. On which I also found this gem:

http://xhamster.com/movies/442239/young_amateurcunt_used.html

Yes, I admit I am very ignorant of Internet pron. But unlike most of you young 'uns, I remember the days when the Internet was as yet comprised almost solely of several thousand pages of pr0n, and nothing else. And back in those days, I had perused them all. I can't remember how exactly I came to this conclusion, which has indeed been challenged many times since then, but how else can one explain the countless hours I spent glued to my computer screen, supposedly engrossed in various programming assignments, and yet with nary a line of code to show for it? Oh yes, I spent my 21st birthday getting drunk on rum while browsing through Internet porn (and also chatting up random strangers online, that was another thing one could do back then - in fact more easily than one could keep in touch with one's actual friends and acquaintances, who more than likely had never even heard of the Internet).

In any case, I never meant to enact a total blackout on porn, for, as Ryan Kwanten's character Jason Stackhouse says in True Blood, success in the sack doesn't just come naturally - his is because he "work[s] out like a motherfucker and watch[es] a lotta porn to learn stuff". Which is actually not a bad way to improve one's sexiness, in my opinion. At least that's what I do - I run 30 miles a week (even now, 6 months pregnant), lift weights and read/watch everything I can lay my eyes on to do with sex and all things sexual. And it really is a good way to learn stuff.

Really, my only problem now is coming too quickly, but I am trying to learn to hold back, hold back... all the while flirting with the blue screen of numbness and premature orgasm death. But that doesn't seem to be too much of a risk these days.

Lunch

2010-09-17T17:34:00.000-07:00

Everything was conspiring against me - the long black hair his wife had found wrapped around his cock the day before, the conference call I was supposed to have with the Zonglets at 1:30, and Magic's deathly cold which meant that I wasn't actually sure he had left for work that morning. A few frantic text messages later I confirmed that he had, but was planning to return "in an hour or two". Every extrasensory fibre in my body screamed at me to cancel... but the sensory fibres won out in the end and I didn't.

In fact I raced home so quickly that I got there with more than enough time to rip off my dress and high-heeled shoes and stand by the window anxiously awaiting him in a black lace camisole and thigh-highs. Well, the moment I saw him walking across the courtyard I felt my wetness spring forth and no sooner had he entered the door than I attacked him, my lips glued to his as I unbuttoned his shirt and he fumbled to untie his shoelaces and undo his belt before finally presenting me with the swelling erection which I took into my mouth as deep as I possibly could. I felt his cock hit the back of my throat as he pulled down one of my camisole straps to pluck out my right breast and rub the nipple in time to the strokes of my tongue on his cock. I was so turned on I felt my thigh muscles stiffen and tighten and almost thought I might come then and there. But at the same time I somehow began to fear that he wasn't as hard as he should have been, and so I sucked him deeper and harder but still couldn't shake this new and nagging paranoia that I might not turn him on as he does me.

Finally he said, "Enough of this - I want pussy" - normally he fingerfucks me a bit first, but even though this is his speciality, it suited me just fine to dispense with the preliminaries, for I could hardly wait as it was, bending over and spreading my ass cheeks with one hand so he could more easily slide his cock into my pussy. He fucked me like this for a few minutes, my excitement mounting to a crescendo, only to suddenly stop and hold back coyly, waiting for me to whimper and wriggle my ass back towards him in desperation, begging him to fuck me more. Which he did, of course, 'til I cried out and my legs stiffened and trembled, and then he had me lie back on the sofa so he could mount me, my whole body tense and quivering. I clutched him to me as he thrust his cock inside me, my pussy beginning to clench around it almost instantly as I came and came again, moaning into his mouth as he kissed me.

"I'm so close to coming," he said, pausing all of a sudden as if he really were on the brink, but I knew better than that, I knew it didn't even mean he would come at all that day. And of course time was of the essence - Magic might be home any moment! So I shoved my hips up against him, writhing around his cock and squeezing it with my pussy 'til he started to fuck me again, faster, while I tried to hold still and stifle my cries so he could concentrate on coming, squeezing his cock every now and then with my pussy to help him along the way. "Oh but I want to come in your mouth," he said, pausing again, then suddenly he began to fuck me harder, so hard that my whole body jerked back and forth to the thrusts of his hips - gasping, powerless, I was like a rag doll impaled on his cock. I felt the tension rising in me, I couldn't stop it, couldn't even think of his orgasm or the urgency of the situation any more, and then all of a sudden he drew back, his cock still deep within me, looking down at me as he climaxed inside me.

Forty minutes later I was sitting in my boss's office, helping to translate both ends of a conference call with the Zonglets as the come oozed from my pussy down the sides of my thighs and onto my chair. Even my boss looked hot to me then...

They can have their diamonds and we'll have our pearls...

2010-09-01T07:20:00.001-07:00

I'm depressed because I can't seduce a girl.

Coming (Back)

2010-08-31T02:55:00.000-07:00

Well, it turns out I didn't really have to worry about my growing sex obsession - it has all but drained away after a mere half an hour with the Professor.

As is often the case when I haven't seen him for a while, my excitement was such that it seemed to override all mental function, resulting in an utter lack of self-consciousness rendering me incapable of executing any of the contrived guiles I had devised in my mind for our next encounter, and also, unfortunately, a startling dearth of distinct memories (well, it isn't really that startling to me any more, of course).

However, I do remember thinking, after the Professor had pumped me full of come (that being as always an exceptionally memorable event), that a man's orgasm seems to be so much more remarkable than a woman's. The build-up, when I feel him swelling harder and somehow tighter and tenser inside me, seeming almost to transmit a booster shot of arousal and excitement to me through my walls of my pussy, and then the pause, as he hovers on the edge of coming, which this time seemed to last even longer than usual (to the point where I was unsure if it would really even happen), and then the burst of release, flooding me and filling me with waves of sensual pleasure.

But then maybe it's just that my orgasms don't seem to be as distinct during sex as they can be from oral or manual stimulation, though they can often be more pleasurable as the after-effects last longer - I've never felt like I've been drugged through oral or manual stimulation alone. Though in my younger days I was, in fact, a "femme fontaine" - yes, a squirter - but I learned how to control that involuntary reflex action after much embarrassment (not that any of my male partners ever contributed to this embarrassment - well, at least Magic didn't, being the only one of the two people who'd ever made me come, at that point in time, to have that particular effect on me).

Turning Japanese

2010-08-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

I have decided to break my addiction to Internet porn. Partly because I think making oneself come four times in one day is too much, at least for anyone over the age of 15. But mainly because if I see another semi-erect penis entering a waxed asshole I think I will die of boredom.

And also because the growth within me is starting to respond to the cries of fake arousal on YouPorn...

Have I Gone Too Far Inside My Mind?

2010-08-28T05:42:00.000-07:00

I have begun to sink into a deep depression and/or sex obsession, to the point where I am forced to consider offers from bisexual girls, sadomasochistic couples, and gangs of black men.

Believe it or not, the gang of black men is actually currently in the lead - you can probably see why, from the picture, but aside from that, they seem pretty nice, for a troupe of marauding gang-bangers.

Oh Yes

2010-08-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

Abandonned by both Magic and the Professor, I accepted a date with Sitting Bulle, a long-time would-be polyamorous suitor, with whom I knew nothing would ever happen, because he's too shy to ever make the first move, and so am I. However, even this meagre excuse for a date had to be cancelled when a friend of mine asked if I could meet her for drinks after work and in so doing introduce her to Sly, a black ex-model who works with me and who I had long wanted to set up with her. And then even that sorry excuse for an outing was cancelled, because Sly had forgotten to shave that day (I thought only women did this... guess not).

So instead I decided to make a virtual sex date with Anders, one of the few remaining people in this world never to have irritated me. Not a cybersex date, mind you, but the simple fulfillment of a long-standing promise to come ~~on his face~~ while looking at a picture of his face.

Imagine my surprise, then, to find that he had uploaded some new and extremely sexy pictures of himself (well, one extremely sexy picture, and one of him with his head in the mouth of a cardboard crocodile). Because, never having seen the rest of Anders, I'd had no idea that it could in fact be just as sexy as his face. Unfortunately not quite sexy enough to bring me to the point of orgasm unassisted by YouPorn.com and Antonina, the neighborhood hussy, but as I felt the crucial moment approaching I quickly alt-tabbed from scenes of double penetration to sexy Anders' face and came all over it.

And you know, Anders was right to suggest this manoeuvre - I had inwardly mocked him for it and wondered what the point was, and yet, afterwards, I felt a strange surge of closeness and a heightening of my physical attraction to him (and a striking lack of interest in Antonina and her neighours, who were, with strange disregard for the rules of pornography, in exactly the same positions as I had left them).

In retrospect, and now that the oxytocin has worn off, he does look a little like a cricketer, and, as anyone can tell you, cricketers are not really all that sexy, but I know Anders, and he is.

Anniversary

2010-08-20T09:54:00.000-07:00

It's hard to write this post now that my torrid love affair with the Professor is a distant memory. But then, my memories do tend to distance themselves with great speed.

I came to work on Wednesday morning dressed in a slinky black skirt and tight silky top, straight-haired and waxed for my date with the Professor that night. And then I received this off-hand message :

[...]

No, not literally that. Why can I find no trace of it in my records? Ah yes, in a fit of pique I kept no records that day. But the gist of the message was that his father's train was not at 18h49, but at 22h00, and this meant he could not see me that night after all.

Shocked and disappointed, I dashed off a line or two about how he was killing me, replete with broken-hearted and pouting emoticons, and signed off, resigned to my fate. However, alone with my thoughts, I found myself entertaining unaccustomed suspicions.

First of all, what kind of train leaves precisely at 22h00? None that I know of, and certainly not the Eurostar to London. In fact, the last of these, if I'm not mistaken (and I'm not, because I checked on their website), leaves the Gare du Nord at 21h13. This was a lie if ever I've been told one.

Inclined as I may have been to panic, tear at my hair and rend my clothes in my distress, I attempted to compose myself with the reminder that, after all, the Professor doesn't owe me his fidelity, there's nothing I could do to enforce it even if I wanted to, and tearful accusations would only result in the kind of perfunctory and empty reassurance they deserve.

So I went out for a dismal drink with friends that night and returned to work the next morning fired with resolve - to avoid the Professor at all costs.

Of course, that didn't last.

A few tearful accusations and perfunctory reassurances later, I suggested that since the Professor had fucked me on his wife's birthday, it was only right that he should fuck me on my wedding anniversary.

Naturally, he asked when this was.

I told him, tomorrow.

"That can be arranged!" he said.

So the next day, Take II. I spotted him on the train on my way home at lunch, in the reflection of the train window. Though I couldn't see his face, I knew at once it was him. I kissed him passionately on the escalator going up towards the exits. "Kiss me like that again and I'll fuck you before we even get to your place," he told me. I've never known it to take so long to get home from the station. I was so wet and swollen, it hurt to walk.

I attacked him as soon as we got to the courtyard, he plunged his fingers into my aching pussy, dripping wet with excitement. I fucked myself on his fingers for a while until he made me turn around and go inside. My legs were weak and trembling as I climbed up the stairs, barely able to see where I was going, my vision so clouded with lust. As soon as we got inside I sank to my knees, undoing his belt and taking him into my mouth with one hand as I removed my skirt and began to rub against my wet pussy with the other, inserting first one finger, then two as I moaned with my lips around his cock, hot with desire.

I was so swollen and slippery, though, that I could barely feel anything. I needed him inside me, filling me up and stretching me out with his cock. Finally he pulled me up and told me to turn around and bend over. As soon as he entered me I felt the first waves of pleasure hit me. Moving back and forth on his cock and grinding against it as he fucked me from behind I wanted him deeper and deeper inside me. His fingers were dripping with my tart wetness as he grabbed my face to pull me back harder onto his cock, and I sucked at them hungrily, running my tongue around his wedding ring until I could no longer taste any trace of myself. Finally my legs trembled and went weak at the knees and it seemed his cock was the only thing holding me up. He lay me down on the sofa and climbed on top of me, thrusting into me and bringing me to orgasm again and again as I cried out in pleasure.

Eventually he extricated himself from me, spraying me with droplets of sweat from his hair as he got up to go to the bathroom, while I just lay there, helpless and unable to move for a few moments, I was so well fucked.

Once I had regained my composure somewhat, I followed him into the bathroom where I went down on him some more, once again enjoying the taste of my hot pussy on his cock, while he forced my face towards the mirror to make me watch myself with my mouth full of cock. Then he swung me around and bent me down over the edge of the tub to fuck me again, pounding into me until I could barely keep my balance.

After that he asked me to get on the bed, on my hands and knees, so he could fuck me on all fours, eventually pushing me down onto the bed and lying on top of me, with my legs held together between his so he had to force himself between my thighs to penetrate me. I was moaning and whimpering when he pulled himself off me, begging him to fuck me more, but he had to shower and get ready to go back to work. I managed to suck him a little more in the shower, upon which he naturally had to fuck me again from behind, with my legs spread wide apart this time, it was so intense I could barely stand it, and in fact collapsed on to the floor afterwards in a sexual daze, my limbs like jelly and my entire body quivering as he extended a hand to me to help me up.

"Happy anniversary, darling," he said.

Come on Eileen

2010-08-14T07:18:00.000-07:00

I wasn't expecting to see the Professor on Monday. I thought he'd still be in Brittany with his wife and kids. He never tells me anything.

I wore my blue striped dress, the obscenely short, transparent one I can't wear without underwear. And tights. And even so, Magic commented on the hostile stares directed at me from the women I passed on the way to work. I love it that they hate me.

So I get to work and there he is. Well, a couple of hours later, and online, complaining about tiredness. But I'd spent two hours the night before making myself come thinking of him and I didn't care, I begged him to come over after work and let me blow him in the bathroom of my office building. Still, I didn't know if he would come.

He rarely does.

He texted me at seven, to say he was outside. I ran down in my transparent dress, stripped of tights and underwear, and when I saw him across the street I couldn't, I couldn't hold back... I was all over him as soon as he got to the door. He had to unentangle himself from me to suggest we take it inside.

We went into the bathroom and I couldn't even wait to close the door, let alone get into a stall. Luckily he had the presence of mind to get us into one - the same one we'd used the last time. He took off his rucksack and placed it on the toilet lid - there wasn't a lot of room in there. As soon as he'd unzipped his pants I had taken the length of his cock into my mouth and was sucking like my life depended on it. I couldn't get enough of him. He grabbed my head and moved it back and forth over his cock, fucking my mouth deep and hard. I didn't even care if anyone came in and heard me gagging on his thick hard cock.

"I want pussy," he said, pulling out and swinging me around. I steadied myself with a hand against the wall and bent over to let him lift up my dress and plunge himself into my wet and swollen pussy, fucking me hard as I gasped in excitement, pushing my ass back against him to get as much of him into me as I could. And just when I thought it was too much to bear, he swung me around again, pushing me onto my knees and shoving himself into my mouth again for me to lick and suck my tart wetness off his cock. At the same time he slipped his hand inside the top of my dress to grab my right breast. Now I don't know why but my breasts have been feeling extra sensitive lately and the feeling of my new C-cup fitting so snugly in his hand and his fingers rubbing against the nipple with my mouth full of cock was so incredible that I could have gone on like that forever, but he turned me around again and fucked me some more, and this time I was even wetter, his cock was sliding in and out of me and I began to come, my legs trembling and my cheek brushing against the top of his rucksack as he continued to fuck me, ruthlessly, holding my ass open and rubbing my wetness over my asshole with his thumb.

"I should just fuck you in the ass," he threatened, inserting his thumb ever so slightly into my sphincter, driving me crazy with excitement as I moved back and forth on his cock, still supporting myself with my hands on the wall as I pushed myself against his cock and thumb!

I felt like I was almost on the verge of passing out when he stopped, pulled my head towards my cock and told me to get ready to receive his come. I closed my eyes and felt the first hot spurts hit my face as I opened my mouth to suck the rest of it from his pulsing member. And honestly I think I've never been happier than I was at that moment, with his thick hot come all over my face and tongue, and it was so sweet, so warm and sweet, I didn't want to waste a drop of it, eagerly lapping it off his fingers as he caught the drops spilling from my chin and cheeks and held them to my lips.

Love? Or just a lovely blow-job...

What is the Product of Demented Sex?

2010-08-08T06:03:00.000-07:00

How does one get from this:

...to this?

Seaside Town

2010-05-07T06:40:00.000-07:00

I knew this had to be the first of my retroactive sex-and-love-log posts. It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Often, one does not identify the happiest day of one's life until after it is already over, or almost over. And this was no different.

I was a mess of nerves for days beforehand, wondering what to wear, how to avoid getting caught in an elaborate lie, and whether I would be able to make myself seem interesting to him for such a long period of time. In fact I was busy messaging the Clone that very morning debating how long it would be before he pulled over and asked me to get out of the van!

I pretended to go to work that morning, only to turn around halfway and come back home, where we had an hour or so to kill before the van was ready. Sadly I can no longer remember the details but I believe it ended with his come in my mouth.

That taken care of, we made our way to the Gare de Lyon, and the car rental place. Watching him at the desk, filling out the forms and dealing with the car rental people gave me an indescribable thrill. I felt privileged, to be a part of such a mundane activity, and yet at the same time a voyeur, witnessing aspects of his life which I had no right to see.

We sat down at the little cafe opposite for a coffee while we waited. We talked about holidays, he told me about his honeymoon. I was so jealous.

The van was ready, we went out to pick it up. It was smaller than I knew a van could be. But I knew I would be uncontrollably turned on to watch him drive it. In fact, I couldn't take my eyes off him, from his impatient fidgeting and tapping of the steering wheel as we inched past the street market at Daumesnil to his look of steely concentration on the open highway - even when I was writhing in my seat with his fingers in my pussy (though not so much with his cock in my mouth).

We must have tried every pit stop between Paris and Calais in our quest to find somewhere to consummate our love. But even the most secluded and promising spot would suddenly reveal a harried family picnic in progress, a somnolent trucker reclined behind the wheel, or a motorcycle gang passing jubilantly through.

Eventually we decided to satisfy a different sort of hunger, and stopped at a nondescript place offering sandwiches and french fries (and, I discovered inside, a buffet of hot food - but this was no time for gluttony!). He suspected the woman behind the counter might have taken it upon herself to toast a couple of jambon panini for us - indeed she had. Perhaps if I had been someone other than a finicky vegetarian we would have just had those. But he corrected her mistake and we had goat's cheese instead, as we discussed the convertible we had spotted in the parking lot outside, and the boring banker types who eventually returned to it. He commented on my delicate manner of eating - all an act for him, of course.

We got to Calais eventually, driving through crowded streets where he made me come on his fingers, to a parking lot in the centre of town. It was cold and windy, and there was no-one around, so he took me in the back of the van, bent over, in the dark, and then my shins rubbing against the dusty floor as I straddled him. I was worried about my stockings, until we discovered that I could rest my legs on his arms, and, in fact, he could use them to help rock me back and forth with his cock even deeper inside me.

We emerged cautiously for a stroll around town - a short stroll, for, as became apparent from the way he was hopping from foot to foot in front of a statue of King Edward, he needed to use a restroom, badly. (A circumstance which I found unutterably cute.)

And yet I can't remember exactly where we found this restroom - did we stop somewhere for a drink? I think perhaps we did - we must have - yet where, and what, escapes me.

Then followed a long, cold, windy walk to the beach, queried for directions by a couple, roughly the same age and ethnic make-up as us. (I wondered if this had predisposed them to us... and also if they noticed, and what they thought of, our passionate embrace under a bridge a few minutes later.)

We got to the beach, and it was just as a beach should be - cold, windy, deserted. But not deserted enough for him to take me, as I coyly proposed, in the narrow space between two changing cabins, for we could see a group of intrepid youngsters playing in the sand behind. So we kissed for a long time, but nothing could warm me, not even his amorous hands on my cold body, so eventually we were drawn to the relative shelter of a dismal snack bar, where we purchased two insipid waffles, liberally doused with candied sprinkles, which even I could not bring myself to consume.

Back in town, after a brief stop in the van, we found a nice place to have dinner, and freshen up. I returned to my seat, somewhat self-conscious under his gaze. "See?" he said. "How every man turns his head to look at you as you walk by?"

The day was ending. We drove out to the other part of Calais, where I would catch my train back to Paris, and parked outside the station for another interlude in the back of the van, where by now it was really completely dark, and I only knew he was coming when I felt his hot semen shoot into me, and then stream down my thighs as I lay there, utterly wasted.

However we still had some time to kill before my train, so we sat in the front necking until a car pulled up beside us - the police! They made us dismount and interrogated us. All this only added to the fun! But when we'd finally gotten rid of them we decided I had better check in, and he left me at the gare.

Sitting in the train, leafing through a magazine article on Jarvis Cocker, I was already crest-fallen. It had been one of the best days of my life, and it was over, and I knew nothing like it would ever happen again. He had fed me, and fucked me 'til my pussy felt like it was gaping open and dripping with come, and yet I felt a hollow emptiness, where he should have been, and wasn't.

Do You Remember the First Time?

2009-07-01T18:39:00.000-07:00

Just as I knew Calais would be the first of my retroactive sex-and-love-log posts, I knew this would be the second. It was nowhere near our hottest encounter, but it was the one that changed my life forever.

We had been carrying on a virtual love affair for quite some time - about a month - having met just a few times in the flesh, where things had not progressed much further than kissing and finger-fucking at our favourite bar. And yet online the heat had been turned up to a degree I felt would be impossible to reach in real life.

How wrong, as he was to remind me so many times in the future, I was!

I arrived at his work and awaited him in the lobby. I don't remember feeling nervous, but surely my heart must have been pounding in my chest? Or had he worked me into such a frenzy of excitement that it had overridden all else?

He came down to meet me, looking cool as a cucumber. I was amazed at his nonchalance - when he knew why I was there! He led me through the corridors, to the meeting room which he had reserved for us. It looked like an old-fashioned living room, with wood paneling, a fireplace and a mirror, in front of which, for the first time - the first of many times - he drew out his cock for me. It was reddish and had a large head, just as he had described it. I was surprised to taste it - his skin was sweet, and fragrant, like chocolate. There was a large table in the centre of the room, covered with leather, and this was where, after struggling out of my ridiculously tight trousers, I perched, having somewhat incongruously left my platform shoes on, in the hope that this would excite him (in fact, as he later revealed, they had the opposite effect - too goth). And that was where he parted my legs for the first time - the first of many times - and I lay back and
thought to myself, "This is it!" and felt the head of his cock slowly penetrate the swollen lips of my pussy. And so it was that I lost my extramarital virginity. And how strange it was that I felt no guilt at all!

At some point he withdrew, and plucking the bedraggled condom off, presented his cock to me again, as I opened my mouth to receive hot spurts of come like a wave crashing down my throat! Licking my lips, I arose and got dressed, and we walked out together.

"Perhaps I should buy you lunch," he suggested.

"I should think so!"

And it was my kind of lunch too - coffee and cheesecake at Starbucks. He had a muffin, plucking the top off before making his way to the end, as we kept a watchful eye out for people from his work and wondered what the bathrooms were like and if they could be accessed in tandem. And for many months after that, I could never walk past a Starbucks - any Starbucks, not just that one - without thinking of him and the first time I fucked him.