Sunday, November 25, 2007


I was on my knees and elbows on the bed, waiting.

She had the bulb of the feeldoe in her flushed, postorgasmic pussy. The feeldoe's cock, bright blue, had a condom over it and she was covering it in lube.

Then she began to push it into me. Gently at first, carefully. She wasn't used to being the one doing the fucking, didn't want to hurt me. I opened myself up for her, relishing the feeling of her prosthetic cock penetrating my greedy asshole.

So good.

Then she started to fuck me. Slowly at first, then with more vigor. I shivered and shuddered, pushed against her, ordered her to fuck me harder. I only had to say it once. Moments later she was moaning and fucking and slapping my ass like a pro.

And I got well and truly fucked.

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Sunday, November 25, 2007


Yesterday, a beautiful woman brought herself to orgasm.

She was imagining she had dressed up as a prostitute and waited for a call. When called, she was instructed to go to a hotel - the hotel where my girlfriend and I were staying. I paid her and then she did as I told her, while my girlfriend watched. She imagined these things and came, thinking about me pushing a vibrator into her wet pussy while my cock was deep inside my girlfriend's.

This morning she came twice more.

This afternoon she told me so.

And then she offered to get on a plane and come over to make it happen for real.

We'll see.

For now, I'm smug and horny. I love the thought that thousands of kilometers away, pussies get wet, clench and throb, and women come because of ideas I've put in their heads

I like, no, I love having that kind of power.

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Tuesday, September 25, 2007


Code names. We agreed on code names, because being incredibly famous, unique and special snowflakes we didn't want the swingers Googling us if we decided we didn't like them.

The official plan: go to a well known pub, SMS the hosts, meet, greet, flock off to fuck.

Our plan: go to a well known pub, SMS the hosts, meet, greet, run away. Baby steps.

We had dinner together, not far from the venue. Walked hand in hand to the pub, nervously. What were we doing? Why? We weren't even horny, just nervous. Wrong time of the month really, but we were still curious.

We got to the pub, SMSed the hosts. We had convinced ourselves that it would be just us and the peeps organizing this, it would all be a miserable failure as we left. We were therefore bemused and surprised at the reply: at the back bar, about 8 couples

8 couples? 8 couples! That's 16 people!

Turns out they were pretty nice. Also turns out we were too flummoxed to remember our assumed identities and kept calling each other by our real names. The host at least humored us. Oh well. We stayed for drinks, relaxed. Chatted a bit with one of the couples, then another couple. The host wandered by now and again to make a joke and put people at ease. More and more couples kept arriving.

After about 3 drinks the word rippled through the crowd: time to go!

I looked at Rosa. This was our cue to run away; but I had relaxed, she had relaxed. We had people we were comfortable talking to and we were curious, so we decided to go along. We'd told people we were absolute beginners and probably only voyeurs at this point; noone seemed to mind.

Time to go!

Slowly the group made it's way out of the pub, gathered outside like students on a field trip, waiting for the teacher to lead them back to the bus. It was quite amusing, actually. Jokes were made.

Then a friend of a friend, an attractive young woman we'd met at a party a couple of times before crossed the street and looked right at us. Ohshitohshitoshit. Be cool.

I grin and walk right to her, bravely launching into routine small talk. Rosa follows, slightly more flustered, makes the excuse that she wasn't wearing her glasses and was unsure who she was talking to. Our friend of a friend jokingly replies "What? Two nights of passion and you've forgotten me already?"

We titter.

...and worry silently that one of the swingers might overhear, take her seriously, invite her along...

But instead the group wanders off without us, as we continue making conversation. Once we've exhausted all the mandatory pleasantries, our friend of a friend wanders off. Following the swingers, of course. Catching up with them immediately, in fact, leading her bike and having a hard time getting through the massive mob.

Rosa and I just stand still, laughing. Waiting for her to get far enough away that we can follow without giving away our lies. Hoping she doesn't overhear anything too incriminating.

We catch up with the group in the corner shop where everyone is buying booze. We follow their lead, buy a bottle. Follow their lead down the street and follow their lead into the apartment that had been rented for the occasion.

The tiny, barren, oddly shaped apartment. It felt quite crowded, with over a dozen couples milling awkwardly about. Many of them inexperienced like us. Young, older, all shapes and sizes and colors.

Someone tried to find some music on the tiny telly, but gave up. Bare light bulbs cast unflattering shadows; I turned off the light in the kitchenette where we'd pitched camp.

After a bit the host announced, somewhat formally, that he and his girlfriend would be adjourning to the bedroom and people were welcome to join them. From that moment on, whenever we saw him he was wandering around with a t-shirt, socks and no trousers. With his really quite impressive dong flopping about. Not exactly elegant, but somehow comical enough to not add to people's insecurities.

Soon after the announcement, his girlfriend returned, pouting. "It's no fun if no one is going to watch!" she whined.

That broke the ice. The voyeurs gathered in the corridor outside the bedroom, craning their heads. The hosts got it on, soon other couples joined them. The couples we'd been idly chatting with in the kitchen turned to each other and began to kiss, touch. I watched as the woman I'd been chatting with had her little dress lifted up, and up, and up, by her tanned boyfriend.

Soon we were alone in the kitchen.

At this point, we were both quite drunk. I was starting to get a bit horny from the things going on around us, but Rosa was in more of a bemusedly shocked state; she was happy to watch, but wasn't interested in making out with me, let alone anyone else. We spent some time in the corridor with the voyeurs, but after a while began to feel that I couldn't really stay there any longer without doing something. As Rosa was emphatically not ready to do more than watch, I suggested we leave and go somewhere private.

I shook hands with the man wearing no pants and we made our belated escape.

Well, we tried to anyway. What actually happened was we found ourselves stuck at the gates and ended up having to return to request a code which would actually let us out. I promptly forgot it before reaching the gates, but luckily Rosa has better memory than I.

So on the second try, we truly did escape, only to find it wasn't even midnight and we had time to go for a quiet drink together to talk things over. Which we did.

We were glad we went; it was an experience! Not a bad experience, not a fantastic one either, but definitely an interesting and amusing one. Once I'd regained my composure and we'd talked a bit, I began to regret calling things short. It would have been fascinating to see how things developed. But such is life; and it was the right decision at the time, we were out of sync and needed to regroup.

We'll probably give it another try, sometime.

I still want to see my girl on her knees in front of another man, she still wants to see me touching someone else...

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Wednesday, September 19, 2007


I, of course, am not always the white boy who suffers from the blues.

Sometimes I'm just a regular bloke who goes to work and has a girlfriend and has pints with his friends. This is, in fact, most of the time. Most of the time the white boy stays in his invisible place, in the back seat of my mind, not in control but merely watching, making snarky comments and lewd observations as my politically correct self does my best to navigate everyday life.

Only on this blog and in bed, or complaining to my nearest and dearest, does the spoilt white boy really take the wheel.

This is as it should be.

Except, if all goes to plan, tomorrow I'll be meeting people as the spoilt white boy from this page. Young Dublin swingers (wannabe?), meet and greet, at a well known pub. In the flesh. With the option to flock to a hotel afterwards for even more flesh.

What if they turn out to be my coworkers, nieces and nephews or, heaven forbid, landlords?

It could happen.

Murphy's law says it must.

But, even if Murphy's law is obeyed... odds are they'll be more embarressed than I.

Sunday, September 09, 2007


I remember when I first slept with her.

I remember how she looked sitting on top of me, her flat stomach and proud breasts filling my vision as my erection filled her.

I remember the note she left the next morning, after I had chivalrously left her alone in my flat. A note on an envelope, thanking me for a good time, adorably signed. An impeccably good sport about her philandering host dashing off to honor a previous engagement he had with another lovely lady.

After that, a blur of sex, restaurants, drinks and dates. Her, some others, but increasingly her. I was inexorably drawn into orbit around her fiery curls and glorious body. And she seemed cool, even intrigued, by my womanizing ways. I remember thinking to myself, hopefully; have I found a partner in crime?

Then, suddenly, she was a prude and we were having a relationship. It wasn't just fucking, we were becoming a couple and jealousy and love and claustrophobia took center stage. We broke up, got back together again just to break up some more. And so on.

Finally I fled, hid on a crazy volcanic rock in the north Atlantic.


This morning as her mouth gently massaged the head of my cock I marveled at how lucky I am.

Somehow, since I got back and we inevitably got together again, it has all been as effortless as it was complicated before. What used to be good sex has become amazing sex. I ask for a blowjob, she happily obliges. I ask her to come on my face, again I get what I want. She begs me to come on her tits and I return her favours.

We discuss making babies and attending orgies.

Sometime in the future of course, not now, not next week, she's not ready.

Or so it seemed until she started browsing this afternoon. Suddenly we have a date and I realize that I had indeed found a partner in crime.

We'll see about that baby thing later.

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Monday, August 13, 2007


"Oh my god! That girl just friended me on Facebook, " cries my girlfriend. "She'll eat me alive! What will I do?"

I put my hand on her breast and my lips by her ear.

"You'll just do as we discussed. Get between her legs and lick her little clit, put a finger inside her and make her all wet and horny. And then you'll watch your boyfriend fuck her from behind."

She shivers and replies, "I think I'll just poke her."


Saturday, August 04, 2007

talking about...

I'm horny today. That's what my previous entry was about.

This entry was going to be me dramatically complaining about my current shortage of people to talk to about sex. I was going to cry out to The Internet, hoping for a stampede of enlightened, pervy people in my GMail and Google Talk.

Well, fuck that!

Not that I don't still want to talk. Please, feel free to drop me a line or even better, hit me up on the Google chat thing. Especially if you'd like to star in one of my posts...

But I'm not going to whine about how I've stopped talking to my ex-lovers about my love life or bemoan the fact that I've been slow to find others to discuss that particular topic with. I had reasons for doing so, but writing (and then deleting) a very whiny entry about it made me realize that I painted myself into this corner and I can leave it any time I want.

I just need to rethink my approach to things a little bit.

Step one is to stop being a whiny bitch.

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Saturday, August 04, 2007

domestic bliss

I came home from work, walked up the stairs shedding keys, shoes, jacket. Carrying a bag full of groceries.

At the top my girl stood waiting for me. Barely dressed really, although she had made an effort of sorts. Her perky, round breasts were nicely framed by her low-cut top. Her legs were bare and she had silky knickers on. The way they didn't quite cover her pink pussy gave it all away though.

I could tell what she'd been up to.

I played dumb. Kissed her hello and put my arms around her, the way I always do. Headed for the kitchen, knowing she'd follow me. Went through the motions of unpacking the food, getting ready to cook dinner.

"Maybe we should have a little cuddle first?" she suggested.

I put on my best leer.

"You don't want just a cuddle, girl." I pulled her to me.

She feigned innocence, but the way her body pressed against mine belied anything she could possibly have said. I took her hand and led her to the bed.

Orgasms and cuddles. A home-made burrito dinner and another session of fucking later, we slept. Then we woke up.


I love being a guy sometimes. I love waking up in the morning and feeling my cock grow hard. I love having a sexy, naked, freckled girl next to me. I love being able to simply roll over and press my chest against her lovely back, my cock against her delicious bottom, my lips to her sensitive neck. I love the simple joy that brings.

I love being able to run my fingers over her frame, feeling the curves of her hips and breasts. I rub my scruffy chin against her neck and put my hand between her legs. Sometimes it's caresses, sometimes it's a firm pressure, my hand hugging her pussy. Sometimes she's wet already and I just dip my finger in and slide...

Whatever I end up being in the mood for, it wakes her up.

She'll wake up a bit, press against me, rub her neck against my chin. Her lips will part in a silent moan as my fingers trace circles around her little clit. I'll watch her mouth and listen to her breath as my fingers move. So beautiful. And by now, wet.

The moans become audible.

My finger, slippery.

And about now, she's wide awake and can't wait anymore. She turns around and goes down. Her mouth hungry for my cock, which I'm happy to let her taste, lick and suck. She does it so well. I feel her tongue caressing me, watch her curls, the back of her head moving. As the feeling grows, it's not me that's moaning, it's her. Sounds of horny greed escape around the cock that plugs her mouth.

I lie back and enjoy it, for a bit. But only a bit.

"You're a right cocksucker, aren't you? Get off me, lie on your back."

She does as she's told, eyes wide and mouth open. I lie on my side next to her, put my hand around my erection and guide it between her legs, pushing just the tip into her slippery, swollen pussy.

"Now rub your clit. I want to feel you come on my naked cock. I want to feel you squeeze me, I want to feel your pussy vibrate on me."

And that's what happens. I pinch a nipple gently, moving my hips ever so slightly to rub the head of my cock back and forth inside her. Her fingers rub her clit just right, I stop moving now and again to enjoy the feeling of her fingers' vibration travelling throug her body and along the length of my erection. Then I move some more. And pause, feel. And move some more.

"You know, I'd love to do exactly this, lie next to you with my cock inside you while some slut sat on top of you, rubbing her clit over your face."

I slid a bit further into her.

"I'd like to lie here and watch while she got your face all wet, while you slid your tongue back and forth from her opening to her clit, around and back again."

Most of the way out again. Paused.

"And when I'd watched her come on your face, I'd pull out of you and get up on top of you, right behind her. I'd slide my cock into her pussy, right there in front of your face. I'd let you watch from up close as I fucked her. I'd let you watch as I slid in and out of her, so you could smell both of us and her wetness would drip onto your lips."

I slid a bit further in. The vibrations felt so good...

"I'd fuck her like that, right on top of you. And you'd watch from up close as we both came and I pumped her little pussy full of cum. I'd fuck her deep and hard and shoot my load into her, right there above your face. Then I'd pull out and my cum would come dripping out of her pussy and onto your lips."

I could feel her pussy grabbing me, now.

"And then she'd sit on your face again, you'd eat my cum out of her wet pussy. And I'd go back where I was and stick my cock back in you. My cock, covered with my cum and her juices, sliding back into you. And you'd come all over that filthy cock while the girl rubbed her soaking pussy all over your face."

And she came. I held still as she arched her back, gasping, pushing her wetness onto my now massive erection, her orgasm frantically massaging my cock.

When she was done, I pulled out, straddled her.

"You like that idea?"

She stared at me. "Oh god. Yes. I want that so much," she whispered.

I put my hand on my erection, moved it up and down a couple of times and shot my pent up load clear across her chest, hitting her just below the ear. And again, all over her chest. And again on her tits.

Then I put my hands on her cum-covered tits and played with them, rubbing my spunk all over her while she bucked under me and came again, without anything even touching her overexcited pussy.

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Saturday, July 07, 2007


I've got a roving eye. The rest of me doesn't stray much, but I love to look. Sometimes, if I'm feeling a little mischievous, it becomes a game. If I make eye-contact I score a point. If I get a smile, I get another. If she keeps looking after I look away, I win.

Another game is watching the married guys I work with. Funnily enough, most of them don't look around. At lunch, most of them just look at whoever they're talking to, look at their food, the table. Are they shy? Are they just not interested? It makes me wonder. A select few will, like me, let their eyes follow the faces or figures of girls walking by.

Does it mean anything? I dunno.

Yet another game. Go to a party, watch people drink. Follow their eyes, figure out who fancies who. Watch their bodies give away things they aren't even aware of themselves. It's not that hard, really. But I guess it's sort of the answer to that question I got the other day - how do you pick up chicks?

Eye contact, body language. Play the eye-contact game, flirt, plant seeds of interest. Pay attention to reactions and approach the ones that are already at least a little bit interested.

No one can pick up any girl he fancies. They do, after all, have minds of their own. But if you can read the signs and not waste your time on those who just aren't interested, then you've got a pretty good head start. Another game.

A game with the best prizes.