skin

"Shall we spend the night together?" she asked, frank as usual.

My drunken mind mulled that one over. A warm body would be nice.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty broken up about Maria. I'd like company, but that's all."

Sounded good to her.

We took a cab, stumbled haphazardly up the stairs, in. Jeans off, tops off, socks off... but we left the underwear on. She was wearing a blue bra and matching knickers. Simple but nice.

Climbed into bed together, touched.

She had the most wonderful skin. Smooth, firm, tanned skin, covering a surprisingly muscular body. I love the skin of a woman who takes care of herself, works out. This young lady was in good shape.

We experimented with a kiss or two, but it didn't click.

I helped her remove a contact lens.

We cuddled, enjoying the feel of each others' skin. Slept.

The next morning we cuddled a bit more. She gave me a short back-rub, I gave her a coffee.

Maybe I'm getting old, but lately it seems like some of my best one-night stands don't involve any sex at all. Sometimes just warm skin is enough.

changes

Eventful past few days. Maria came home, we had a smashing time, and then promptly broke up properly. Ouch.

Yesterday I was offered a new job. In Iceland, of all places!

Wild night-life, expensive beer, stunning nature, sexy women. New place, new faces.

I'm tempted...

come for me

I picked her up from the airport, wearing that jacket I know she likes, shaved to just the length of stubble she prefers. Hugged her, exchanged shy kisses, carried her bags for her out to the car.

We took a big detour. Up into the hills, the countryside. There wasn't much talk, but I had my hand on her thigh and she was playing with the hair on the back of my head. We were looking for someplace quiet, private.

The roads got smaller, twistier, traffic more sparse. She kept playing with my hair, it was good.

"Sorry, we have to stop soon, I really need to pee," she said suddenly.

So I pulled over.

There was a small grove of trees by the roadside, she wobbled somewhat unsteadily on her high-heeled boots through the grass and out of sight. It was peaceful, aside from the occasional car which rumbled by. Cloudy but not cold, birds chirping in the trees.

I wandered through the field on the other side of the road, giving her her privacy. I noticed a row of trees and shrubs seperating the two fields, an irrigation ditch. A hill. A secluded spot out of sight of the road.

It would do.

Maria emerged from the trees in the distance, stood by the roadside looking for me. I walked towards her and waved her to come. She moved slowly, watching her step all the way, but making progress. She had the biggest smile and fiery curls, so pretty. So very pretty. We met in the middle of the field, I put my arms around her and kissed her gently, then a little more urgently. She responded in kind, her fingers sinking into the muscles on my arms.

The kiss ended. I grinned and tripped her onto her back, ended up on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She giggled, I kissed her again. Moved suggestively on top of her and kissed a freckle, then another one, an eyebrow, her neck.

She was breathing heavily by now.

A car drove by, reminding us we were in plain sight.

I stood up and pulled her to her feet. Led her across the field, over the hill, towards the trees. To the spot where we could lie next to each other, out of sight from the road. The grass and earth were soft underneath us. We kissed, touched each other. She ran her hand over my chest, my hip, found my erection and began massaging it. I put my hand on her chest, felt the shape of her breast, found a nipple and squeezed it gently through her black top. We kissed.

"I want your cock in my mouth," she said quietly. "I've been fantasizing about that for days now, every time I've masturbated I've thought about your taste and your smell." The breeze moved her curls, framing her pretty face, while her hand kept moving on my erection.

"Please," I replied.

I unbuttoned and unzipped, pulled my pants down. She knelt by my knees, licked me up and down and took me into her mouth. Moved slowly at first, but decisively. She was getting what she wanted and for a little while that field, with the birds and the breeze, was heaven for me. I tangled my fingers in her curls, pulled her to me, mumbled incoherantly. Lost in the moment I came in her mouth, shuddering in the grass. She kept kissing my erection until I'd stopped twitching, then she moved up my body and our lips locked.

Cars rumbled by in the distance. We didn't care.

"I want to be inside you," I said.

She struggled out of her boots and tight jeans, straddled me and slid her knickers to one side, put her wet pussy on my naked, still erect cock. She moved on me, slowly, squeezing my cock with her pussy, rocking back and forth. So tight, so wet, so soft. I tensed and relaxed my stomach muscles, pressing against her in time to her rhythm.

"Come for me, baby. Come for me."

She came. Her face tensed in beautiful agony, her mouth open as if she was surprised by what she was feeling. I felt her pussy squeezing me harder still, her whole body tensing and relaxing as the feelings rushed through her. I couldn't take my eyes off her, I just wanted to watch her come forever.

Nothing lasts forever.

But a few minutes later she came for me again.

blowjob

Flashback a decade or so.

I lay on my back, unsure, insecure. She was really going to do it. Her tongue was flicking down my chest, over my stomach, leaving hot kisses all over me.

She was really going to do it. Ohmygod.

I wasn't sure what to do. It was happening.

Her mouth was on my cock. Wow. Interesting. Not as intense as I'd expected, but nice. She moved up and down on me, it got nicer. Wow.

I was silent, almost holding my breath. Suddenly I got worried.

Oh shit. What if I tasted bad? What if I wasn't clean enough? What if I smelled or tasted of pee? Oh god. But it felt good. But what if she didn't like it? She was probably just doing it because she felt she had to, thought it was what I wanted.

Oh shit, I think I'm going to come. Gross. I mustn't.

Hold back.

Keep quiet.

Don't say anything.

Don't come.

I'm too embarrassed to say how long it took me to realize how wrong I was. Embarrassed that I could be so foolish, to think women didn't enjoy going down on me in the exact same way and for the exact same reason I love to go down on them.

Those feminists who are still feeding young men and women bullshit about how blowjobs specifically or sex in general are degrading can ... go without. And, in the interest of gender equality, I sincerely hope their clits never get kissed.

Ever.

But to the lovely women who so enthusiastically showed me the truth: Thanks.

biting

Today was good. I sat in the sun, topless, drinking beer with friends. Threw a frisbee around. Ran barefoot in the grass.

That's what life's about, isn't it?

I was a bit of a fifth wheel, but I didn't care. Two couples. One directly thanks to me, I introduced them a couple of weeks ago. Seems I was spot on, they fit. Him all in black, black hair, rock and roll and an easy grin. Her a Scandinavian blonde, pig-tails, impressive cleavage, quick smile. Lovely, I felt proud.

The other couple... well. If it wasn't for Maria, I'd be a little jealous.

I met her last year. Ended up at a party at her place after a concert, took turns kissing her and her best friend. It was a party with only two women and I had both of them. She's an athletic blonde, naughty smile, tight jeans. Her friend has long black hair, big bones, big breasts, red dress. Full, sexy lips and a wild look in her eyes. Both of them small and fit, both of them a handful.

They took turns kissing me, discussed my technique with each other as if I wasn't there.

"He's not a bad kisser. You think he can bite?"

"I don't know, let's find out."

The blonde leaned over, bared her neck. "Bite me. Hard."

I took her head in my hands, cocked it to one side. Pulled her to me and for a moment I felt like a vampire about to have dinner. I touched my teeth to her neck, right below the jaw bone, sank them into her soft flesh. Smelled her and tasted her.

But only a little bit. I didn't want to break her, I just wanted her to shiver for me a bit.

She shivered.

At that moment she was mine. I could have eaten her up, held her down, fucked her, spanked her, done anything I liked.

But the moment passed, I relaxed my jaw and let her go. She leaned back, her eyes half shut, looking at me hungrily, wanting more. But she wasn't getting it right away. It was her friend's turn.

I put my hand behind her head and pulled her to me. Kissed her full lips gently and then made a fist, grabbing a handful of her black hair. I exposed her neck.

I knew the blonde was watching, the rest of the party was trying not to.

I leaned forward, breathed on her neck just a bit, licked it teasingly. And then I bit her. Gently at first, but she pressed against me and I responded by increasing the pressure, harder, harder... harder. Until I knew I'd leave a bruise or break flesh if I didn't stop. Then I relaxed, let her go.

The blonde leaned in for another go.

I ended up fucking neither of them, but fell in love with them both.

fleshbotted

Oh my, I've been fleshbotted!

Welcome everyone!

A big thank you to Jefferson for apparently liking my blog. I feel all welcome to the sex-blogging community now.

freebie

It's spring, a year ago. I'm sitting with a lover at a quiet cafe, me sipping a cappucino, her playing with the cream that came with her cake. We're the only customers.

"I've been meaning to tell you something," she says, suddenly. "You have to promise not to tell anyone, ever. I just need to tell someone or I'll go crazy."

"Sure."

"Really, you can't tell anyone, you have to swear."

"OK, I won't, I promise."

She puts down the little teaspoon and leans back, sticks one of her shapely legs out so I can see it. She is wearing lovely leather boots, high heels. They look new. I remember watching her put them on this morning, remember noticing how her black frilly knickers peeked out from under her jeans as she bent over to pull them on.

"See these boots? They were fucking expensive. I'm a student, I can't really afford things like this."

"Right..."

She takes a deep breath.

"I got the money by sleeping with a stranger. That's also how I paid for my new television set, my bicycle, and half the other stuff in my apartment. And that trip to Paris."

"Wow, really?" I look at her. "Is it safe?"

"Yeah, I'm working through an agency. It's all very well organized, they arrange a driver who waits for me and makes sure I get home alright every time. I have his number, if there's trouble I call him. He gets a cut. The agency gets a cut. But I take most of the money home each time. I'm making more doing this one night a week than I make nights and whole weekends at my job as a waitress."

We spend the rest of the afternoon walking around town, discussing it back and forth. She describes the details, the clients, the precautions, the photo shoot for the agency's web-site. She has alot to get off her chest, since she hadn't dared discuss it with anyone before me. I'm incredibly flattered that she decided to confide in me, but also a little concerned for her welfare. After hearing her talk a while my worries subside though, she seems to know what she's doing and genuinely seems OK with it.

At one point though, walking through a small, quiet park, I just can't resist making one of my awful jokes.

"You know, from now on, every time you and I end up in the sack together, I'm going to be congratulating myself on getting for free what other guys have to pay for."

To my surprise, she bursts into tears.

I put my arms around her. "Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," I whisper.

"It's OK," she says between sniffles. "I just hadn't expected you to still want to sleep with me after I told you I was a whore."

"Oh. I see. My place or yours?"

magic

There's a very simple kind of magic that works surprisingly well in social situations.

People tend to live up to expectations, so if you genuinely expect what you want from people, that's what you'll get. Trust is a good example. Trust someone and they'll probably be trustworthy. People like being trusted, like it when people have faith in them. They won't throw that away without good reason. Obviously the trick is to genuinely trust them and not give them any of those good reasons... but that's not so hard.

Getting a job is another. If you're convinced that you deserve the job, the pay-check, then that'll rub off on whoever is interviewing you. But you can't fake it, you have to believe it. People can spot a faker a mile away.

By virtue of sheer optimism, I usually get what I want.

Like magic.

Trouble is, it works the other way around. Tell someone often enough that you don't trust them and they probably won't bother proving you wrong. Tell someone they're crap at their job and they'll rapidly live up to your expectations.

I really have to struggle with that with Maria. She's a bloody pessimist. She doesn't trust people, had little or no faith in relationships. So she ends up with someone like Brad. Even with my own blind-faith optimist's reality distortion field cranked up to 11, sometimes I had a hard time countering that. I lost the last skirmish.

I think I've won this one though. Maria is coming back this weekend, I'm picking her up from the airport, taking her out to eat. We're both looking forward to seeing each other. My bed will be made up with clean sheets, surrounded by candles and condoms.

But I'm still a little nervous about what happens after that, which isn't good at all. The magic doesn't work if you don't believe in it.

messages

I climbed into bed last night, after spending far too much time fiddling with my blog's template. I had left my cell phone in bed, so I hadn't heard the messages I was getting.

The first five I could have done without. Brad seems to have gotten hammered on a Tuesday night and decided to spew hate and threats in my general direction. Fucker. I'm glad there's an ocean seperating us.

The last two messages were ever so much nicer. Maria can't stop thinking about me. She wants me. She wants to taste me, feel me, have me in her and on her.

Reading those made my cock so hard, I felt it throbbing, pulsing. I could almost feel her pussy on it. Sleep was suddenly out of the question, again. I messaged her back, told her she'd be getting all those things she wanted and more in just a few days. Told her I was about to come all over myself again, thinking of her.

Then I rolled over and masturbated, hard and fast. I'd probably have hurt myself if the thought of her hadn't made me absolutely soaking wet already.

I came all over the place.

Fell asleep with a smile on my face and my phone in my hand.

When I woke up, I went through my messages again, smiling like a loon. Until I realized what I'd done. One of the messages I'd meant to send to Maria, had actually gone to Brad instead.

Oh shit.

poly

I guess it's safe to say I identify as a polyamorous person.

I'm rarely jealous and I have no trouble feeling desire or love, or both, for more than one person at a time.

I quite enjoyed this article about Heinlein's influence on polyamoury, by Smoocherie. His writings introduced me to the idea, and it is arguably thanks to him that I ended up taking that path when I did.

But I'm not fanatically poly, I'm not an advocate. I'm fine with normal monogamous relationships as well and don't have trouble being faithful as long as everything else is as it should be.

In fact, when asked, I tend to warn people against trying a poly lifestyle if they haven't already felt the urge to seek it out themselves. Smoocherie's article on 'poly math' describes pretty well why; poly relationships can get really complicated, really fast.

I do think alot of heartache could be spared though, if more people were open to the idea. It's a damn shame that people feel they have to destroy an old relationship in order to have a new one. It's not like people stop loving their brothers just because a sister is born or stop loving their old friends when they make new ones.

Why should romantic relationships be any different?

Alot of people assume Zoe and I split up because we were poly and were seeing other people. The fact that I already had another relationship lined up when we seperated and just ran with it only reinforced that perception. But the fact is, if we hadn't been poly, the stress of temptation versus the ups-and-downs of our own dynamics would probably have torn us apart much sooner.

A more pessimistic person would say we resorted to being poly to prolong our doomed relationship, which is actually something I have seen happen. I honestly can't say whether that was the case for us and I can't speak for her. But I don't think so. I just know that when we were happiest and closest, that's when I was also the most open to meeting new people and letting them into my life. I still feel that way, when I've been happiest with my girlfriends since, then I've felt the urge to go out and flirt.

I'm just usually not allowed to, so I don't.

Oh well. Enough talk of poly stuff. I'm not here to write thoughtful essays. I'd recommend visiting Smoocherie's site if that's what you're looking for.

I promise my next post will be at least a little bit naughty.

phone call

Last night I called Maria to hear her lovely voice and tell her goodnight. It didn't take us long to get completely filthy on the phone.

I let her listen to me come.

After the call I couldn't do anything but lie flat on my back and breathe for a few minutes. Her listening makes it ever so much more intense than just a regular wank would be.

Once I'd recovered, I wiped myself clean, got up and wrote her a long e-mail describing exactly what I'd been doing and thinking about while she listened.

I fell asleep grinning at the thought of her sitting at her desk at work, blushing and getting all wet.

shivers

Optimistic one minute, pessimistic the next. That's how it feels to be waiting for my Maria, waiting for an answer. I try and relax, focus on other things, but I fail. Mood swings like that are tiring and fatigue is easily misunderstood. I was getting worried that maybe I wasn't as hot for the girl as I had proudly proclaimed the other day.

Then she showed up online, we had a chat.

She was afraid I wouldn't fancy her anymore, said she had gained a few pounds and would be all grubby and pasty from working and living in the big city.

I helpfully offered to scrub her clean when she got here.

The mere thought gave me shivers.

the ex-wife

I suppose many would consider my relationship with my ex-wife, Zoe, a little unusual.

She tells me on AIM about how much fun it is when guys send her e-mail about how pretty her little tits are, I respond by telling her about how I miss Maria's perfect breasts.

And oh how I miss Maria's perfect breasts... they fit so nicely in my hands, have such perfect pink nipples... she makes such lovely sounds when I nibble on them and pinch them gently...

But I digress.

I was writing about my ex. We're best friends. We can play like children or talk to each other about anything or just hang out. Or argue about who has dibs on that hot blonde we both fancy (obviously, I do, but she won't admit it). Many people who don't know us very well become a bit confused when they see how close we are still.

My girlfriends since have been insecure or jealous. Understandable, I guess, but still a little bit frustrating. Zoe's no threat to them, no more than my mom or my mates from school, I would think it spoke well of me as a potential partner that I've managed to keep things so nice. But most people just don't get it.

I wonder if staying such good friends is the norm after a long-term, open relationship? Once people have dealt with and banished jealousy, is it easier to stay friends after breaking up?

restless

I haven't heard from Maria since the other day. I have this nagging suspicion that something isn't quite right, but somehow I can't bring myself to lift up the phone and call her.

I'm also a bit confused myself, last night at the bar I had this restless feeling. Now that she's almost here, now that I'm just maybe about to get what I want, I feel a little panicy about not having fooled around quite enough during the time we've been apart. Obviously she's been busy, this Brad person must have had some redeeming qualities. Knowing Maria they were probably all below the belt.

So, I was at the bar, feeling restless. Birthday party, an old shag turning 25 and getting sloshed with a bunch of friendly faces.

In walks Shannon. I haven't seen Shannon for years. Apparently I've been missing alot. She was always hot, but a bit of a wallflower. That's somehow all gone now, she walked in like she owned the place. Colorful, low cut dress, push-up bra making the most of her lovely breasts. Killer red heels, killer red lipstick. I watched her scan the room, her eyes found mine, she flashed me a meaningful smile.

After walking around, making her hellos and hugging the birthday girl, she came and sat next to me. Leaned over, air-kissed my cheek and said in a low voice: "I was hoping you'd be here." She had her hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze. I made happy sounds back at her, forced myself to look at her face, not her heaving bosom. Yeah right. Every time I failed, she knew it. I swear that woman was breathing way more than was necessary.

Dammit. My resolve to wait for Maria was rapidly evaporating.

She hadn't been waiting for me. She hadn't said she'd take me back. I've always wanted Shannon, and for some reason, tonight she clearly wanted me.

Damn, damn, damn.

I finished my beer a little faster than I usually do and got up saying something about needing another one. Got a refill, mingled a bit while I tried to regain my composure. My ex-wife was there, I cornered her and complained a bit about the situation. She patted me on the head and said "oh, poor handsome white boy, you have too many women? I'm sure everyone feels your pain."

She can be such a twat sometimes.

I went to the toilet, had to wait my turn. Just as the door opened Shannon strode past and pulled me into the tiny room after her. Locked the door and put my hand on her breast.

"Take me now. I need it."

I couldn't help myself.

I was rock hard as soon as the door shut, her breast felt so perfect in my hand. I unzipped while she pulled up her dress and slid her knickers to one side. I probably set a world record for how fast that condom went onto my erection, I was in her. She cried out and I stuffed her scarf in her mouth so the rest of the pub wouldn't hear.

I fucked her hard, my hand on her mouth, ramming into her and pushing her small frame against the wall on every stroke. Grunted angrily as I came inside her.

I let her go, leaned back against the door.

She breathed heavily, looked at me with smoldering eyes. Leaned over, pulled the condom off and licked me clean.

Then she straightened out her dress, demurely fixed her lipstick and gave me a rather nice looking business card. Apparently she has a new job.

"Call me," she said, as she opened the door and glided out.

a journey

Last night I sat at a table, surrounded by women and beer and listened to them tear into my half of the species for being hopeless in bed.

10 years ago I didn't know what to do with a clit, just like those guys they were complaining about. 5 years ago I had figured that clit thing out and a few other things as well. I was a decent, caring lover. But anything hinting of violence was off limits, I couldn't relax enough for any sort of role playing, I was silent in bed, shy. Just like those guys they were complaining about. 2 years ago I was still too shy to talk dirty in bed, now I'm experimenting with writing filth online.

Last night I listened to a group of sexy young women complain and felt smug because they weren't complaining about me. Anymore.

It was a good feeling.

I've been a little baffled by the fact that the last three women I've slept with have all told me I was the best they'd ever had. One of them, 32 years old, had her first ever multiple orgasm the night she met me. How is that possible? During my open marriage I was acutely aware that other guys were doing things for my woman that I couldn't. I didn't consider myself a great lover.

Something seems to have changed since then.

Maybe it's time I started focusing a bit more on my own pleasure, now that I've figured out how to please my lovers. I've only once had a multiple orgasm myself. I really wouldn't mind having another one.

downstairs

I get home late, four in the morning. I really have to stop working hours like this.

It sounds like the guy on the second floor, the flat right below mine, is having a party. On a Thursday, that's not like him. Loud music, thumping sounds, voices.

I can't tell if they're dancing or fucking...

Oh, how disappointing. They're just dancing. Either that or they like singing along to Moloko while getting busy, which doesn't really sound very plausible to me.

Too bad.

In another world, it would have been an orgy.

They'd have heard me walking up the steps. The door would have opened and my neighbor would have stood there wearing nothing but a sleazy grin, asking me if I was interested in joining them. How could I refuse? I've seen the girls he dates, they're hot. In fact, he's hot, one of very few guys I'd be interested in sleeping with. A girl who's been with the both of us tells me he's quite well endowed.

I'd walk in, smile at the pretty girls and strip down to let them look at me. Touch a cheek, a breast, pull the brunette with the naughty grin to me for a kiss.

I'd press my hard cock against her stomach, suck on her lip, her earlobe, whisper in her ear.

"Do you want to help me suck him off? I'm a beginner, I'll need some help."

You just know she'd be happy to help. She'd breathe deeply, let me go and lead him to the couch. She'd get down on her knees in front of him, lick him and suck gently, making his already erect cock ever so much harder. I'd follow them, pay close attention. I'd look him in the eyes for a moment, kneel next to her, run my finger down her side, over her thighs, between her legs. Touch her wet pussy with my fingertip and find her firm little clit. Bring my finger to my mouth for a taste and then find it again, rub little circles.

I'd pull her head off his cock, lick the taste of him from her lips and lean over for some first hand. Emulating what I'd just seen her do.

Slowly at first, carefully. Taking my time to figure out whether I was really comfortable with the situation or not, whether I was a cocksucker. But having her stare hungrily at me would be all the encouragement I'd need, soon I'd be bobbing up and down like I'd never done anything else. He'd moan and put a hand on my shoulder.

The brunette with the naughty grin would move back a little, lean down and put her mouth on me. She'd greedily suck my cock while I sucked his.

In another world.

I've heard that guy come so many times, through the floor that seperates our bedrooms, it'd be quite interesting to actually be there and experience the real thing.

dramatics

I got a phone call this morning, from a number I didn't recognize. It was long-distance, the right country code...

I picked up; "Hello? Hello? Maria baby, is that you?"

No answer. The line went dead.

A few hours later, my phone rang again. Maria, in tears. Apparently this Brad character had made a habit of pilfering her cell phone and checking who she's been calling, who's been calling her and reading all her messages, sent and received.

Oops!

It didn't matter to him that she'd told me to cool it, he made a big scene anyway, broke a coffee cup, dumped her ass and stormed out. The poor girl is upset, but it sounded to me like her tears were mostly tears of rage that he had invaded her privacy like that.

What a dork.

I guess that puts me back in the running, eh? Just wish it could have happened without the dramatics. The only dramatics I want to inflict on that girl are supposed to take place between the sheets.

An interesting side-effect of all this, is thanks to caller-id and my trusty Nokia's call register, I now have Brad's phone number.

I wonder what I should do with it?

wednesday

It's funny how going out for Thai food on a Wednesday can turn into a night of beers and restraint.

I still haven't decided what to think of the whole Maria situation.

Going to the bar, meeting my ex-wife's spanking new ex-boyfriend and his hot, hot, hot best friend wasn't exactly the plan. It just happened. And when he started telling me about his hot, hot, hot best friend's friend (who kept looking at me) and quite blatently trying to fix me up... it just got a bit surreal.

Wasn't he supposed to hate me because in his alternate reality, I'm sleeping with our common ex, just to spite him? I guess he forgot. Or maybe he just realised that I'm not.

It's also funny how hot, hot, hot girls tend to have really hot best friends too.

The blatant fixing-up advice, although surreal, wasn't entirely unwelcome. I played along. Sure enough, she was all smiles and fidgeting with her hair when I proceeded to ask her about the things he told me to ask her about. All smiles and slightly insecure questions. So I flirted, it was fun. Made her evening. Smiled, had another beer. Promised to have a look at her job's website, e-mail her what I think afterwards. But not until tomorrow afternoon so she'd have a chance to fix things first.

She left early.

Then I somewhat shamelessly proceeded to flirt with the hot, hot, hot friend. Because that was just the appropriate thing to do when she was left all by herself at the bar with me and my pal. But I only flirted a little bit. Just enough to make sure she felt appreciated, for me to feel that it was all working as it should. I let my pal walk her home though.

All of this with frequent breaks to kiss the cheek of a kissable friend, hug a purty little thing that just needed to push her firm little tits into my chest and beam at me. I love that. God, I love that.

Then I went home.

Jerked off in my bath.

I'm so fucking well behaved I should get a medal.

I'd feel better about all that if Maria wasn't busy fucking Brad right about now. Love's a bitch.

thinking about you

Shit, maybe I've been too cocky about my chances with Maria.

She e-mailed me tonight, said that although she still had feelings for me, she's actually been seeing someone for the past few weeks. Some guy named Brad. I've really never liked that name. She doesn't want me to call her anymore, she wants time and space to think things over.

Fuck.

In the same batch of messages, there was one from Miss Hot Tub. Ironically, the e-mail started with the exact same words I had used in a text-message to Maria earlier tonight:

I'm thinking about you.

What followed was a detailed explanation of exactly what she'd like me to do to her in her cheap room in downtown Barcelona, with the window wide open, in full view of the working girls walking the street below...

I'd been waiting for her to show up online, so I could tell her "in person" that we should probably cool it a bit while I figure things out with Maria. It wouldn't do to be flirting with the one while I'm telling the other that I love her and want to give things another try.

Maria's e-mail is making me have second thoughts about that.

I really don't know what to do. Sleep on it, I guess.

identity

Who am I?

I've been boyfriend, husband, lover, playboy, slut.

I'm not sure who I am this week. I'm just this guy who's waiting for a girl who may or may not be his. What does that make me? What is my sexual identity right now?

Oddly enough, at the moment it makes me satisfied.

I wake up in the mornings, hard, think about her. Imagine her spread eagled on her back, staring at me, waiting for my tongue or my cock or my fingers. I imagine her impaled on top of me, her hands on my stomach and her arms pressing her perfect tits together as she moves on me. I come, making a mess all over my muscular stomach, sometimes all the way up my chest to my neck.

I know she's been ending her nights the same way, full of her vibrator, imagining it's my cock massaging her insides, imagining my tongue on her clit instead of those rabbit ears, my cock in her mouth instead of a wet finger. I know she imagines me coming all over her tits, her face, breaking the rules and filling her pussy with my cum, again and again until she overflows.

I know these things.

So I guess I don't need an identity, for now.

We can figure one out for me when she gets back.

clarity

I love vodka. I don't drink as much of it as I used to, but every time I do I'm reminded that I'd make an excellent alcoholic. The morning after a good time with one of those bottles I'm not hung over. I'm cleansed, high on life, relaxed. Confused as well, tired, but in that comfortable way where you're just physically forced to relax because you're incapable of anything else.

Yes indeed, I'd make a great alcoholic.

Sunday morning, I staggered home after massive amounts of the stuff.

Tears were running down my face, but I didn't care. The booze had torn down that wall in my head, I knew what I had to do. I stripped naked, climbed into bed. Called my Maria, at seven in the morning. She answered, sleepy and confused.

"I love you", I blurted into the phone. I'd never told her.

The line went dead.

It didn't occur to me for a moment that she'd hung up on me, it had to be the battery in her phone. Had to be. I composed a rather dramatic message telling her I loved her, wanted her back. Sent it. Her replies confirmed what I knew, it was her battery and it wasn't a lost cause.

I passed out.

You don't get that sort of clarity from anything but vodka, straight up.

When I woke up around noon, I called her again, we talked.

We spoke again this evening, if moaning and touching ourselves and sharing an orgasm over the ether can be called "speaking". I am so looking forward to being inside her again.

She didn't actually say she'd be mine.

But I know she will.

airplanes

Airplanes are the bane of my love-life.

A love-life which seems both complicated and frustrating at the moment.

That lovely, lovely girl I broke up with a couple of months ago will be back in town soon. My Maria. For the rest of the summer, then she leaves again. I still haven't quite given up on her and don't really want to become involved with anyone else until I've seen her and know what the score is. I know she misses me.

I've also been missing her alot lately and have deliberately been fighting the urge to have that third pint, stay out that extra hour, find someone to distract me. I need to deal with those feelings instead of avoiding them.

A stupid, insistant part of me just wants to have her for the summer, even though I know she'll leave again and it'll be over. Again.

At the same time, Miss Hot Tub has been in touch, she wants more of me, more of my cock. She sees me as a potential partner in some very interesting crimes, and I must say, I haven't met someone as sexually intriguing as her in a long time. We could do all sorts of new and interesting things together. Things that would be worth the plane fare.

She also made the right noises regarding kids and settling down "eventually". If everything else worked out, with the right "someone". All such thoughts are obviously premature after a two night romance, but they mean she's worth a serious look. Aside from the few thousand kilometers seperating us, that is.

Then there's that third girl. That one Maria hates. That one I don't dare touch until I'm absolutely sure I'm moving on. That one who kept shamelessly trying to get me to cheat. I know I'm going to bump into her downtown one of these days. Will I run? Or will I finally let her have her way with me?

I want to. I'm just not sure it's worth having to lie to my ex. See, she too flies away in a couple of months.

Damn airplanes.

making up

We'd been a bit strange for a while. Understandably so.

We weren't quite fighting any more, but things weren't quite right either. We'd missed our stride. We both wanted to have sex but instead of sliding right into it as usual, we were hesitant, akward.

We both had underwear on, usually we both slept naked. Usually I could touch her, hold her, breathe on her neck. I'd feel her respond, or not, no words would be necessary. But her neck wasn't available tonight.

We snuggled down, facing each other, bumping knees, looking each other in the eyes.

"This is weird, isn't it," I said.

"Yes."

"I want you, but I can wait."

"I want you too."

I saw just a hint of something in her eye, something clicked. I reached my hand out, gently grabbed the back of her head, pulled her to me. We kissed. Softly at first, then more hungrily.

"Then we don't wait," I said. It wasn't a question.

I slipped my underwear off and guided her face towards my cock. I held her there, gently, but forcefully enought that she didn't have to take any responsibility. She was doing what I wanted. Her mouth felt good on my cock, warm, soft. I felt myself getting bigger and more swollen. She was getting into it, I didn't have to hold her anymore. I knew she was getting wet.

I reached my hand out for the box of condoms by the bed, got one out.

With my other hand, I grabbed the hair on the back of her head, pulled her off my cock and brought her face to mine for a kiss. I handed her the condom.

"Put this on your finger. You're going to keep doing what you've been doing, and play with my ass at the same time."

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you," she replied, timidly.

"Just do it."

She did. I pushed gently, opening myself for her finger. We should probably have used lube, there were a few twinges as she worked her way in. But it was fine. And then it was good. She put her mouth back on my cock and moved her finger inside me.

I relaxed. That was the ticket. I let out a sigh, a moan. Felt the odd distant sensation where my ass takes over and I almost stop feeling my cock, let alone anything else. I gave into it for a while, just floated.

Then I came back to myself, slowly, told her to stop.

"Lie on your back, I'm going to fuck you now."

She did. I slid into her, no condom, rock hard. She gasped, stared at me. This was against the rules. I slid out, back in. Felt her tight softness, felt her hot pussy grab onto me. I wanted to just hammer her, pump her full of cum right then.

But I didn't.

I stared her in the eye and played with her like that until I felt it wasn't safe anymore, pulled out, put a condom on. Slid back into her and stopped holding back. I put my arm around her shoulders, empaled her on my cock, pulled her to me and ground my pelvis against her clit, rotating my cock inside her. She moaned and pushed against me.

It was time.

I started fucking her, in and out, in and out. Pulling her to me on each stroke.
She came. I came.

I rested on top of her, kissed her, smiled and looked at her beautiful face, still inside her, still breathing hard.

She gazed back at me in wonder.

Neither of us had been expecting that.

the list

We were in her narrow bed together, naked, enjoying the afterglow. She had her back to me and I was running my fingers gently up and down her spine, admiring her curves and the texture of her skin.

"Do you keep a list of the women you fuck?" she asked.

For just a moment I considered lying. I've always felt The List was a tad, well, politically incorrect. I mean, did she really want to know she was going to be number 32 and would get a pseudonym and an exclamation mark by her name?

But I am what I am, people either like it or they don't.

"Yeah, actually I do. I have a really bad memory and if I didn't keep a list, I'd forget some of these encounters. And since they're all special to me in some way, I don't want to. I keep a list and write little stories to help me remember."

She didn't seem to mind that at all.

dwarves

Funny. I have a well justified reputation as a player. I'm good at flirting, confident in myself and good looking enough to have a pretty easy time getting new ladies into bed. But when I think back, I just seem to keep falling for the women I seduce.

That's not right, is it?

I have this nagging feeling that I'm doing this whole playboy thing wrong.

Instead of revelling in my manliness, I just go around being frustrated that Miss Hot Tub went back home, she was amazing. Frustrated that my last girlfriend broke up with me, I miss her still. Frustrated that the dark haired beauty I fell madly in love with for a single weekend a couple of years ago has invited me to her wedding next December. Frustrated that the connection I had with my ex-wife is something I probably won't experience again for years, if ever.

Boo, hoo! Poor rich, handsome playboy!

But it just keeps getting worse. Now, according to the Internet, when I finally convince some lady to settle down and make kids with me, they'll all end up being dwarves.

Dwarves!

If anyone actually read this blog, I'm sure they'd feel sorry for me now.

talented

She looked at me hungrily and put her hand on my chest. She pushed me onto my back and knelt between my legs, her mane of wild black hair moving down my torso, over my stomach and then stopping in my crotch.

She grabbed my cock and began sucking greedily, moving her hands and her tongue frantically, but gently at the same time. So nice. I felt the sensations grow, in no time at all I felt I the urge to shoot my load down her throat.

"I don't want to come just yet, I want to keep feeling that...", I whispered.

She obliged. Slowed down just a little, the sense of urgency subsided but the sensations didn't. I soon reached a trance-like state, my whole world was made up of the feelings in my cock, and it just went on, and on, and on. I grasped the bed sheet, rolled my head from side to side, moaned. And it just kept getting better.

I don't know how long it took. It felt like ages. I don't even know whether I came, the sensations had become so intense I wasn't even sure I'd notice. I think I must have, but it took forever, probably the longest single orgasm I've had. Slowly I came back out of my trance and became more aware of her head bobbing up and down, her body wriggling greedily, the visibly damp spot on her knickers.

I asked if if it wasn't her turn.

Again, her greedy eyes met mine and the knickers quickly ended up on the floor by the bed. I turned around, stuck my hed between her legs and tasted her wetness, found her clit with the tip of my tongue. I grabbed her hips and pulled her to me, sucked gently on her clit and flicked my tongue back and forth, slowly at first, then more rapidly, then slowly again. She gasped and then lowered her head back between my legs and took my cock into her mouth again.

I closed my eyes and just licked, sucked, gently. Her damp pussy was all that mattered. I reached around and put a finger into her, playing with her opening and rubbing gently against the front wall of her vagina. Her moans were muffled by my cock, but they were becoming louder all the same. She came gently, so gently I hardly noticed. Gently enough that I didn't have to stop kissing her, she still wanted more. And more.

When she'd finally had enough, she collapsed on her stomach next to me, panting. I was still rock hard and her hips and ass were just too tempting to leave alone. I slid a condom on, kneeled behind her and entered her pussy. She gasped something in Spanish which I didn't understand, but it sounded good. I pulled almost all the way out and entered her a little further this time, feeling how tight and small she was.

Again a gasp, this time she said something with a hint of distress. Not quite ready for that much cock, I guessed. Pulled out, entered her more slowly. Again and again until she was taking my full length and gasping "Si, si, ..." into the pillow. I looked down at her round, firm, tanned ass, so wide and lovely compared to her tiny frame. My cock looked positively massive, sliding into that tiny body, again and again.

I pumped harder, slapped one of those cheeks, grabbed onto it. Harder. Slapped her again, a little harder. As I rode her she kept repeating the same few words, egging me on, begging for more. I came violently, ramming deep into her and arching my back, balancing my weight against her tiny frame.

I think we shouted, but I was so lost I couldn't even remember.

slut

I've been tired today, emotionally and physically, after my encounter with Miss Hot Tub. The sex with her was better than sex has any right to be when you've only just met someone for the first time. I'm still amazed I could find someone so interesting and intelligent completely at random like that. The desperate part of me which wants to settle down had already fabricated a future for the two of us which the rational part of me refuses to believe in.

She e-mailed me today, leaving me with an erection and images of her pitch-black pubic hair and her wetness dripping down her thigh.

Damnit.

So I went out tonight, tired, a little melancholy, with a quiet evening in mind. I said no to the single booty-call text I got. I wanted to sit with my people, drink beer and listen to the live music. And that's what I did.

But that doesn't mean I was oblivious to the fairer sex.

One girl in particular caught my eye, a striking young black woman with her hair pulled back from her face. There aren't that many black women in this town and I've never had one in my bed. Exotic, interesting! But I was just looking.

After a beer or three, one of my friends' girlfriends came up to me and told me she was out with her friend. I wasn't sure why she was telling me about her friend, but since she's always a little awkward and strange I just went along with the conversation, which turned out to be going nowhere. Whatever.

Still later, she came back. Asked where my girlfriend was. I told her I was single, had been for a while. She was surprised, expressed disappointment and proceeded to tell me that her friend (now gone) had been looking for a one night stand and they had agreed that if it weren't for my girlfriend, I'd be the perfect fit. After all, I do sleep around a lot, right? And she had liked the look of me.

I was a bit offended, and told her so. I mean, sure, I'm a player. But I'm not indiscriminate about it and I mildly resent the idea of people seriously discussing me like some sort of sex toy.

Then she told me who her friend was. The amazing black girl.

Damnit! I tried not to back-pedal too obviously, but suddenly I was interested in the conversation, interested in details about this friend, considering coming out again tomorrow evening. I felt the change in myself and resented it. What sort of double standard allows me to feel offended that my friends think I'm a slut, when at the same time I'm interested in fucking some random girl just because of her skin color?

Who did I think I was kidding?

I probably didn't really resent the whole sex toy thing. I was just afraid she was trying to fix me up with someone I didn't fancy...

hot tub

Meeting someone in a pool, hot tub or on a beach turns the flirtation process on it's head a little, in my opinion. Single people will inevitably check each other out, whether they do it subtly or with catcalls. There are fewer secrets, you can tell if she has firm breasts, she can see whether you have a hairy back.

Flirting in this state is a subtle, delicate thing. It's so easy to get sleazy with all that flesh on display; there are fewer props and less neutral ground. Touching a clothed arm isn't as intimite as touching a naked one, standing close enough to smell someone in a noisy bar is fine, but less so if people are barely dressed.

Complimenting an item of clothing is one of my favorite nonthreatening ways to let someone know I'm looking and like what I see. Women often put alot of effort into their wardrobes, so these compliments are almost always appreciated. But bikinis just aren't really substantial enough for that to work.

So it's about the eyes, smiles, body language. Suggestive conversation.

This morning a 36 hour romance ended with Miss Hot Tub getting on a plane and leaving the country she was only visiting.

It was a flawless little relationship. Delicate flirting in the hot tub and pool, meaningful conversations, hot, sweaty, multiorgasmic sex. Extreme sleep deprivation. I stroked her hair and watched her finally sleep a couple of hours this morning, woke her up in time to catch her plane. We took pictures of each other at sunrise, kissed goodbye.

We'll almost certainly meet again, someday, but I somehow doubt the both of us will be single.

Damn geography.