Handsome, White Boy's Blues

fucked

2007-11-25T16:42:00.000Z

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.

power

2007-11-25T16:26:00.000Z

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.

swing?

2007-09-25T09:11:00.000Z

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...

identities

2007-09-19T23:47:00.000Z

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.

luck?

2007-09-09T23:26:00.000Z

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 Gumtree.ie 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.

facebook

2007-08-13T21:51:00.000Z

"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."

talking about...

2007-08-04T12:23:00.000Z

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.

domestic bliss

2007-08-04T03:51:00.000Z

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.

games

2007-07-07T11:05:00.000Z

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.

months later

2007-06-16T02:54:00.001Z

So, being the eternal optimist I am, I tend to go around seeing life through sex-tinted glasses.

It's like being a feminist, except... well. So I'll admit it's nothing like being a feminist, that was a train-wreck of an analogy just trying to get me on its tracks.

It is a point of view that most reasonable people would describe as a delusion, at best. No matter how horny I may sometimes feel, that doesn't mean everyone else is constantly motivated by lust. Really! That's just not how the world works. For some people it really is all about a career, gardening or that ideal cup of tea.

But in spite of being vaguely aware of this theoretical, so-called reality, I still tend to see a glance as a check-out, a smile as a flirt, turned down eyes as wishful bashfulness... And so on. In my world, they all just want to be wanted, held down, climbed, worshiped, humiliated, sweet-talked, licked, sucked, used, spanked. Whatever. Sexed.

Seeing the world through sex-tinted glasses is good fun, if nothing else.

But it's unsettling when things suddenly click.

It's unsettling when your friend tells you that while you were fetching the beers, the girl you were innocently chatting with hastily explained she was in an open relationship and requested stats on your availability. Because that's how I imagine the world, not how I expect it to be.

It's unsettling when that same evening, you find out that that couple you would quite like to be friends with, in a completely innocent, fun, get drunk and dance kind of way... are totally poly and the guy asks you for hints on how to seduce teh ladies. His wife puts her hand on your chest.

wtf?

Them damn sex-tinted glasses are glued to my face and I can't get them off.

...

Opportunities.

There, and there, and there, and there, and... I have a girlfriend I love and she's not cool with me being Mr. Sex Pervert anywhere but in bed with her. So I act like I don't see them, they just voom on by as I smile, take a quiet ego boost and pretend not to notice.

I think about age and wonder if some day soon, will I be a wrinkly old man who regrets not having just seized them all while he could? I've seized the one. A damn fine one to be sure, an excellent choice. But will I regret the others?

Or, worse, will I end up giving in and cheating, hurting my girl? Probably not. Will I end up pressuring her into something she just isn't interested in or cut out for? Maybe. Will she read this and worry? Quite possibly.

But I really can't lie to her or hide things from her. That's just not how I do things.

Is it always going to be a struggle to (not) be a poly slut?

avoiding you

2007-04-15T13:19:00.000Z

Hello, Internet.

I've been avoiding you.

Sorry about that. Things just went a bit crazy about a month ago and I haven't really felt like writing. You have to be in the right mood for that sort of thing, hey?

But, in the meantime, thanks for the encouraging e-mails. It's very encouraging to know there are a few people out there who enjoy my writing.

I'll be back when I've sorted things out.

of porn and whales

2007-02-24T11:39:00.000Z

Wow, the prudes won; Snow Gathering was canceled. How disappointing.

I think the whale comparison on the current Snow Gathering page is a cheap shot though. From what I've heard, Icelanders aren't hunting any endangered species'. That's just propaganda from overzealous environmental organizations - not all species of whale are endangered.

I've had whale at a restaurant here. It's very good. I have no moral qualms about this; as long as the animals aren't endangered I don't really see how killing whales is any worse than killing cows or pigs or chickens. At least the whale got to live a natural, free life.

It's ironic that the Snow Gathering people fail to understand how Icelanders would fall for the rhetoric of all porn being abusive, degrading and criminal, but happily jump to equally predictable and narrow minded conclusions about Iceland and whaling.

snow gathering

2007-02-18T20:37:00.000Z

Sometimes I really wish I understood Icelandic.

My Icelandic friends tell me there's quite an uproar in the Icelandic press about SnowGathering 2007. I don't generally encounter the conservative part of the local population, and hadn't really realized that that sort of thing existed here, but during the past few days I've been assured otherwise. Apparently both the church, politicians and some feminists have objected to the gathering. It's somewhat frustrating to know this sort of dialog is going on here, but not understand the language well enough to be able to follow along.

I guess I'll just have to focus on what I do understand: downtown will soon be full of porn stars looking for a good time.

[ Insert predictable fantasies here. ]

fingers

2007-02-13T22:03:00.000Z

I have my fingers between her legs and my lips by her ear.

"You feel so warm, so wet baby. I love how your pussy lips get all swollen and inviting when I touch you like this," I breathe into her ear.

I slide my finger gently from her clit to her opening and back again, punctuating my words by sliding my fingers gently over her clit and tracing slow circles around it.

"You know I could so easily slide my cock into you now. Your pussy would swallow all of me up at once, it would feel so good. Just sliding back and forth inside you, feeling your pussy grab onto me. She's so strong, baby, it's amazing."

I keep running my finger gently around her small, hard clit. I relish how wet she is by now. How true my words are. My cock is hard, but I'm in no rush to do anything with it, I'm happy to just play her body like some sort of erotic instrument.

She's rocking her hips now, pushing against my hand.

"I love making you feel like this. I love bringing out the filthy little slut in you, I love making you come. Are you going to come for me, baby?"

She gasps out a breathless yes and I slide my finger back down to her opening, teasing it gently. I don't put my finger in her, I just feel how wet she is and tease her a bit.

"Right there. Right there, I could slide my cock into you. You'd grab onto me and your greedy little pussy would try and suck the cum out of me. You know she would. And you know if I let you come on my naked cock I wouldn't be able to resist, I'd just have to come too, fill you with spunk."

She's moaning now, rocking her hips back and forth against me, eyes closed and her mouth open. So beautiful, I watch her move, her flat stomach and perfect breasts. And in this moment, she is all mine. At the thought of me coming inside her an "oh yes" escapes her lips and her breath quickens.

I slide my finger up and down slowly, feeling the wet fullness of her pussy, sliding back and forth over her clit on each stroke. Her wetness has spread to cover her entire pussy, the rest of my hand, her thighs...

"You'd like that, wouldn't you baby? You'd like me to push deep inside you and just fill you with cum. You'd like to feel it pumping into you and filling you up and leaking out of you again."

She would.

"Or maybe, maybe you'd like to watch me do that to someone else. Maybe you'd like to watch me play with some other girl like I'm playing with you now. I'd make her all wet, play with her pussy until she begs for my cock. And you'd watch and play with yourself."

She opens her eyes wide and stares at me as the meaning of my words sinks in. "Oh god, yes," she whispers.

"You'd play with yourself and watch as I pushed the tip of my cock into her."

I touch her opening, caress it.

"Just like I could push it into you, right here, I'd push the tip of my cock into her, just a little bit. I'd slide out and then in again, fucking her slowly at first, then faster and harder as her pussy squeezes me and she moans and moans."

She has totally lost control now, her hips moving frantically back and forth as I slide my finger back and forth over her wet slit, up and over her clit and then back to her opening again. And again and again.

"You'd watch as she starts to come on my cock and I'd lose control and just pump her full of my cum. We'd be beautiful. And then once I was all done, I'd walk over to you and put my sticky, cum covered cock in your mouth and let you lick me clean, tasting my cum and her juices together."

Her body convulses, she's coming. I quickly take my finger off her clit, covering her pussy with my flat hand, giving her something firm to buck and push against. And buck she does, hard, the orgasm taking over her whole body.

"That's right baby, come for me."

It seems to go on forever and it's the most wonderful sight in the whole world.

And when she's done, exhausted and breathing heavily, all snug in my arms, she's still mine. My cock is still hard.

She'll be coming again, and we both know it.

sound advice

2007-02-06T09:51:00.000Z

Still recovering from a busy weekend in Glasgow.

Still busy cleaning my phone's SMS inbox, which is full of messages from both Rosa and Disa (turns out "deesa" is just how it's pronounced).

In the meantime, I recommend this sound advice from White Ninja.

clones

2007-01-31T00:57:00.000Z

Sometimes I wish I could clone myself. Follow more than one path. More than two.

Saturday, the night after I almost-but-not-quite had some sort of threesome, I was out again. And somehow, yet again, I bumped into that same blonde that I've been seeing now and again. I had asked her name the night before. I think I can pronounce it, but I'm not sure how to spell it. Deesa, or something like that.

As I went out I texted Rosa, just to see if she was out. No reply, but I've decided that doesn't mean anything much since most people are more absent-minded about their phones than I am.

First person I see in the bar is Deesa.

And then I get a text. But it's not from Rosa, it's an old flame from back home. Someone I'd love to shag again, but can't really, because aside from being in the wrong country, she's recently married. But, in spite of that, she texted me.

"how r u, iceland boy? am on train from galway, reminded me of u."

We met on that train. I remember how her elbows touched mine, how she sat just a little too close as we talked. How we met for dinner that evening and ended up in her tiny room, fucking until morning.

Such a loaded message.

"I'm grand. Train from Galway, aye? Good times! Hope you're well, give Pete my best."

Pete's her man.

Deesa was looking at me. I put the phone away and ignored the buzzing of the reply. We talked, I bought us both drinks. As the small-talk progressed, as I flirted, as I touched her arm and grinned my fuck-me grin, the back of my mind was following different paths.

I'd love to go back home, follow up on that text. I was always disappointed that she got away. She wouldn't be messaging me like that if those nights we had together hadn't made an impression. What if?

What if I had replied to Rosa's text last night? Would I have ended up in her arms? Would I be in her arms still? I wished I had.

And yet I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Deesa's hand on mine, her smile lighting up the room. Her cleavage distracting my eyes from her face. Part of me thinking she may be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. For now anyway. Older than she looks, actually my age. Not many girls are that hot at 30. Curves and maturity, that amazing Icelandic look of youth. They all look like kids here. And this kiddo has her hands and eyes on me.

Later that evening I sneak a look at my phone, turns out that message wasn't from my Irish lady friend, it was from Rosa. She's at Kaffibarinn again, I'm at Sirkus. I don't feel like moving.

I need more of me. One to be here. One to chase Rosa. One still playing the field in Ireland. One that made all the right decisions and moves and kept Maria. One that never got divorced. One that never got married.

The one of me here, was drunk. Dancing.

Deesa in my arms, dancing, spinning around and bumping into people, not quite spilling our beers. Or theirs.

When the world stops spinning, we're in my bed.

She's not wearing anything, I'm between her legs, my face all wet and my tongue on her clit. Her back is arched, a pillow between her teeth and covering most of her face. I slide a finger into her and use it to tell her body to come to me, for me.

Come here. I move my finger as I lick her clit harder, then relax both.

Come here. Harder, relax.

Come, lick, relax.

We fall into the rythm of it and soon I can feel her stomach muscles pulsating, her pussy grabbing my finger gently. She whimpers.

Come here.

Her hips buck, her pussy mashing into my face. I can't breathe, but for now that doesn't matter. I try my best not to lose the rhythm, to keep her moving, keep her gasping like that. She comes, crying out, pushing against me and then curling up in a vulnerable ball of girl.

I move to kiss her lips and eyelids, hold her as she relaxes and comes down.

We'd earlier discussed my warts, I knew she wasn't going to fuck me. Through my drunkenness I vaguely remembered her sucking me off. Or at least having a taste.

As we fell asleep, I drunkenly wondered what my clones were up to.

partner in crime

2007-01-28T23:55:00.000Z

My flatmate's party, the flirting at Kaffibarinn, that was all last weekend. Now another weekend has passed and I'm behind in writing about what's been going on. I've been busy, and if anything I'm even more confused now than I was before. Hopefully writing about it will help me work through things.

But, on with the story while I still have access to the laptop...

--

Turns out the toasting was all a little premature. Rosa never actually made it all the way back to us, she got mobbed by friends, distracted and swept away. Soon after, Karl got bored and left.

I was still lurking around, hoping to see her but ended up leaving the bar too and heading to Sirkus to see if any of the others from the party were there. The queue wasn't moving, the weather sucked and I eventually just headed home, drunk and tired.

As I walked I got a text message from her, but I didn't feel like responding. I was pretty disappointed.

But we were probably all too drunk for that sort of thing anyway and now that a few days have passed, I'm more intrigued than disappointed. I find that sort of slutty behavior very attractive.

I'd love to have a "partner in crime" like her.

I'm still not sure what to do about the flatmate situation though.

fleshbotted harder

2007-01-28T20:34:00.000Z

I think Jefferson likes me.

He keeps fleshbotting me! I like it.

Hey fleshbotters, welcome! Might as well take advantage of the you: I'll be visiting Glasgow next weekend, if anyone wants to recommend something sexy to do there I'd be much obliged. E-mail or comments, whatever tickles yer fancy.

why not?

2007-01-28T19:37:00.000Z

So, my escape from the smokers' party was foiled by the blonde's request for a drink. I took my time finding it though, wandered around the downstairs party, checking who had showed up while I was upstairs. Plenty of people. Plenty of chicks.

I was feeling a bit conflicted. Part of me just really wanted to get Rosa into bed again, but I was worried about my flatmate and from our last encounter I knew she liked my player aspect. So making the most of my opportunity with the blonde was a good strategy either way.

One thing I've learned, is you concentrate on one girl at a time, or you end up with none. On the other hand... I've also learned not over-analyze things. So I just grabbed some beers and went back up to see which way the wind would blow me.

I didn't end up going back down. Rosa and the blonde sat next to each other, chatting. I leaned against the opposite wall, sipped my beer and looked slyly at them. Now and again I'd take part in one of the conversations around me, but mostly I listened and watched, enjoying the glances they took turns making and the feeling that I was in control and could have either one I wanted. I was beginning to toy with the idea of having them both.

Just as I exchanged yet another meaningful glance with Rosa, my flatmate showed up in the door. He was pretty drunk, but he also seemed a little bent out of shape. I think he noticed the way Rosa was looking at me. He said something odd and then announced that he was leaving, heading downtown. We could do as we damn well pleased. Then he turned off the bathroom light and disappeared down the stairs.

Ouch.

We switched the light back on, the night went on. But it had all gone a bit sour and soon afterwards the party broke up and headed downtown.

Me and some of the others from congregated in Kaffibarinn. For me it was the obvious choice, that's where both Rosa and the blonde were headed, that's where Rosa and I hooked up last time. Trendy girls, rock'n'roll guys, beer and music. It was a happenin' place that night. I bumped into one of my other mates near the bar, bought him a beer. Let's call him Karl. Karl and I exchanged jokes and conversation for a while, until Rosa showed up and took a position between the two of us. It was crowded, she couldn't help but rub against me.

Her scent and presence had me sporting a stiffy pretty quickly. I played cool, acted like nothing was up, kept chatting with the both of them. But Rosa only had one of her hands on the bar, the other was on my knee, my thigh, stroking the bulge I was pretending wasn't there. Naughty girl.

I had forgotten all about the blonde.

As the conversation went on, Rosa stopped feeling me up, but turned a bit so her pert little bottom was pressed against my erection. She was facing Karl, talking to him. I discreetly put one of my hands on her hip, slid it under her top and caught my breath as I felt the warm, toned skin of her stomach. She wriggled just a little bit, letting me know she liked my hand there.

I had forgotten all about my flatmate.

Another beer, more talk. It slowly dawned on me that I wasn't the only one getting attention from the girl. Karl was standing pretty close to her as well and as before, Rosa had one of her hands out of sight. But it wasn't touching me. I began to suspect it was touching him... and when Rosa headed off to the loo I asked my friend what was up. Sure enough, her hands had been all over him, and he knew she was flirting with me at the same time. I was suitably impressed.

"She's quite a handful," he grinned.

"Yeah. Shall we give her what she wants? I'm up for it if you are."

He paused. Thought about it. Neither of us had ever been in that sort of situation together.

"Fuck it, why not? Fuck her, in fact," he replied.

We raised our beers and banged 'em together, just as I noticed her making her way through the crowd towards us again.

party

2007-01-22T09:59:00.000Z

I sat in the living room with my flatmate, a bunch of our mutual friends gathered around to drink with us. On the coffee table there was a growing pile of empty pizza boxes, beer cans, bottles and dirty glasses. The laptop I've been borrowing sat in the corner playing random songs from Flatmate's mp3 collection. An hour or two, maybe three, and people would run out of drinks and start heading downtown in search of more.

Rosa hadn't shown up, but oddly enough the blonde I'd been fantasizing about earlier this week was there. Friend of a friend, this is such a tiny town. I had my charm on and was getting to know her a bit, making it clear I found her interesting. She flirted back like a champ. I liked where things were headed.

Every once in a while the doorbell would ring and more people would join the party, it soon fragmented as they always do into a kitchen party, the living room party and the smokers up stairs, sitting together on the edge of the bath tub and smoking out the window. I was up there with them for a while, mostly chasing the blonde but also on the off chance that someone would pass around a joint.

Most of the conversations were in English, not only for my benefit, but because there seem to be a lot of foreigners in this town. Exchange students and people who've just decided this is the place for them. Every once in a while people would lapse into Icelandic, but during the past few months I've begun to understand a little bit. I was usually able to follow the gist of things, which made me feel pretty good.

When my beer was empty I abandoned the smokers and went back downstairs for more. Guess who had turned up in the meantime? Rosa! She was chatting away with my flatmate, and she was lovely. I felt awkward, I could tell from the way my flatmate was behaving that he was totally into her. He was at his most charming, telling tall tales and making her laugh.

I retreated back up the stairs before she noticed me. Chicken.

One of the girls in the bathroom party had decided it was too hot and had taken her top off. After all, her bra wasn't any more revealing than a bikini anyway, she claimed. And she was hot. Sure... I grinningly encouraged the blonde to follow suit, but she was a bit more reserved. Laughs and banter and innuendo ensued. Someone brought beer up from downstairs.

And then Rosa joined us.

Of course, I thought to myself, she smokes.

We exchanged hellos, smiles. I tried not to act too familiar, tried not to make it obvious to the whole room that the image of her naked frame on my cock was flashing before my eyes. She was similarly cautious, but you could probably have cut the tension with a knife. I was already thinking about how to get her into bed again... or maybe I should play it cool? Be a little hard to get? Maybe I should keep working on the blonde?

Instead I just prepared to escape again, headed back downstairs "to get another drink".

The blonde asked me to bring her something too.

Okay...

questions

2007-01-19T01:00:00.000Z

Will I ever be a dad? In what ways will it change me? Will I become just like my own dad? What would my life be like if my mistress hadn't miscarried all those years ago?

Will I ever taste another man's cock? Will I like it? Will I ever let some guy do me in the ass? Will I like it?

Will I ever find a girl who wants to be mine? Will I be able to hang up my players' hat and just be hers as well? Will I be able to resist the temptations I've spent the past few years learning to recognize? Will I stop judging and looking down my nose at people who cheat... and become one of them?

Will I ever be fully rid of my warts? Does the fact that I haven't found any for a couple of months mean I'm cured? When do I have to stop warning girls about them before sex?

And...

Will I see Rosa this weekend? Is this a beginning?

complications

2007-01-15T07:52:00.000Z

So, a month ago I met this girl, Rosa. I've really only seen her once since then, since I went home to Ireland for the holidays. But we've exchanged the occasional flirtatious text message and I'll probably see her again next weekend. I'm a bit excited about that!

There's a catch though. A very frustrating one, in fact. I'll probably see her next weekend because my flatmate is throwing a party and he's invited her. Turns out they've been friends for a while and I suspect he wants more then just to be friends.

After our romp back last month, she asked me to be discreet about having been with her. She said she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Flatmate's feelings.

But I want her in my bed again...

practice

2007-01-14T19:05:00.000Z

I stood under the shower washing and thinking about last night. The warm water felt good on my skin, the soap nice and slippery. My penis wasn't quite as relaxed as the rest of me.

I'd overheard a conversation at the bar the night before. Girls chattering away as they do, but this group was discussing blow-job technique. They'd had enough drinks that they were forgetting to be quiet about it. I listened and looked, thought about offering one of them a chance to practice. Preferably the curvy little blonde.

As I washed I thought about that some more.

I thought about taking her to visit the cute couple on the 2nd floor. Thought about having drinks with them, smoking a joint, putting a porn flick on...

Letting the girls practice on both of us.

I lathered up and stroked my now hard, erect cock. I covered myself in shower gel, using it as lube, sliding my fist up and down. Slowly at first.

I closed my eyes and imagined my neighbor's girlfriend asking my date if she would mind trading places for a while.

I imagined watching the blonde wrap her lips around my neighbor's cock while his girl licked me up and down.

My strokes got faster. As did my breathing.

I thought about the two of them kissing on the floor, mouths full of our cum.

I came.

conflicted

2006-12-06T11:12:00.000Z

I'm still surprised about last weekend. It seems a bit unreal.

But of course, in hind-sight, it makes sense. If you catch the most common STD in the world (HPV), of course lots of other people will have caught it as well. The odds of ending up in bed with one of them aren't really so small. That's how I caught it in the first place, right?

It so happens that the strains that cause visible warts (like the ones I've been fighting to get rid of for the past few months) aren't the strains that cause cancer... so aside from the stigma, they aren't really a big deal.

But the stigma matters.

I'm not just surprised though, I'm also having second thoughts. Meeting and sleeping with Rosa was amazing. I can't wait to see her again. And yet, at the same time, I worry that we let the drink cloud our judgement. Maybe she had a different strain of HPV from the one I have. Maybe she can catch mine as well and will regret having slept with me. Maybe I should have known better than to expose her to that risk. Maybe she regrets our time together and won't want to see me again.

Will sobriety and guilt make her play the feminine victim card, will she dramatically blame the evil man (me) for a decision she made and regrets?

Am I being an arrogant chauvinist, second-guessing her sincerity, motives, decisions?

Or, worse - was I perhaps selfish, did I throw caution to the wind just because I wanted to get laid?

I just don't know what to think. Part of me is elated and can't wait to meet her again, part of me worries and frets. And part of me just wants to go out and find out how many other girls I can have fun with like that.

Worries aside, last weekend I realized I can have lots of sexy fun without actually rubbing the rapidly disappearing warts against anyone.

That's something anyway!

made me cry

2006-12-04T09:00:00.000Z

This blog post, together with the comments, made me cry.

If you came here looking for something sexy, don't click on that link. But do so later, it's worth reading.

surprises

2006-12-03T05:39:00.000Z

I've been pretty down in the dumps about the warts for the past few weeks.

I'm rubbish at getting to know girls socially and slowly turning a friendship into something more. I've always started at the other end. Pick them up, get them naked, fill them with cock. See how things go from there. I suppose that's backwards compared to what most people do, but it's worked for me and it's great fun.

How do you do that with warts? It doesn't really work at all.

If I fuck someone and she finds out I knew I had warts, then I'm a right bastard and if she has any backbone at all she'll dump my ass and warn the world about me. If I feign ignorance, then I'm setting myself up for a huge mess when I find someone good. I don't believe in building relationships on lies. If I tell the truth then girls won't sleep with me in the first place and I can't help but wonder, would any girl really want such damaged goods for a boyfriend?

And before you tell me condoms are the solution, no they fucking aren't. They don't cover the warts.

So most weekends I just stay in feeling sorry for myself.

Not all though, a few times I've gone out, had fun, flirted a bit and then run away leaving confused girls in my wake. Good for my ego, but damn I hate the running away part. Some of the girls here are hot like you wouldn't believe.

Friday night I was feeling a bit less depressed than usual, so I put on my runners and went out.

I accompanied my flatmate to a bar named Dillon's, where friends of his were celebrating something. A birthday I think, but most of the celebrations and congratulations were in Icelandic and I didn't really get what was going on. Said flatmate is helpfully refusing to speak English to me, claiming that will help me learn Icelandic faster.

Who told him I wanted to learn Icelandic, anyway? Arrogant bastard.

I just had drinks and chatted and flirted with more cooperative people.

One of the girls caught my eye early on, I had also noticed her with this group a few weeks back and we'd chatted a bit. A lovely ginger, red curls, freckles, pale white skin. Her shoulders were bare and I could tell she had strong arms. Sexy.

I remembered her name, Rosa (rose?), asked her if she remembered mine. She did. She introduced her friend Harpa to me, a very flirtatious brunette. I watched them together and thought about getting the two of them into my bed at once, someday, once the warts were gone...

Rosa and I got on like a house on fire. I jokingly asked her if she had gotten tired of guys trying to pick her up by offering to count her freckles, surely they must try that line all the time? I made a point of admiring her assets as I said so, putting on my best leer. She laughed and agreed that yes, it had become oh so tiresome.

Poor girl, I promised not to try any lines like that then.

The night went on, drinks were drunk, the bar closed. Dillon's is one of the places that closes at 3am, further down the street bars are open longer.

Most of the group said goodnight, either couples eager to get home and shag or singletons feeling put off by the cold and dark. Somehow I ended up heading to Kaffibarinn with Rosa and Harpa and no one else.

Kaffibarinn ("the coffee bar" although I don't think they actually serve coffee) is where all the hip theatre and film types get arsed on weekends. During the week the same crowd hangs out there with shiny macs, being incredibly important and brilliant. Not to mention cleverly dressed. Tossers the lot of them, if you ask me.

But it's the place to be if you want to fawn over movie stars passing through Iceland or dance in a throng of drunken Icelandic hipsters. Not quite as sleazy as Sirkus, but pretty close. And since the pretty girls wanted to go there, so did I.

There was no queue for a change, but we had to stand outside in the cold and wait a bit anyway. While we waited Harpa suddenly remembered that she really wanted to shag one of the guys from the party and ran off to his house to make that happen. Oddly conveniant, I wondered whether the girls had planned it. I wouldn't put it past them.

So I had Rosa all to my drunken self in Kaffibarinn at 4 in the morning.

We were both pretty drunk, but I figured another pint each was probably an excellent idea all the same. At the bar I got distracted by a coworker for a bit, but at the first polite opportunity Rosa put her hand in mine and whispered to me "let's go somewhere we can be alone". I let her lead me to the dance floor.

And we danced.

Smiles, eye contact, we moved around each other, together. I put a hand on her hip, the other on her elbow, keeping contact and slowly bringing her closer and closer to me, until we were pressed against each other from knees to nipples.

I knew she could feel my erection digging into her thigh, but I didn't care. She didn't seem to either.

We danced, and we kissed.

I knew I had to have her in my bed. I just had to see her naked, touch her and taste her, smell her. I pulled her closer and spoke into her ear as our bodies kept moving in time to the music.

"I have a somewhat odd proposition for you. I'd like to take you home, but I'm afraid I can't have sex with you. And I'm afraid I have to get up very early in the morning too, a friend is coming over and I promised to make her breakfast... and then I have work. So it's not a very good invitation. But I would like to invite you over all the same."

I was shocked and amazed that she said yes. We went home.

I was pleasantly surprised how good her pussy tasted.

It was her turn to be surprised when my fingers and tongue brought her to orgasm.

As we cuddled afterwards, she asked me why I wouldn't fuck her. My erection wasn't exactly lacking, I had told her I was single. She didn't get it. So I told her why.

That's when she totally blew me away.

"That's all? I had warts a couple of years ago, they're no big deal. Where's a condom?"

And just like that, she ended my celibacy and ruined my carefully constructed complexes of frustration and self-pity.

How did I get to be so lucky?

I felt a sense of wonder as I watched her impale herself on my erection, pressing her lovely tits together and moving up and down on me, giving me what I've been aching for for what seems like an eternity now.

I remember a time when it would never have occurred to me that I could have such a beautiful girl in my bed. Let alone under circumstances like these.

And yet there she was, riding me, slowly but surely coaxing the cum out of me and relishing every moment of it. I held back as long as I could, gazing at her perfect body, loving how her pussy felt on me. I just wanted to last forever. But I couldn't, she made me come, hard, gasping and digging my fingers into her hips.

And then we did it again.

And again.

And now I can't wait until next weekend! I'm back!!

fleshbot - again

2006-11-27T07:11:00.000Z

Seems while I was busy ignoring my blog I also got fleshbotted again. Cool. Thanks Jefferson!

In other news, it's been fucking cold here for the past few days. Whoever told me that it never really got that cold in Iceland, in spite of the name, wasn't entirely truthful.

I could really use someone warm in my bed about now. To keep me warm.

And to distract me from the giggles and suggestive squeak, squeak, squeak sounds coming from my flatmate's room across the hall. There was more than one pair of dainty girly shoes in the hallway when I went to take a leak just now. Bastard. On a Monday morning!

Oh well, at least he's too busy to go looking for his laptop...

tart

2006-11-27T05:39:00.000Z

I dance. Sip my vodka, enjoy the burning sensation as it rolls over my tongue. I discovered early that if I drink it straight, I don't drink it too fast.

That was before I got used to the taste, before I learned to love it.

I still drink it straight, but count the shots.

The heavy beat of the music has me back on the floor, dancing. Leather and latex and black hair surround me. My everyday clothes are out of place, a splash of colour on a goth dance floor. But I don't care, I just let the vodka and the music move me.

Soon I notice another out of place dancer. Tight jeans hug swaying hips and a brown top cover a fit frame. Perky breasts that would fit perfectly in my hands. I'm amused and a little intrigued by how delighted she is with her own reflection, repeatedly lifting her top halfway up to admire her own flat stomach in the mirror by the dance floor. Not for my benefit or anyone else's, but for her own.

As if she isn't quite used to her own body.

We dance. Exchange glances, smiles. Dance.

The D.J. is doing a poor job keeping people on the floor. Great songs and truly awful ones alternate, people come and go. During one of the lulls I go to the bar to refill my glass and meet the self-absorbed dancer there.

She smiles flirtatiously at me, I smile back and introduce myself. Her name is Sally. Or Sandra. Or Samantha. I can't remember. Her face seems strangely older than her body, her hands too. Her voice has a hint of gravel. I have another sip from my glass, relish how it burns. She tells me that I'm very cute.

So cute.

A few songs later, another glass, we meet again and she asks me to follow her to a quiet corner of the club. Sure. I enjoy the attention, try to strike a balance between flattering her back and not leading her on too much. I'm not going to do anything tonight but drink and dance.

She explains to me how her boyfriend is out of town, how he is so often away. She emphasizes how she always likes to play it safe, and it's clear she is talking about sex, offering sex. She says I look fit, can she put her hand on my stomache? Sure, why not? She caresses my stomach and I see hunger in her eyes.

I can imagine her getting down on her knees right there, putting her mouth on me. I'm entertained by the thought of suggesting just that, but nothing escapes my lips but a sly grin. I wasn't going to do anything tonight but drink and dance.

More vodka. More dancing. She's looking pretty good.

Another conversation, she confides in me that she has a strong foot fetish and would love to take me home and just rub my feet. Do I find that repulsive? No, I don't, but it seems a little unusual. Somehow I've never really thought about women having foot fetishes. Although few things would be nicer than a foot rub after dancing for hours at a gay bar turned goth club, I politely decline.

Not giving up, she asks me if I enjoy oral sex. I answer, how could I not? But I'm not doing anything tonight except drinking and dancing.

By now the flirting has gone quite a bit past the point of not disappointing her, I hazily think to myself. Do I care? I'm enjoying myself and I can't bring myself to feel very bad about playing hard to get with a woman who is so blatantly trying to cheat her man. So I flirt, play hard to get. Quite the tart.

The bar closes, the music goes off.

I head out with my mate, she's going in the same direction, we walk her home. We decline her invitation to come in for tea, she makes a point of letting me know where she'll be next weekend. We continue walking. Once out of earshot, my mate tells me he was more than a little amused by the performance. Tells me she had plaintively asked him at one point whether I had something against transsexuals...

Trans... oh.

I hadn't realized. The vodka cushions the blow, I don't feel nearly as dumb as I probably should have. But then again, it didn't matter, did it?

Could have been interesting though.

warts

2006-11-26T03:17:00.000Z

Seems while I wasn't looking Jane's Guide posted a pretty flattering review of my blog. Makes me feel bad about not having updated it for ages!

Things have gone a bit strange for me here.

I lost the job I had and have been doing odd jobs at restaurants around town, which is fine, but that laptop I was craving is entirely beyond my means. I've been able to borrow a computer once in a while from a flatmate, which has kept me from losing touch with people back home, but I haven't really wanted to use it for updating this blog. Tonight I think I'll make an exception, it's late and my mates are all out freezing their asses off doing the pub-crawl.

Lack of internet access isn't the only reason I haven't been blogging much, though. I'm afraid the damn genital warts are back and I've let that keep me from having as many adventures as I'd hoped. I thought I was rid of them, but now I'm having doubts about that. Or maybe I've got new ones. Whichever, it's very annoying.

Based on what I've read online, they're "harmless" and not of the variety that causes cervical cancer, but that doesn't mean ladies will be happy to be infected. I may be a player, but I'm not an asshole. More's the pity.

It's incredibly frustrating. I go out, I flirt, I know the looks and know what they mean. I ache to feel a warm woman wrapped around me and on me, but I hold back. Tonight I decided to just stay in and wank.

I've come three times and am feeling a bit sore. But I'm still horny.

sirkus

2006-10-09T05:54:00.000Z

I think I've found my place here.

It's a dive. A sleazy little bar with a low ceiling, sticky tables and far too many people in it. It's called Sirkus, because the locals love all things American but don't care much about spelling.

It's a dive, and it's a meat market.

After a few weekends here, you begin to recognize faces. Regulars, here all the time. I've popped in a couple of times on weeknights, same faces then too, just not all at once.

If you ever decide to visit the place, I've got one piece of advice for you: don't worry about which is the men's room. The ladies will happily occupy the mens' for what will seem like hours and come out oddly more awake and better made up than when they went in... so turn about's fair play. But be a gentleman and don't pee all over the place. Bring a friend or two.

I've had good luck losing myself on what passes for a dance floor. Just moving with the crowd, in time, swaying, rubbing, sweating. Making eyes at the lovely little things all around, grinning slyly when I catch them watching me move. It's what bodies are for. Moving.

Seems this particular meat market is the place to be. I think the owner is Bjork's sister or something like that, musicians who play here often pass through this little dive while sampling the Icelandic nightlife. Maybe I'll get lucky and pick up Lily Allen here one night. But usually there aren't any celebrities here, just drunken Icelanders, horny exchange students and tourists.

It was a couple of weeks back. I was on the dance floor lost in music and beer and intoxicated by the lovely women all around me, when I noticed a pair of eyes on me. A stunning brunette who didn't look away when I looked back. I grinned, she grinned back. And we danced on, each in our place, exchanging glances and moving, dancing.

Eventually, the lights were switched on, the music switched off.

The girl who minds the door started stomping about, shouting something in Icelandic which obviously meant it was time to bugger off, get lost, go home. People stood around finishing their beers and gathering up their things.

I ignored the shouting Icelander and walked up to the brunette. She looked even better with the lights on. I said hello, introduced myself, asked her name. Nadine. American, tourist, alone. Chit, chat, small talk. I tried the straightforward approach; would she like to spend the night with me?

She'd be delighted.

I acted cool, but I could hardly contain my excitement, my desire. We chatted a bit more, our hands met. So civilized. But I ached to get her out of here and into my bed, any bed! I wanted to put my hands all over her pale body, touch her and taste her, fill her up and make her moan. I could see her eyes glancing at my chest and my arms, the lust in her eyes mirroring mine.

We were interrupted.

A big blonde guy with a bushy red beard hiding most of his face. "Hey baby, lose this guy. Look at him! Mediocre! I can treat you better than he could even dream of." I looked up at him incredulously, not letting go of Nadine's hand. "I don't think so," I said calmly. She moved closer to me, her breast brushing against my chest.

The guy walked off without saying another word, the Icelandic girl stomped past us again, still shouting that it was time to leave.

So we left.

The two of us ended up at her hotel, our clothes ended up on the floor.

Hours and hours later, when it was time for her to go on some sightseeing tour with friends, she still hadn't slept at all. She kissed me goodbye and told me that our bearded friend couldn't have been more wrong.

So I'm not mediocre. I wonder if she'll ever e-mail me.

Iceland

2006-09-25T11:56:00.000Z

So, I'm alive, in Iceland.

It's strange that I've been here almost a month now. My trip was uneventful, although I'm sure the hot stewardess was looking me a little longer in the eye than necessary as she poured my coffee...

Being here has been a blast, so far. My job is menial and pointless, but the place is amazing. Someone told me on the way over here that Icelandic women were all very beautiful because the Nordic vikings kidnapped all the hot babes from Ireland and took them to Iceland as slaves. It seems plausible, there are lots of gingers here and the women are gorgeous. And sexually liberated too...

I have quite a few things to blog about when I can find the time and a decent place to go online.

Unfortunately, Iceland is so high tech that finding an internet connection is actually surprisingly tricky. It's everywhere, this Internet thing. Most cafes and bars (not that there seems to be much of a difference here) offer free wireless. The trouble is, they all assume you have your own laptop, which I don't. The only net cafe type place I've found so far which offers any privacy is a games place downtown, and it's not exactly free.

Nothing here is, except the water. And what you've heard is true: the hot water here stinks.

I think I may tighten my belt and buy a laptop.

naked

2006-08-10T10:30:00.000Z

She stood there in front of my shower, stark naked, testing the water temperature with her hand.

I just stared.

Every curve was perfect. Her calves, her thighs, her bottom. Flat stomach, perky breasts that are almost exactly a handful each. The curve where her shoulder met her neck, the perfect place for a kiss. Her petite ears, her jaw. Her happy smile and bright eyes when I asked her to turn around.

She got in the shower and I went to make breakfast.

But that vision was with me the rest of the day.

bulge

2006-07-31T17:01:00.000Z

We stood in my kitchen, kissing. We'd been exchanging phone calls and messages for days and now that we finally were together, we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

I had my hands on her ass, she had hers on my upper arms. She squeezed my muscles as our lips caressed and our tongues played. I held her close.

After a couple of minutes we let each other go, smiling. We had the whole evening ahead of us, a table booked at a nice restaurant. There was no rush. I looked down and could see that my partial erection was clearly visible through my trousers, a long hard bulge waiting to be released and buried inside her.

"Look what I've got for you..."

I drew her attention to the bulge. Her eyes lit up and she reached out with one hand to touch. Her fingers moved up and down the length of it.

Maybe there was a rush after all.

She led me to the bedroom and we kissed again. She seemed a little shy, but also eager. Without a word she took her stockings off, I unbuttoned my fly and released my cock so she could see it. She kissed me and put her hand on me.

I felt very hard, I was already wet. I knew she was too.

I spun her around and told her to lean against the bedpost. Lifted her skirt up and pulled her knickers down, running my fingers over her perfect bottom. Kissed each cheek and then stood up again.

I slid my erection into her. All at once. Deep.

We were both so wet, so ready, no more foreplay was necessary.

I leaned over her and reached around, put my finger on her pussy and felt her delicious wetness. I explored her, found her swollen clit and rubbed it gently while I moved my cock inside her. She gasped and moaned.

I straightened up and grabbed her hips, fucking her with long slow strokes. She was wriggling a little, pushing against me, her vagina cramping around my cock. I knew she could come like that, but I wasn't sure I could hold back if she did.

"I'm going to fuck you like this a bit more, baby. I want you to come for me. But soon I'm going to have to pull out and you're going to suck me off. And then I'll fuck you some more."

That's exactly what happened.

A couple of orgasms later we left the house and I bought her dinner.

babyholics

2006-07-27T02:12:00.000Z

Maria and I are doing a very bad job being broken up. In fact, I think I'll go out on a limb and admit that we really, really suck at it.

We keep meeting for sex or, worse, for friendly walks, cuddles and conversations. If we aren't careful someone is going to go get our single status revoked.

I met her parents for the first time the other day. They happily treated us like a couple, encouraging Maria to dump me when I was out of line (which I am quite frequently, too bad she already did) and then, when I wasn't in earshot, turning around and telling her to go ahead, not bother with the contraceptives, have my babies!

I don't think Maria explained to them that we're reckless dumb kids and don't really use condoms that much anyway; I just come anywhere but in her pussy and she loves every last sticky bit of it. I'm pretty sure she didn't draw them any diagrams.

Not that it would matter. I'm sure her parents would gleefully approve, smug in the knowledge that if we keep it up, eventually it will lead to those grandkids they're yearnin' for.

(For the record, I've never been so reckless with any other woman. She just has that effect on me. What can I say?)

Of course, they can't help it. Her parents that is, they can't help giving out such dreadful advice. As soon as kids grow up and parents stop making more of their own, they suddenly want nothing more than to become grandparents. Like clockwork. Never fails.

It's like babies are some sort of narcotic.

Parents become babyholics.

But hey! If I was still trying to get Maria to be my girl, it's almost as if they'd be on my side. Funny thought, that.

blondes

2006-07-23T16:47:00.000Z

When she was a child, her dad told her that in this world, blondes always came first. Her black hair would always be a liability. She believed him.

Her friend told her on Thursday, that if she went home with some long haired loser (that would be me), he'd go pick up some blonde chick. I went home alone.

Saturday night, after meeting her for a chat, playing her game, I played mine.

Went home and fucked a lovely blonde.

games

2006-07-21T02:41:00.000Z

This day sucked. Can I get another one, please?

So I went out to see that girl.

Not only did I go out, I blew off a friend from out of town to do so, arranged another place for him to stay and told him I needed my privacy tonight. I also made a point of letting my date know that I had made that effort to ensure we'd be undisturbed.

I got no reply to that particular text.

We spent the evening together, at a pub of her choice, drinking beer I mostly paid for. She had actually said she was buying, but somehow wasn't there when the first bill came, and by the third round (after she'd bought one beer for each of us), she was talking about how broke she was, so I just paid for the beer. But we were having a good time together, right? Well, a good time aside from all the time I spent alone while she repeatedly got up to talk to her friends...

At the last minute, closing time, she told me she had to go home to look after her sister's kids. So no, she wasn't coming home with me.

Fuck that.

I can tell she's into me, but she's just not together enough to do anything about it. She'll just keep frustrating me until she gets so drunk she ends up in my bed, is a crap lay and then regrets it and blames it on the booze. And me. Since I'm moving to a silly country in a few short weeks I really don't see any point in playing that particular game.

The beauty of it all is, if I drop her now, she can handily write me off as just another guy who doesn't care about anything but getting into her pants...

decisions

2006-07-20T16:58:00.000Z

Decisions, decisions.

A lovely lady wants to stop by my place tonight for A First Shag.

However, I've been fighting a runny nose all day. Either allergies or a cold, or both.

Should I cancel? Or should I invite her over and hope for the best?

I'll not go into graphic descriptions of why exactly I think so, but I'd wager a runny nose is pretty far down on the list of Sexy Things To Have On A Date. I think it's right above uncontrollable hiccups.

I've had uncontrollable hiccups.

I didn't get laid at all until they went away. Not once, and those damn hiccups lasted for hours.

curtains

2006-07-19T10:00:00.000Z

We sat in her couch, talking and drinking the wine I had brought with me. Nice, cozy, but there was also an undercurrent of sexual tension between us. Would we end up in bed? Was it OK to touch her like I used to? Would we feel like shit tomorrow if we slept together tonight?

The mere fact that I was thinking those things meant we almost certainly wouldn't be able to resist.

I touched her. She put her feet in my lap and I caressed them, gently massaging her tired calves and the soles of her feet as we continued our chat.

Soon she moved closer, we kissed. She put her hand on my chest, caressed me, let it wander, explore. Feeling my fit body obviously turned her on. She bit her lip as her hands crossed my stomache. I kissed her again, ran a finger along her jaw and lightly over her chest. Kissed her, nibbled on her lip, breathed in her scent.

"Sit on top of me," I said.

She complied and upped the ante, stripping her top off in one fluid motion. Her round, perky breasts and pink nipples filled my field of vision. I put my hands on her hips and kissed each nipple, licking and sucking gently. She cocked her head to one side, as she always does, stared at me hungrily. Her glance kept moving down to the bulge in my jeans, it was pretty obvious what she was thinking.

"Is there something you want?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, and bit her lip.

"Shouldn't I send you to close the curtains first, baby?"

"No..."

I grinned. Filthy girl! We were on the ground floor, anyone walking by could look in and see exactly what was going on. I undid my fly.

She got on her knees between my legs, pulled the jeans and underwear down, exposing my cock. I watched as she licked me up and down, her eyes as intent on my cock as mine had been on her breasts a few moments earlier. Her tongue teased me, played with me. Soon my shaft was all wet and the head of my cock between her lips, her head bobbing up and down. She was sucking hard, she wanted to taste me, swallow me.

I tangled a finger in her fiery curls and watched as someone walked past the window.

They didn't look inside.

I don't remember if it was my idea or hers, but before I started to feel the need to come, she stopped sucking me and sat in my lap again. We slid her knickers to one side and she sat on my naked cock, rode me. I relished the hot, wet tightness of her pussy on me. I looked her in the eyes.

"Filthy slut, you know anyone could see you right now? Anyone walking by could see you fucking me in your living room, right now, like the filthy little bitch you are? You like that don't you? Don't you, you little slut?"

She nodded, her mouth open. "Yes... yes."

Shy and turned on all at once.

"Come on my cock then. Come on my cock and then finish sucking me off, slut. Go on."

She started fucking me harder, rotating her hips back and forth so the tip of my cock massaged her deep inside. I could feel her cervix rubbing back and forth against me, could feel her pussy grabbing my cock. She tensed up all at once, stopped moving and breathing, a gorgeous vision of female sexuality impaled on my manhood.

I love that woman's orgasms.

She relaxed for just a moment and stared at me. There was something incredibly horny, incredibly primal in her expression. She suddenly started to fuck me again, completely wild, eyes locked with mine. Doing her damndest to make me lose control, craving my load deep inside her. One greedy, wild gyration of her hips after another, faster, faster, faster...

"Oh no you don't!"

I pulled away. If she'd gotten off one more stroke we'd have made a baby.

Instead I fucked her mouth in full view of the entire world walking down her street, made her drink all the cum I'd been so carefully saving for her.

Then we went to her bed to cuddle.

solar plexus

2006-07-09T19:03:00.000Z

Last Friday I was expecting Maria over for dinner and a chat.

When the doorbell rang, I just buzzed her in, opened the door to my flat and went on with the cooking. Bad move. Once I could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs I realized it couldn't be her. Those were the irregular, heavy footsteps of a drunk man, not the light, quick tap tap of an energetic girl's Pumas.

"Hello? Who's there?" I asked.

No answer, but soon I could see an unfamiliar man staggering in my direction.

I can't exactly remember what happened next, it was all a blur.

All I remember was that he swung a punch in my direction and my years of martial arts training just took over. I must have deflected his blow because nothing hit me. He wasn't so lucky though. When my vision cleared he was on his hands and knees, retching pathetically on my welcome mat, unable to breathe.

I must have hit him in the solar plexus, hard. I don't even remember doing so, but supposedly that's the effect it has one someone who isn't ready for it.

Fucked up.

I was shaken. Shit, shit, shit, what do I do now?

Play tough. Show any weakness and he might try again. So I put my hand on the back of his neck, held him down and growled through clenched teeth that he was trespassing and I would either beat the shit out of him or call the cops if he didn't calm down.

He seemed to believe me.

I stood up, let him go. I remembered that Maria was on her way, I didn't want her to see this. So I texted her: "Brad's here, don't come." My thumb trembled on the phone's keypad.

Once Brad had regained his breath I took pity on him, invited him in for a glass of milk. He proceeded to break down and tell me pretty much his life story, slouching on a chair in my tiny kitchen. I listened, leaning against my refrigerator, still trying to act tough. I really just wanted him to leave, but I was afraid that if he still felt angry and humiliated when he left then he'd come back with a tyre iron or a friend or something.

So I let him vent. After about an hour I called him a cab and sent him back to his hotel.

Locked my door, climbed into my bed and cried myself to sleep.

I've never hit anyone outside the dojo before. It was a scary experience, both scary to lose control like that and scary to actually be in a situation where someone wanted to hurt me. But at the same time I'm incredibly glad I handled the situation as well as I did, incredibly glad the training works and glad I could calm things down afterwards. I don't think I'll be seeing Brad again.

I kept to myself for the rest of the weekend. Had Maria over last night to tell her what happened, but aside from that I avoided people. These past couple of weeks have been rough and that was really the last straw. Getting turned down by Maria and stalked by her ex boyfriend hasn't exactly made feel very sexy and sociable, but hopefully the worst is over now.

I want to get back to being myself, move on, meet people, have fabulous sex and write about it here. I really should finish writing about that threesome with Gillian, for example. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after.

In other news, I've decided to accept that job in Iceland and will be hopping on a plane sometime in August. Exciting!

brad

2006-07-04T23:58:00.000Z

Brad called me tonight. First time I've actually talked to the guy. I probably wouldn't have picked up, but he wasn't calling from his own number.

"Uh, hi. This is Brad. Um, I was wondering, uh, have you seen Maria?"

His voice was thick, as if he was drugged or holding back a sob.

"Yes, I have."

"Is she OK? Is, uh... I just need to know, she won't answer my calls, is she really alright? Do you know when she's coming back?"

"Look, mate, I really don't know what went on between you two and I really don't want to get involved. I haven't met her for a few days, but she seemed more or less OK last time I did. If she's not answering your calls, then I think you're just going to have to respect that and leave her alone."

I prudently didn't mention orgasms in the countryside or my own pathetic attempt to win her back.

"Hey, don't bullshit me, you're fucking her, aren't you? Aren't you?" Angry.

There we go.

"No, Brad, I'm not."

I didn't mention that I wished I were.

"She dumped me months ago and I'm sure she doesn't want to go there again. But I know you're not going to believe anything I say, so I'm hanging up now. Goodbye, good luck getting over her."

I hung up on his protests and stared at my phone for a moment.

Brad had called me from an Irish number.

I picked up the phone again and called Maria, told her about the call.

She wasn't best pleased, but she's pretty sure he doesn't know where she is staying. She thinks he's probably here on business, that's how they met in the first place. So maybe he isn't stalking her. But I made her promise to be careful and then went and checked the locks on my door. My address is relatively easy to look up.

Moving to another country is getting more appealing all the time.

watch me

2006-07-04T01:13:00.000Z

After some negotiation, we ended up at my place.

The three of us giggled our way up the stairs, Gillian (#5) and myself taking turns distracting our conquest from her shyness with bad puns or over-the-top innuendo.

When we got in I played the gentleman, took their coats and encouraged them to have a seat in my living room.

"Can I get you girls anything to drink?"

Gillian opted for a Bailey's on the rocks, our guest followed her lead.

I made myself a Campari soda and brought them their drinks. Sat between the girls in the sofa and leaned back.

"This is alot nicer than the bar, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Gillian, "especially since I spent too much time outside with the smokers. I've been waiting all night to be able to do this." She stripped her top off and threw it into the corner, making a face. "Stinky thing."

I grinned, admired the view. "Why don't you just take a quick shower? I'll keep our guest company."

She smiled. "You just want me naked, don't you?"

Then she knocked back her drink and stood up to leave the room, shedding items of clothing on the way. She threw her skirt over my face so I just barely caught a glimpse of her naked figure as she turned the corner into the bathroom.

I raised my glass to my guest. "Welcome to my world."

"She's not shy at all, is she?" she asked, as she touched her glass to mine.

"Gillian? Sometimes she is, sometimes she isn't. This is a safe place though, so here she shows off. I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"No, I envy her. I wouldn't mind losing some clothes myself."

I put my glass down and took her hand, pulling her to me for a careful kiss. Then I stood up and helped her out of her dress, caressing her neck and her thigh and her chest as each was revealed to me. I pulled her close and planted kisses on her neck and jawbone, whispered in her ear; "I'm taking the rest too".

I unfastened her bra with one hand while keeping the other on the small of her back, holding her close so I could keep kissing her shoulders, so I could feel her full breasts pressed against my chest. Once I had unfastened the bra I ran my fingers all the way down and then up her spine, enjoying how warm and smooth her skin felt on my fingers. When my fingers reached the back of her head she shivered, got goose-bumps. I grinned and got on my knees so my face was level with her tits, finished removing her bra and began gently sucking on her nipples.

The shivers had made them hard.

They made me hard.

As I teased her nipples with my mouth, my hands roamed over her body, exploring. They found the band of her panties, slowly pulled them down until they were by her ankles. I had undressed her.

I stood up, kissed her again. "Have a seat, naked woman. Now you get to watch me."

I put a blanket around her shoulders as she sat down, handed her her drink.

I began to slowly unbutton my shirt, looking her in the eyes as I did so. Once I had it buttoned all the way down I paused for a moment, unbuttoned my jeans but left the zipper alone. The bulge of my erection could clearly be seen stretching the fabric. I ran a finger down the length of it, watching her watch me. Then I finished taking my shirt off, dropped it to the floor.

I unzipped my trousers, took a step closer to her. "Touch yourself," I commanded.

I watched her hand drop between her legs so I could no longer see the her dark pubes anymore. She began stroking herself and stared at me.

I let the jeans drop to the floor and put my hand in my boxers, grabbing my cock. I began to masturbate slowly, letting her watch my hand moving underneath the fabric. Then I let them too drop to the floor, stood there naked in front of her with my cock in my hand, stroking it in time to the movement of her hand between her legs.

I could hear Gillian turn the water off.

She'd be rejoining us in a moment.

staring

2006-07-02T15:12:00.000Z

I sat at the bar, talking to ex-gf #5 and checking the door periodically. No sign of Maria. We had been exchanging messages, she knew where I could be found. Part of me wanted her to come find me, part of me didn't like that idea at all.

Each time I checked the door my gaze crossed the face of a women sitting on the other side of the oval-shaped bar. She invariably had her eyes pointed my way, although I couldn't be entirely sure she was staring at me and not someone behind me or next to me.

After a while my glances became about checking whether she was looking first, the door second.

Did I know her? She seemed familiar.

I got off my chair and made my way to the toilet, holding my glass and scanning faces as I walked. A curl here, a freckle there, eyeliner, earrings, smiles. So many women. The atmosphere seemed charged with pent up sexual energy.

As I stood by the urinal, I remembered. I had met the woman across the bar at a party a couple of years ago, we had somehow gotten into a detailed conversation about the pros and cons of monogamy. She'd been a bit weirded out by my opinions, but at the same time she had also been intrigued.

I made my way back to the bar, went the long way around so I'd pass by her. I caught her eye, grinned.

"Hi, remember me?" I asked.

"Yeah, we met at Finnegan's place didn't we?"

"Right!" I introduced myself, not expecting her to remember my name after all this time. "How've you been?"

She got a funny look on her face.

"Actually, that conversation we had at the party made me reevaluate some things I'd been taking for granted. I've always wanted to tell you." She leaned closer to me and said quietly, "I've also always regretted not going home with you that night."

I grinned.

"I was quite disappointed that you didn't. I'd invite you over tonight, but I'm afraid I have previous engagements." I glanced meaningfully across the bar at #5.

After a moment's pause I added. "Although, she probably wouldn't mind you joining us. If you're interested in that sort of thing."

She looked at her shoes.

"You saw me staring at her, didn't you?"

So that's why she'd always been looking in my direction! Hah!

My grin got a couple of millimeters wider. I introduced them and thus began what turned out to be a very interesting night.

weird

2006-07-01T04:24:00.000Z

My life's fuckin' weird.

That's really the only way to describe the situation. Ex-girlfriend number 5 is sleeping in the spare room. Ex-wife (a.k.a. ex-gf #4, a.k.a. Zoe) is asleep in the sofa.

After letting #5 watch me wrestle #4 to the floor and stuff an ice-cube down her dress, I sent them both to sleep and took a shower. As I was drying myself I smelt Maria (a.k.a. ex-gf #6) on the towel and gawd, I went all emo for about 15 seconds. Maybe even 20. However, I didn't take the towel to bed with me. I really didn't and the idea didn't even occur to me.

Honest!

Zoe and I did have a spot of fun at the bar tonight though, taking turns flirting shamelessly with a young goth thing. I got her number, but I got it for Zoe.

Zoe's going to take her to see a movie on Sunday.

I just wish she had come home with me and sat on my cock.

Cute little gothling, I'm sure she'd have fit nicely.

skin

2006-06-29T18:26:00.000Z

"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

2006-06-29T14:55:00.000Z

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

2006-06-27T10:08:00.000Z

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

2006-06-26T14:59:00.000Z

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

2006-06-24T20:58:00.000Z

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

2006-06-24T19:26:00.000Z

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

2006-06-23T02:18:00.000Z

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

2006-06-23T00:26:00.000Z

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

2006-06-21T13:57:00.000Z

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

2006-06-21T00:03:00.000Z

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

2006-06-20T11:46:00.000Z

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

2006-06-19T21:01:00.000Z

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

2006-06-19T11:57:00.000Z

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

2006-06-19T00:31:00.000Z

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

2006-06-17T21:13:00.000Z

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

2006-06-16T03:45:00.000Z

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

2006-06-16T00:31:00.000Z

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

2006-06-15T03:18:00.000Z

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

2006-06-14T02:59:00.000Z

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

2006-06-13T22:27:00.000Z

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

2006-06-12T01:22:00.000Z

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

2006-06-09T02:52:00.000Z

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

2006-06-08T02:13:00.000Z

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

2006-06-07T03:06:00.000Z

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

2006-06-06T23:34:00.000Z

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

2006-06-04T13:33:00.000Z

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

2006-06-04T05:14:00.000Z

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

2006-06-03T13:24:00.000Z

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.

not letting go

2006-05-30T18:22:00.000Z

I leaned against the club's wall, feeling smug.

It was one of those nights, out just relaxing with a mate as girl after girl checked me out. He had gone to the toilet or something, left me alone for a bit. I could feel the warm numbness of the third beer I had just finished, considered going for another one or just enjoying the scenery as I waited for him.

Then a girl caught my eye. Young, slender, with a slightly grown-up face and blond hair. Maybe 20, maybe 25, maybe older. Impossible to tell. She saw me looking and looked straight back. Walked slowly to me, our hands met. I held it until it was clear we weren't just shaking hands.

I asked, Shall I let you go?

No, she said.

So I didn't. She silently turned around and led me through the crowd towards the stairs at the back. Up, to an empty sofa. We were alone, but just as we sat down one of the bouncers came up and said they were closing the second floor, we'd have to go down. So we did.

Again, she led the way in silence, this time to one of the club's bathrooms. We stood outside, waiting for whoever was in there to finish. I reached up, grasped her jaw gently and pulled her face to me. Her soft lips met mine, shy, but eager. As our lips softly caressed each other, I realized for the first time that she was taller than me.

~~~

The bathroom door opened, she led me in. Shut the door, locked it, leaned in for another kiss. I slid my hands around her and she melted into my arms, her pelvis firmly against mine and her small breasts squashed between us. It felt good. I kissed her more firmly, slid my tongue a little further into her mouth. I started to get hard.

The music from the club could be clearly heard in the background, something with a heavy beat and muffled vocals. We knew we didn't have forever, locked in that bathroom. There would be a queue.

The kiss ended, she stepped back. Grinned coyly, knelt in front of me. I leaned back against the sink as she unzipped my fly and pulled everything down just enough to reveal my proud erection. The tip of my cock was already wet, glistening. She put her hand gently on my balls and tasted my pre-cum playfully with her tongue, so gently I could hardly feel it. Then she greedily took me into her mouth.

I shut my eyes and just enjoyed the warm sensations. I wasn't sure whether she just wanted to suck me off or what, but no way was I going to interrupt what she was doing to ask.

I found out soon enough. She knew exactly what she was doing and I reached the brink of orgasm far quicker than I usually do. I could feel I was about to come and so could she. And she stopped. Stood up, pulled up her skirt and turned around.

Bent over, looked back over her shoulder hungrily.

I always carry a condom or three in my pocket, I fished one out, rolled it over my sensitive cock with one hand and explored her pussy with the other. No surprises there, she was sopping wet, ready and waiting. I didn't waste any time. I entered her quickly, took a couple of short strokes and then plunged all the way into her.

Again. And again. And again.

By now people had started knocking on the door, but we didn't care.

I just pumped back and forth, riding her as hard as I could. She was still silent, but I could see by the tension in her hand against the wall and the way she bit her lip that this was exactly what she wanted. I fucked her even harder, pulled almost all the way out and then rammed as deep into her as I could, and again, pumping a load of cum into her on both strokes.

As I did I saw her shudder and her hand on the wall relaxed.

I pulled out, pulled up my pants, still wearing the condom. She turned around and smoothed her skirt back down, smiled. Gave me a kiss, took my hand again and together we left the room, ignoring the angry looks from the people in line.

She led me back to where we had met, smiled, touched a finger to my lips and walked away.

I never even got her name.

experiment

2006-05-30T15:49:00.000Z

I think I'll continue with this blog.

I've wanted a public, sex-themed blog for a long time now. I have quite a few stories to tell and I sincerely hope that there won't be any shortage of new adventures in the next few months.

I've been writing on a private, password protected site about these things for years, starting while I was in an open marriage and then continuing after that ended. But this sort of thing is inevitably all about the readers. Writing for friends and family limits what I can say and how I say it, especially in the small community I lived in at the time.

Writing anonymously for a wider public is a different beast entirely.

My last girlfriend kept telling me I should write porn (or erotica, take your pick). I think I'll give it a try.

If I don't get any readers I'll probably get frustrated and give up, but at worst it'll make an interesting experiment. If you like what I'm doing, please leave me a comment as encouragement.

Thanks, and welcome. Feel free to leave your knickers by the door.

flashback

2006-05-30T01:35:00.000Z

Jumping up and down on the dance floor, aware I was sweating profusely from the heat and exertion, I noticed her looking at me. She looked at me through her eyelashes, they way they do when they want to be taken home, fucked.

She'd told me no, last time I made a civilized move. Asked her out for a coffee. No. The time before, she had also told me no, so I asked her if I should bother trying again. No.

So I just kept on dancing and sweating, jumping and waving those stupid glow-sticks in the air. The crowd surged back and forth on the too-small dance floor, people smiled drunkenly, sang along, fought for balance, fought their way to the bar. A mob of almost-thirties in throbbing 90s rave nostalgia.

The time I wasn't that civilized and just took her home, that's when she'd said yes. Shouted it in fact, gasped it. But the sound I'll always remember is the cooing happy sound she made as I slipped my boxers off and she saw what I had in store for her. She liked that and I liked that sound.

I think of it when I see her, thought of it on that dance floor.

I think we went at it at least four times that night. I couldn't get enough of her, she liked everything I had to offer. We were both sore by the end, drenched in sweat, exhausted, but in that oh-so-nice way. We fell asleep in a tangle of limbs and sheets and pillows. I awoke before her and enjoyed the curve and feel of her breasts, one of the few times I've actually liked big ones like that. They were massive, real, perfect. They'd moved very nicely when I'd entered her. I quietly slipped out and bought breakfast. That's how to treat a lady the morning after a fuckathon, isn't it? Breakfast in bed?

I was probably trying too hard.

As I left the sweaty bar and the pumping music, I considered walking around the place a bit to see if she still had that look on her face. But I have my dignity. She told me no. If she wanted more she could come and get it, I know she has my number. There were other bars waiting, other girls. Besides, the spark was gone.

That third no killed it.