A letter

I'm not dead. Here's a letter I wrote a loved one a while back.

He liked it.

Here's what I was thinking about today after I got
home...

I'm standing on a balcony, leaning on the railing and
looking out over the city. I know you're behind me
before you touch me, before your hand smooths my hair.

I don't turn around.

Your arms come around me from behind, and I feel your
mouth on my neck. You bite me and I shiver, you kiss
down to my shoulder and I get goosebumps. Your hands
come up to my breasts, and you run your palms lightly
over my nipples before pinching them through my
clothes. I arch my back, and I can feel you pressed
against me. You're hard. I like that.

I reach behind me and run my fingertips over your
cock. (Sorry, can't think of it as a "trick" for some
reason, maybe I should call it a whang? Piece?
Hoo-hoo-dilly?) Whatever the fuck it is, it's hard and
I'm touching it.

You push my skirt up slightly with your right hand and
stroke my pussy from behind. I'm wet, but you knew
that. You flick my clit ring slightly, dip a finger
inside me, come back and circle my clit.

I pop the button on your pants one-handed, unzip them,
and they drop to your knees. I fish you out of your
boxers. You're slick, but I knew that. I use two
fingers to spread pre-come down the head, then stroke
you lightly in little circles. Just those two fingers
on the sensitive spots.

Your touch on my clit gets rougher. You're sliding a
finger into me every other stroke. I'm moving my
hips, making little noises. It's really, really good.
Can't be too loud, someone might hear me. If anyone
happened to look up, they'd see us. Still, it's hard
to be quiet. I'm jacking your cock slowly but firmly
now. Not too hard. I hear you gasp, and I squirm hard
against your hand. Then I let go.

I don't turn around, but I say "I need you to
fuck me!" My voice is quiet but very intense. Your
hand leaves my pussy, and I hear the crinkle of a
condom wrapper over the sound of the traffic below. I
bring my slick fingers around to my own clit.

I feel your cock nudging against me, and I arch my
back again to give you better access. You push in
slowly, and I groan. I can't help it. You pull out as
slowly as you entered, and when you start to move
forward again I come back to meet you. My fingers are
working my clit, and I'm massaging myself slowly back
and forth on your cock, and it feels so fucking
intense, and I can hear your breathing speeding up,
and I'm building up, I can feel it, and then you say
"Oh, fuck!" and I come.

I come hard, with a gasp, squeezing your cock and
gushing all over the place. It's so fucking good, SO
fucking GOOD, but I've got to be quiet, and then I
hear you saying something under your breath, and then
I feel you coming. You shudder hard against my back,
and I feel you twitch and throb inside me, and I'm
coming again, one of those little aftershock ones that
I never expect.

When I get my breathing back under control, I realize
that I'm standing in a puddle and you've got your
pants around your ankles and we look like dorks. But
well-fucked dorks.

And that's just *one* of the things I think about
doing with you. See you tomorrow!

...sigh

Okay, okay.

I took a break and thought about things in a little more depth. Aside from all the other people finding the damn blog, Thoth also read it... and was a little upset. The man who never gets jealous got moderately jealous and bummed out.

This sucked. For him, because he was unhappy; and for me, because I made him unhappy. Ugh.

However, he's decided not to read the wretched thing, since he doesn't like his reaction to it.
Remarkably enlightened? Yeah, that's Thoth.

So what the hell. Back into the fray, now that everyone's forgotten about me! I have a lot to report. New toys have been bought - I got a Rock Chick for Xmas, Thoth got an Aneros - and I went to a SF con and attended a bunch of DIY kink panels, where I learned many new and interesting things. Clothes pins and glue sticks, yeah! My next visit to Home Despot will be fruitful.

I'm also going to join a porn-oriented version of Netflix, selected for its high hentai content. Woooo! Lots of tentacles and shrill shrieking!

And, as ever, there will be the porn. And the buttsex, without which there would have been no notice of this blog whatsoever. NOW WITH MORE ASS IN EVERY BITE!

More about water

It's cold here, and there is a hot tub.

Alas, there's nobody around to take advantage of it with me. Or take advantage of me. Or... you get the drift.

Hot tubs, while very sensual, aren't really conducive to fucking. Well, not for me, anyway. The heat gives me headaches before long. Although once, years ago, there was an incident with a couple of friends...

It was a private hot tub, and therefore not quite so... well, hot. The three of us soaked a while, watching the steam rise into the cool night air and talking about our mutual attractions. Since all three of us were arrant libertines, we ended up stripping and making out. He was into both of us, she was into both of us, I was mostly into him and pretty soon he was deeply into her as she reclined in my arms and I tugged at her nipples and nibbled her neck. For a masochist, she really couldn't handle much biting, so I was all girly and gentle as he thumped hard into her, sloshing water over the sides of the tub.

He reached past me and slid a couple of fingers inside me, which was fine for a little while until the water washed all my natural lube away. He concentrated on fucking her - well - until she came with a shriek, then he rinsed himself clean in the water and presented himself for a blowjob. I eyed him jadedly, but came through despite myself and brought him quickly to a roaring finish as she caressed his balls and kissed him sweetly.

Swimming pools in the pouring rain on a hotel rooftop... check. (And rowr.) The ocean, both at night under a clear full moon (with sharks) and during broad daylight in full view of a couple of surfing teenagers... check. (Salt = owie.) Many, many showers. Very few bathtubs, as I am not a midget contortionist. I just love sex in and around water! Nothing against pee fetishists, but they've given water sports a bad name.

Still... I wish there was someone to frolic in the hot tub with me. Stupid holidays.

The other water sport

In a houseful of people, there is nowhere private to masturbate.

J's in the bedroom, the office door doesn't close, and people are apt to wander through the living room at all hours. The garage isn't exactly conducive to flicking the bean either.

This leaves the bathroom, refuge of teenage boys everywhere. Happily, it also holds one of my favorite toys ever - the bathtub! Shower massagers be damned, the bathtub faucet has been a longtime companion and remains a favorite.

You may be trying to picture this and coming up with god-awful mental images. Allow me to set the scene, undignified as it might be.

I fiddle with the tap until I get the best water pressure and temperature, then get into the tub and slide down until the water hits my clit. My legs end up extended up the wall of the bathtub enclosure, and I have to keep one hand pressed against the back of the tub to hold me in place. It looks stupid but is the fastest, most reliable orgasm I've ever found. I can go and go and go until my head explodes this way. I can vary the pressure and temperature for various effects, I can wriggle my pussy around so that the water hits various parts of me, I have a free hand for my nipples, and hey - I end up squeaky clean! There's no downside.

Various boyfriends have wanted to see this in action, but it's one of the few sexual things I'm shy about... mainly because it just looks so goofy.

I've tried the shower massager thing - nah, not so great for me. But the bathtub faucet works every time.

Okay!

All right.

Now that every ex I've ever had is reading this goddamned thing (that's what I get for dating exclusively within the sex-positive techie pool), I've decided to go on with it anyway. My main dilemma is whether to keep it here or move it to my domain, since everyone knows it's me now anyway.

I don't want to let all those grabby little eyes stop me from doing something I enjoy. As Dacia said, it's their choice to read, and their choice to get pissy about what they've read. And at least, unlike her, my parents aren't reading this. *cringe* thank god they're Luddites.

However, a little clarification first.

I feel constrained for three reasons:

1) If people that know me read this, they can determine who I am talking about. I am uncomfortable discussing the sexual tastes of my partners in front of people who know them. Ex A does not need to know that Ex B likes it in the ass, any more than Ex B needs to know that Ex A finds balloon animals sexy.

2) Some of this stuff is lightly fictionalized. I may combine my experiences with the experiences of a close friend, or mix elements of two encounters, or just extrapolate on what could have happened in a given situation. What I don't need is people e-mailing and calling to ask "Was that Bob? Cause I suspected you'd fucked him. I bet it was Bob, right? Blah blah blah stupidcakes!" This is not 20 Questions.

3) If I write about something theoretical, I don't need people taking it as a statement of intent. If I say that I feel a certain sexual philanthropy toward a male virgin of my acquaintance, that does NOT mean I am going to immediately throw myself at him pussy-first the next time I see him.

So if I can't write about current sexual activites or theoretical sexual activities, where does this leave me?

With a pretty lame sex blog, that's where.

I need to determine just how I am going to work around these issues. I enjoyed being able to write freely and openly while it lasted. Now the challenge will be finding a way to enjoy this in its new parameters.

Porn tomorrow, I promise. Yanked from my jaded youth, so that NOBODY can invoke wangst.

Exposed

So...

I started this blog to freely talk about my sexual experiences and those of my inner circle of friends with the absolute freedom of total anonymity. I didn't want to be constrained by the idea that people I know - and may mention in the blog - are reading and potentially getting their knickers in a knot. "You mentioned me!" "You didn't mention me!" "You didn't tell them about my six-inch-long tongue and shillelagh-like cock!" "I never said Eeaagh! Ooh! Fuck!, I said Fuck! Oooh! Yeah! and I can't believe you don't remember!" "You had sex with Hestia in 1997?"

Yeeeeeah. I was hoping to avoid all that. I wanted to expose myself without drama.

Alas, that was not to be. I got Fleshbotted - twice. And while I am pleased to no end that my writing attracted that sort of attention, it also came with complications.

Two people who I know in real life have found the damn blog. I strongly suspect that two or three others are lurking in the audience. Only had the thing for three months, jesus. My "voice", it seems, is distinctive enough that I'm easily recognized even under a thick layer of pseudonyms and fictionalization.

This... makes me uncomfortable.

On the one hand I am unashamed of what I'm writing about. On the other, I'm seriously disconcerted by the feeling that people are combing through my writing looking for something to get whiny about.

So. Unhappy with exposure, what do I do? Delete the bastard and start over? Water down the content? Just post the fiction and save the real encounters for some other Extra S00per Sekrit blog (and make it suck so nobody pays any attention)? Give up and keep my sordid tales to myself forever?

I dislike my options here.

I will ponder some more and let you know what I decide.

Cripes!

I've been Fleshbotted again!

Thank you, Viviane (of Viviane's Sex Carnival!

I am noting a theme, though. I'm considering changing the name of the blog to "Seraglio's Happy Time Bum Fun Pegging Anal Extravaganza of Buttsex (now with more ass!)"

What do you think, does it have a ring to it?

ASS ASS ASS ASS ASS ASS ASS! Whee!

I feel like I should have ads for Sphincterine or something.