Headed East

Towards...

Man Who Loves Stars
Be-My-Real-Friend
Secret Scientist and his sidekick Hairline Boy
Fucked-Up Guy
Another one I haven't named or talked about yet

and

Lover.

Away from...

Tourist, looking forward to a fly-in.

Power Girl, in the aftermath of the world's fastest breakup, still kind enough to describe the difficulty as "a mutual lack of compromise" instead of "no matter how many days I go to church with you I won't be a housewife or move to the political right."

Beautiful Girl, once again in thrall to a Penis Flytrap.

Husband, whom I am very, very sorry to leave. He's made me a mix CD. I'll probably cry.

Fragment

Eleven of us. Two on this bed, two on that, several sprawling on the floor, the suitcase bench, the armchair, lounging against the doorway to the bath. The jacketed waiter has brought glasses on a linen-draped tray and the new guitar shimmers, pickups gleaming and the body gently aglow. We turn down the ipod and the amp, he plays unplugged - "Dark Lady, hellish angel," "out of time..." The lyrics fade out the open window, his cellphone glows as he resurrects the words.

Later there is the story of the man we all know who climbed out the window and then, locked out, emerged from the fire escape into another room, padding past sleeping guests through to the hall, the elevator, security later arriving at his room to see him in his hotel robe, covered in fire escape grime and leaves, 'can't imagine who that could have been, don't you chaps havce decent security?'

At two we turn to pumpkins, sleepy hugs goodbye, sleeping on the short drive, leaving, having left.

Sugasm #92 (picked pic)

Mon 13th Aug, 07

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #93? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

This Week’s Picks
Do one thing every day that scares you…
“What I didn’t know-that it would turn me on as much as it hurt me.”

Interview With Deborah Jeane Palfrey, AKA The DC Madam
“I wanted to see coverage treating sex workers as just that-workers.”

Rough Sex - with pictures
“She bites, she writhes, she moans, she claws- none of which she can remember after.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Keep Britain Tidy, Gimp

Editor’s Choice
In Her Mind, the Pigeons Were Always Fucking

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Bear
Homosexual myths
Sexual powerlessness
That Thorny Bisexual Thing….
Weird things happen every day

BDSM & Fetish
Asking For A Caning
Bully (working title)
The Challenge, part 1
Command
Every blog should have a slave…
Half-Nekkid Tattoo 2
Happy HNT - Tit flash in a boat
Heel!
Overpower, part 2
Request, granted

Sex Poetry
Heaven is a place
Tonight I’m going to
Vodka Confessions

Sex Audio & Podcasts
Musical Intro #2: sexual nostalgia (Mixed Media.)
Nobilis Erotica 29 — Someone New

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Catalina loves Penelope and Odysseus
Devil’s Last Dance (PJ story)
The Dream
Film
I’m A Woman Man: Episode 5 - Hands
The Most Famous Cock in the World
My slum goddess
Vignette: 3 #2

Sex News
The Birth of The Eye of Venus
Errotica archives
Which One of My subs Is This???

Sex Humor
Kink In The Mainstream - Family Guy In Texas

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Black
Britney Caught topless with a Stranger in Hotel Pool
Half-Nekkid and Proud to Be Me
Half-Nekkid Thursday: Begging to Be Spanked
Red Handed Porn
Zurich (nsfw)

Sexy Mandy courtesy of How About Now?

Today I Am...

1) Crushing hard on a Kiwi who plays the ukelele.

2) Bitter that I'm not better at my job.

3) In another time zone.

4) Out of love.

5) Totally thwarted in #1.

6) Wearing a totally ridiculous outfit...

7) ...that I am paid to wear.

8) (Not like that)

9) Alternately loving and hating my hair.

10) On the edge of tears.

11) Behind on a big project.

12) Transported by said Kiwi playing "Sweet Child Of Mine" on said ukelele

13) (Including the guitar riff)

14) to another girl.

15) (Context is important)

16) Contemplating starting a Facebook.

17) Definitely out of love

18) and calling on Beautiful Girl

19) to help me stick to #17.

20) Because if he puts his hand on the back of my neck, it's all over.

21) Craving Thai salad rolls

22) which will be made for me by a tiny Laotian woman

23) whom I think understands how much I love them.

Bulletin from the West

Gentle Readers, I have not forgotten you...there is lack of privacy but many new adventures. Stay tuned...

New Blog Collection

I've added a link at right to Eye of Venus, a new blog directory that seems to be pretty nifty - they are focusing on actual blogs (both literary and visual) instead of the psuedo-blog porn sites with all that crappy commercial content.

Check 'em out.

Tourism, Wrapping Up

Part One is here.
Part Two is here.

Tourist, freed from his gentle bonds (just in case you need to know, even stockings loosely tied around wrists eventually start to hurt), goes down on me for...well...eternity. It’s actually about 45 minutes, during which I plan and furnish a Mandy Dream House in my head. Like a Barbie Dream House – cute well-endowed girl, no visible means of support, boyfriend who isn’t around a lot – only not pink and with a bathroom. Picturing a stone Japanese soaking tub on a slate floor with runnels between 12-inch square tiles so that the bath overflows on purpose and a separate shower with rain faucet and body spray jets makes me put a little more heart into my faux moans. I calculate: 4 hours down, only a few more to go... I don’t technically keep track of time, but he must depart by 8 as the business reception alibi-ing him will be done by then.

I’m still hoping that tease and denial will be enough, but we do end up adjourning to the bed. I spend a long time with oral, licking the head of his cock, sucking up and down the shaft, running my hands over his thighs, rubbing his cock on my breasts, every minute or so looking up and ordering him not to come. He has silent, shaking, come-less orgasms three or four times, each time is still not much less startling. This is a fetish slave – to what fetish, I don’t know yet – waiting to happen. It’s a damn shame this man is only at 50 discovering what he likes.

I suit him up and he asks for me on top. I’m able to come, which he likes, and it’s a midlevel orgasm, and I allow myself to be as vocally free as I can. Not the best ever, but again, Auntie Mame is in the house, apparently. I ask him to beg to come, and he does, very sweetly, so I let him know it’s ok to go ahead. Epilepsy’s got nothing on Tourist when he finally lets go. He nearly squirms out from under me while slamming his head repeatedly into the pillow.

There is a nap. Paid to sleep, that’s a new one…

There is one more go.

And then Tourist takes his leave. He ruefully refuses my panties, which might get him caught, and gives me a fat envelope. Over the course of 8 hours, this man has gone from “I have to be honest, when you told me your fee, I gasped” to “Is this enough?” From the hotel room window I watch him walk, still a little shaky, to his car, and then I count his money.

Not bad. A little boring, but not actively icky. Worth $2000? I’ll try to be...

Bits and Pieces

...At Walmart, the cashier examines a box belonging (upon payment) to the young half-Asian man in front of me. “What is this?” she asks. He spends the next five minutes explaining, with my help, what couscous is and how one eats it. At least she’s curious enough to ask. I find it more astonishing that one can now purchase couscous in a box at Walmart...

...At a gas station, filled with bikers on their way to a rally – a lady in chaps and a black leather bikini with studs unconcernedly chats on her cell while male bikers snap her picture from behind. The fellow on the other side of the gas pump island is so riveted he overfills his tank, gas streaming down the sides of his new vintage-look Harley. Finally the shouts of the people at the other pump alert him. The puddle is four feet across. I pray no-one lights up a smoke...

...I recommend the video for Pink’s latest, U+URHand. I adore how it celebrates girls, role-playing and dressing up. When I was a dancer, I would have (perversely) used it as a song every set (I knew it was time to stop dancing when I kept using Phil Collins’ “I Don’t Care Anymore”)...

...I missed two days of posting (but not writing) due to two all-night drives (they don't have wireless at Customs), but I needed to get this one up, because I read my favorite blogs by clicking over from my links list, and I like to do this while in bed with Husband. (Open Relationship=Mostly OK; Rubbing His Nose In It=Not Cool). So I need to get the photos of me SUCKING SOMEONE ELSE’S COCK off the front page...

Zurich (nsfw)

"Take a picture of me for my blog..."































You can never go wrong with schoolgirl.

Tiny Stars

Man Who Loves Stars is yet another musician (he does not play the guitar). When I see him in the restaurant, his face lights up, he stands to greet me, he has lost weight. When he hugs me, the solidness of his body is a wall of comfort, much like Fucked-Up Guy, only not, well, fucked-up. This is not a date, another friend is here, Man Who Loves Stars has had the foresight to warn me there will not be private time tonight, and the class to buy my dinner anyway. It’s a pub, London food, which is to say curry. I ask the waiter to surprise me, not fish. The food comes, there is some kind of meat and some sort of gravy and I think vegetables or at least something else that is not meat, but I am not tasting food, only nearness and our knees rubbing under the table. I want to make this man happy, I want to see the light in his face when he sees my naked body and yet it is a calm, certain want, an expectation of what will happen at an unrushed, un-urgent time to come.

There are two stolen moments when our friend is at the bar. First, he says:

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about your life right now?”

I am washed with a wave of awe, that this boy, this man, has the interest and caring to ask this. I can’t think of anything better, and short enough to fit in the time span, so I tell him my price has gone up. He is genuinely delighted on my behalf.

The second time, we lean into each other, our knees joined by my hand, and he reaches his soft, strong hand for mine. I babble something about my marriage going well, but mostly what I want to say is, do you have any idea, any idea at all, how safe you make me feel? How comfortable I am with you? Instead, I scoot my chair around and he rubs my back through the next topic of conversation, his hands sliding into my hair, along my neck. He will never grasp the roots and pull. And that is one hundred kinds of okay with me.

Precipice

Lately I have an embarrassment of riches…this fellow’s back in town and less pushy, another one has rung to tell me he’s in the next state over, I’m aiming for Fucked-Up Guy, Man Who Loves Stars is, improbably, in my town, ten states from his stomping grounds. I’m also supposed to see Lover again very soon. We are inches from a precipice, from I-don’t-love-you-anymore-goodbye, from the scene where I disappear into the crowd and the part of me that’s been his, for him, for him in me and me on him, fades and vanishes into a pleasant memory, the shining bauble tucked away in tissue and lost in a corner of the basement, when did we get this? Who gave it to us?

Aphrodite demanded loyalty from her many lovers, and truth be told I am lately less goddess-like than usual, busy with my other life, my work, closer than usual to Husband due to a working-out, gardening and evening walks for ice cream marital repair plan. I have not been there for Lover creatively as is our usual wont, we’ve been separated by distance and time zones and roaming charges.

These are all excuses.

What’s really between us is the Hershey’s Kiss. And not her, personally, but the idea of her and all her kind. The girls Lover should be healthily fucking, moving from one fun, unattached plaything to the next, enjoying his freedom from the ex-wife now that he’s recovered from the ex- part enough to enjoy the freedom.

I can’t stand this notion.

I’ve grown a lot where jealousy is concerned, I’m comfortable with Man Who Loves Stars having a strong tie to another woman (not the one who deprived him of head), I’m able to wrap my tiny brain around the idea that men who are quality enough for me to fuck might actually appeal to other women, too, and I’ve never had a problem with the permanent partners of men I, too, love.

But. Lover hits me, Lover holds me, Lover bends me over the counter in the hotel bathroom and takes me from behind, watching each others’ faces and our own in the mirror over the sink. Lover slaps me, pulls my hair, rapes me in the back seat, fills me with his hand until there’s nothing else in the world. There is blood, sometimes, and tears, and breathless laughter, and revelation of fears told only to him. There is letting go, letting someone else be in charge, releasing control, the bossy bitch stepping outside for a moment while the raw and naked girl writhes beneath his hand around my throat.

Lover tells me about the other girls, when I ask, when I want to know. Sometimes I didn’t really want to know. I can’t wish it to be bad, and the part of me that wishes it to be mediocre with them, nothing is as good as you, feels mean and shamed.

How fortunate to have found a way to “manage” my jealousy. Simple, really. Step back. Turn off. Disengage. Break up. And in the course of stepping back, the distance fills with all the questions love removes. Has it been too long? Is it only about the sex? Can I do better? Is he handsome enough? Successful enough? Is it worth lying to have this?

Two horoscopes in a row have told me, question the pattern of your intimacy, examine whether the love you need is still the love you thought you needed. And while I don’t really believe in horoscopes, I do believe in the subtle message, the guidance from the Magical Stranger on the path, fortune cookies and what the book you’re reading says that speaks to you. Perhaps Man Who Loves Stars calling to say he is in the next town tonight, the night I am to see Lover, in the same town as Lover, though thank goodness not the same hotel, is God’s banderilla.

It’s not what it used to be. Will it change, deepen, reframe? Or simply stop?

Sugasm #89

Mon 23rd Jul, 07

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #90? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

This Week’s Picks
Burlesque
“She performs astounding acts and swirls her perfect ass in circles, like the tassles on her tits.”

Nylon Whispers
“I run my fingers along every bit of my nylon covered flesh”

No Timeless Beauty To Conform To
“While fashions themselves come and go, so do the standards of beauty rise and fall like the heaving breasts of an excited woman.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Welcome to the Redesign

Editor’s Choice
Catalina loves (sex in) Sevilla

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Half-Nekkid and Asking for It
I Feel Myself
Inspiration
Lindsay Lohan Naked Pictures On Internet?
Professional dress code
Time For Tits

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Another Ride
Dirty Lace
A gay lesson
Joining the Half-Mile-High Club San Francisco, part 9
Office Masturbation - part 4
Poker
Postage Stamp Sex
Private Show pt. 1
Rape Fantasies
Repressed
Romance
She Dancin’ with a G

Sex News
Find Your Love Match Among Hegre Art’s Models

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
BDSM Part II; etymolgy, history, psychology
Can you can can?
Commentators
Fuck Your Fucking Ethics
The Glory That Is Myra Breckinridge
I wish I’d known that…
Lip Service
Panties Tell You What I’m Wanting
“Thank You”
Things I Would Like to See in Porn
Tom made me think

Sex & Politics
No Payola

BDSM & Fetish
Featured Fetish - Urophilia (Pee, Piss, Watersports)
Happy HNT - Metal bondage fun and a naughty night with Shasta Gibson
Sick
Singing about spanking
Submissive List
Torrent

Sexy teacher with an apple courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.

Further Adventures in Tourism

Part One is here.

Tourist takes me to a restaurant so yummy I take Lover there a week later. Mediterranean, a little pile of something to dip bread in that is neither hummus nor butter but tastes like the good parts of both. I have caprese salad with fresh, soft mozzarella that has a tang to it beyond balsamic, and a pasta dish with mushrooms and cream sauce. He has shrimp cakes, like crab cakes and with a spicy remoulade. I am reminded of my old dating policy: if you have bread and salad and dessert then you can take your entrée home and it’s two dinners, and you don’t have to make conversation for the second one.

I slip my foot from my shoe and press it into his lap, ignoring it while he gives my order to the waitress. I tease him under the table while we talk about my work and his work, my life and his life. He is interested, if not all that interesting. Midway through the meal, I excuse myself and visit the ladies, walking slowly and perhaps a little oddly while trying not to stagger out of my shoes. The ladies is out the back door, through a hallway, into another part of the building, enough distance to call Lover and check in with Tourist's name and my hotel information. I take off my panties, rub them on myself for scent, and bring them back to the table, balled in my hand. I had already planned to do this when Tourist asked me to – I’d rather just do it than be asked, it’s more fun to surprise and honestly, I need to be the one in control here.

Back in the car, he presses my panties to his face while I lean over, unzip his pants, pull out his cock and flick my tongue over and around, teasing as much as I can while avoiding drops of liquid. “Don’t come” I whisper in his ear, and with my hand wrapped tight around the shaft of his cock, he shakes again, his whole body gripped by spasms even without the telltale pulsing in the base of his penis.

We return to the hotel, I let him into my suite. In the living room, we sit in soft chairs facing each other, and again he licks my leg propped up on his shoulder, licks my shoes. It was a hot day, but not enough that I’m worried about sweat, and he removes my right shoe and stocking, and begins to suck my toes. This is always an odd feeling for me. I’m nervous about smell, it tickles rather than arousing, and I think it looks funny. But he’s paying, so I’m into it. In fact, the casual observer might note that apparently, nothing pleases me more than to recline in a chair with my legs in the air and watch my toes disappear between his lips. Fortunately, he does this with his eyes closed, because I’m not quite a good enough actress to contain my shock when he takes all five toes into his mouth. I’m not a huge-footed girl by any means, but they aren’t flitty pixie feet, either, and the sight of his mouth around a largish third of my foot is a little freaky. This goes on for nearly an hour, and I realize, what you’re buying is often my boredom. Yes, sometimes whoring is fun and sometimes it’s good dirty and sometimes it’s awful dirty, but mostly what it is is boring. And if we were to take a forty-hour workweek’s worth of intermittent boredom and cram it into one six-hour spell, this would be it. I bet my therapist feels this way.

I spend my time reminding myself of his fantasies in emails and phone calls and plot my next move. When, evidently, all possible enjoyment has been sucked from my toes, I remove my other stocking and tie his wrists to the table behind his chair. I pull out the new toys I’ve acquired, which I’m genuinely curious about, and spend the next hour masturbating in front of him, skirt hiked up, no panties, blouse open to my white lacy corselet. The toys are fun, but sadly, not good enough to make me actually come. I fake it two or three times, and it starts to become genuinely frustrating not to be able to come. On the up side, if we do fuck, at least I’ll want to.

I release his wrists and he kneels before my chair and licks my pussy. He’s decently good at it, at least it’s not irritating or painful, and remembering his fantasy to make a girl come over and over while eating her pussy, I do the best I can to make his dreams reality. Or at least, a purchased facsimile thereof.

More tomorrow…