These Interwebs

After climbing out of bed this morning I flipped open my laptop. Hey...wait a minute. I closed it again. I picked it up and examined it from a different angle. Huh...

There was no new scratch on the corner of my laptop. It had been a dream.

Yes, it's true, I've been dreaming about my computer.

I've also had extended sex dreams about a boy named Chris sent to me by Madeline. This dream included emails sent between Madeline and I and Chris and I.

So, I think we've crossed that line. We can no longer turn the machines off.


More soon, I promise...

(Mis)Adventures in Sexland

There is a professor in my department whom I adore. Besides having a memory that allowed him to not only quote elaborately, but also cite accurately, and having only read Lacan’s Écrits in the original French, he was also quite witty. His humor often showed itself in the form of tangents that he always managed to relate back to the lecture at hand.

One of those tangents was on the very funny faces that we make when we are fucking.

“It is the best when you and your partner look at each other and recognize the humorousness of the other’s facial contortions at the same time,” he said. “If you haven’t experienced this yet, I hope that you all will get the chance to find yourselves in this situation.”

The class laughed, and I was a bit relieved that the fellow student that I had slept with was out sick that day.

He was right, sometimes, sex is funny. For the sexually-adventurous, mishaps are bound to happen, and it is best to take it all in stride. I’m sure that I’m preaching to the choir, because anyone who is a good lay knows this.

This leads me to my own recent misadventure.

There was a boy in my bed. He was tired, but I was ready for some action. We had already fucked earlier, but I pride myself on being insatiable.

“Fine, fine,” he relented, “but only if you do all of the work.”

I reached for a condom and handed it to him. He rolled it on his cock.

“Hop on,” he told me.

I climbed on top of him and lowered myself onto his waiting cock. I rode him lazily, until he got more excited. As I ground my clit into his pubic hair, he began slapping my ass. I moaned and groaned until my orgasm broke, and I shuddered around his cock.

Sometime later he came too.

Where’s the funny part, you ask?

Well, as we lay there in our post, post-coital exhaustion, he said to me: “So, when I was spanking you, I accidentally hit my balls. Goddamn that hurt!”

I snorted with laughter and he reluctantly admitted that it was a pretty funny situation.

“I guess it did make me last longer,” he said.

The One in Which He Nails Anna

I woke up Sunday afternoon in bed alone. Reorienting myself, I got up and padded to the bathroom where I peed and brushed my teeth. Then I went to find Jefferson.

He was sitting naked at his computer, talking on the phone. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the top of his head, the side of his face. He turned his face away from the phone and kissed my lips. We moved to the sofa and kissed and cuddled, fondling each other’s naked bodies, while he continued his conversation.

Eventually he snapped his phone closed and we made out like silly kids before moving back to the bedroom.

And we fucked.

We fucked like we had been for the last two days. Except now it was just the two of us and our time together was dwindling. We had one day left before I returned home. Now we were no longer getting to know each other, instead we were getting ready to miss each other.

I found myself bent over, off to one side of the bed. I was on my stomach and my legs were tucked up underneath me, my arms out to the side. The muscles in my legs were pulled tight, my ass sticking out into the air, my pussy exposed.

And we fucked.

He reached down and set his hands on my arms. I thought this was simply to steady himself as he fucked me. But no, this was a very calculated move. As he pressed down on my arms, a bit above my elbows, my lower arms and my hands got numb. The restriction of the blood flow and the resulting tingly-tingly feeling mixed with the pleasure of cock cunt pump and fuck had my head swimming. And then, my head quieted down into a gentle swirling as I drifted, up and off, relaxing into the pleasurable discomfort.

With a fluidity that all good sex should have, with a fluidity that allows the details of limbs and torsos and cunts and cocks to be forgotten, we were in a new position. On my back, with my ass on the edge of the bed, Jefferson standing over me, his cock in my ass: this was where we found ourselves.

And it was good.

Like any woman who has had the good fortune to be properly ass fucked, I love it. I love love love it. But sometimes it just makes my pussy too wet, too ready, too empty, and well, the only solution is double penetration.

“Can I please have something in my pussy?” I asked in a quiet little girl voice.

“Sure. What do you want?”

My mind wandered through Jefferson’s prodigious toy chest, and I weighed all of the possible combinations. I couldn’t think. My sex-addled mind was having none of this x plus y equals double penetration algebra.

“I don’t know…” I said in the same quiet little girl voice.

“Stupid girl. She doesn’t even know what she wants to be fucked with.”

“I know, I know. I am stupid.”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Jefferson admonished. “Let me take care of you.”

Coming into the weekend we had discussed boundaries. What I wanted out of the experience, new things I wanted to try, and things I absolutely did not want. In the end I told Jefferson the two things I could not handle, and left the rest to him. One of the two things on the no-no list was verbal abuse. I can call myself a slut, but anyone with their cock in me better not even try it. Calling me stupid, even playfully, teetered very close to that edge. At that moment, I loved him for backing away at just the right time.

He grabbed the butt plug that was sitting out from the night before, slid a new condom on it, and after removing his cock, popped it into my ass.

“Now, don’t move,” Jefferson said before leaving to wash up.

I lay there with my legs in the air, butt plug in my ass, and lazily traced circles on my puffy, aroused clit.

When he came back a minute later it was new condom, legs over shoulders, cock inside of me, and all kinds of goodness.

I pushed up against Jefferson as he fucked me. My thighs were smashed up against his stomach, and I was acutely aware of feeling incredibly open. My pussy was expanded to take in his cock; my asshole was expanded to take in the plug. I was, for lack of a better word, stuffed.

And it was good.

For a luxuriously long time we fucked like that.

“Hey, babe, it’s too much. I can’t take the butt plug anymore,” I said, “I know, I know. I’m a pussy.”

“Hey. You’re doing alright. For a girl,” Jefferson chided as he pulled the plug out.

Our fucking tapered off a little bit later and we curled up together for some post-coital cuddling. As we lay there Jefferson said something sweet and cute, the details of which my memory no longer retains.

“Eck! Enough with this mushy stuff! I’m going to smoke a cigarette,” I said, hopping out of the bed.

“What? You can’t handle it?” He teased.

“No, I can’t. I’m a pussy, remember?”

I scampered off to sit near the terrace and smoke.

Sometime later, after we had eaten pancakes and bacon and the dishes were done, I was back in my familiar position, smoking.

Jefferson poured us each a bourbon. As I smoked and sipped my drink I leaned back in the chair and put my feet up on the doorframe.

“I’ve seen you in that position so many times this weekend, I have to get a picture of you like that,” he said as he picked up his camera from the desk.

He snapped away and there was silence for a few moments before I said, “I can’t believe you nailed Anna.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Remember when we were having sex earlier today?” I asked as though he would have forgotten.

“You mean when I was pressing down on your arms to restrict the blood flow?”

“Yes. Well, a little while before I started my blog, I had this dream. I don’t remember all of the details, which is unfortunate, because it was a pretty hot dream, but somehow I ended up with this man who was significantly older than me. He was a dom and I was going to be his sub. We were in a room with all of these voyeurs and he told me that my sub name was Anna. When he called me Anna I was to assume my ‘sub position.’ I was supposed to lie face down with my legs tucked up beneath me and my arms at my side,” I explained in a long ramble.

“Well, you should have told me so that I could arrange to have some voyeurs watching.”

I laughed, and feeling inspired I tipped my glass over my nipple, dribbling a bit of the cold cold bourbon over my breast.

“Hey, hey! Don’t waste good bourbon,” Jefferson scolded.

“Then come here and take care of it so it's not wasted.”

He promptly got up from his desk, walked over to me and leaning down, licked up the trail of liquor that had dribbled down my ribs.

Notes

I am beginning to think that my talent as a cocksucker doesn't lie in any particular skill set that I have developed. I am not amazing at deep throating, nor do I have a special trick that I pull out at just the right moment.

What makes me good at giving head is that I find it enjoyable and I bring enthusiasm to the act.

It just seems that so many men that end up with their cocks in my mouth have not had a blowjob in quite awhile, or that their former partners only gave them begrudgingly.

Which is just sad really.

I guess what I'm getting at is that yesterday I made a boy involuntarily go cross-eyed when he came in my mouth.

Not to be a braggart or anything.