No Strings

He called.

He wanted to come to my house, but I said no. He met me at a diner around the corner and we went for a drive. His hands were between my legs. His eyes burned into me. His pants tightened. He searched for a place to park. “Take you’re pants off. Let me taste you. I wanna fuck you so bad.” We found out magical place: a curb outside a dark house.

My pants were off. His lips were on mine. His hands between my legs. His fingers plunged inside me. I bit his lip. I couldn’t see, but I knew I was dripping on his seat. He would smell me even after I left.

The car was a tight fit. I usually don’t have sex in driver seats, but it was the only option. I got on top of him – one knee on the center console and the other on the door armrest. I lowered myself into him easily. He closed his eyes and exclaimed his usual profanities. “Fuck! Oh God! Yes!”

“Is that what you like? You miss that tight pussy?”

He lasted more than 4 strokes this time, but I wish he hadn’t. It was a very uncomfortable position and I wanted to keep the mess contained. He signaled me to get up, but it wasn’t easy or quick. Two drops of cum made it to my mouth.

I put my pants on and he continued driving like nothing happened. He dropped me off around the corner leaving me to walk home as he sped off.

Suck It 2017

It wasn’t my best year. And of all the years I can remember, it’s probably one of the worst. Yes, my kid and I are still alive. We have a place to live and food to eat. But is that the only way to judge if something sucks or not? Think about it…. you can have bad sex, but still cum. Does that mean the sex is good? Hell no.

But I’m still here alive and kicking. I let 2017 swallow me, but I wrestled my way out and will kick 2018 in the teeth. Honestly, 2018 hasn’t started off so well either, but I’ve got my eye on the prize.

Desmond ghosted around Thanksgiving. He reached out one time after that, but it wasn’t to reignite our relationship. It’s not in his character to do something like that, so I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Needless to say, I haven’t been stuffed for a few months. I think that’s the reason I think about sex 571 times a day. Good for my writing, bad for my mental state.

I combed through some of my old journals over the holiday and found some encounters that I forgot about it. I relived some happy memories and got new inspiration for some short stories. All of my stories are based on actual scenarios I’ve been in, which makes me happy every time I read them.

I’m going to try and write at least one story a month, though I won’t post them all here. I may post some of the old journal entries I wrote just for fun. I hope I can keep my goal with everything else going on in life. And maybe I can find a cute cashier to take home in the mean time.

A Satisfying 20 Minutes

I was done with Desmond’s flaky attitude. I said my peace with him and I got comfortable with the fact that I would be resorting to a drawer of toys from now on. Last night he was going to return some of my things. I was tired and wasn’t sure what time he would be over, so I went to bed and told him the door was unlocked. I was only laying there for a few minutes before I heard the back door creak open. I heard him cross the kitchen, then the hall and into my room before sitting on my bed. 

“Hi.”
“Hi.”

He grabbed my face and kissed me like it was our first time. There was passion and purpose. He stood and took off all his clothes, his chocolate skin hard to see in the darkness. He slipped off my panties and worshipped my body for a few minutes before penetrating me. It only took me 4 minutes to orgasm, his hand covered my mouth to quiet my moans. I tasted myself from his cock before riding him until my hips gave out. I got on my hands and knees, while he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled… hard. My pussy dripped as he pounded me hard and fast as he filled me with his hot load. 

We laid next to each other for a few minutes while we caught our breath. After checking the time, he got up, got dressed and left. I rolled over and went right to sleep. 

Goodbyes Are Hard. Meh, Not Really. 

It’s hard to get quality dick when you’re a single working parent. There’s no time to peruse the bars. I can’t leave my kid at home alone to go get plowed and it would be weird telling a stranger to keep their voice down because your baby is sleeping down the hall. But taking care of myself artificially just doesn’t do it for me. Desmond has been my go to, but I’ve been slowly losing interest over the last few months. 

It’s hard to get time alone together and when we are, I initiate everything. Everything. “What do you want?” “I want you.” Ugh. “How do you want me?” “I like it all.” I’m over it. I spend all day at work and all night at home being the boss and making decisions. I want someone to take over. I want someone to take advantage of me. I want to submit to someone else. Is that too much to ask?

Before you ask, yes, I told him all of these. Several times actually. I told him he could do anything he wanted to me and I’d be all in. Except penetration with no lube. That’s not fun for anyone. Spank me, slap me, tie me up, fuck my mouth, fuck my ass, blindfold me, use toys, talk dirty. I am up for it all. Hell, I even do things I don’t like because I know the other person does. 

Maybe he’s just not the guy. Maybe he’s just like me – dominating all day and wants to submit at night. And that’s fine if he wants that. But that’s not the kind of guy I can deal with long term. I want a man. I want someone that will be my equal during the day, but my boss at night.  

Aftermath 

I still smell like sex. 

I’ve showered, washed my hands, changed my clothes. It’s still there, penetrating my senses and triggering my memory. 

Or maybe it’s just in my head. 

As I relive the experience – breathing, sweating, groping, kissing, gagging, moaning, spanking, orgasming – I smell it again. A smile crosses my face and I wish I could be in that moment again. 

Until next time. 

Setting the Mood

My OCD need to plan isn’t always a good thing. I think about every detail and how it should be executed, even when it comes to things that are supposed to be spontaneous, like sex. But taking care of a child has made this condition even worse. I only get a couple of hours to myself after Cookie Monster is asleep and before I definitely have to sleep myself. I usually spend it cleaning, preparing meals, and deflating my boobs. When I do get the chance to do something besides that, I make a serious effort to make the most of it. I had to make sure everything was perfect because I wasn’t sure when, or if, I’d get another chance.

Background noise is very important for me. I can’t have the television on because I might watch it. Applause, laughing, or screaming is a huge distraction and I just can’t help myself. Music has its own set of issues. I can’t listen to a song I really love because I will sing along. I can’t listen to a song I really hate because then I’ll think about how much I hate it. The rhythm needs to be either very fast or very slow so I don’t think about us being in time with the music. And silence just isn’t an option. Other than breathing and talking, all the sounds of sex assault my thoughts. In the same way I don’t like listening to people eat, I don’t like listening to sex either. I don’t know if other women (or men) think about these things, but I need to plan distractions from my distractions. I scrolled through my sex playlist and tried to find something a little more current than Ginuwine’s “In Those Jeans.” Should I go with more love songs or stick to what I know? My iTunes library hasn’t seen much action lately, but I was able to replace a few songs.

I took off my bra and panties. I wanted to let him know I wanted it without being too obvious. My nipples poked through my dress nicely. Unfortunately, my boobs were the one thing I was nervous about. I am still breastfeeding, so they are working all day to make that liquid gold. And though I will be emptying them before we meet, there is always some residual left. Boobs have become very nonsexual to me over the last year and a half and though I know it’s natural to produce milk, I still think it’s gross.I’m hoping that I’ll be able to enjoy the moment instead of wondering if he’s getting a little supplementation.

With all of the issues (hopefully) dealt with, it was time to get back on the horse. 

Flashback Friday

There was a string of about 5 years following college where my memory isn’t all that reliable. I was under a lot of emotional stress dealing with Mr. X, constantly moving, and spending more time away from home than actually at home. Despite not being able to remember an enormous amount of specific details during that time, I do remember Desmond.

It wasn’t love at first sight. Hell, I don’t even know if I liked him outside of our group gatherings. It wasn’t until I stopped semi-dating his best friend that I found out he had a huge crush on me. I was at a point in my life where I craved attention and decided that if he would give it to me, then I would welcome it.

He was a gentleman. He was kind. He was good looking. He gave me a hard time. He was funny. He was responsible. We both had complicated lives at the time – mine was emotionally unstable and he wasn’t in a good place with the mother of his children. And despite trying to make something work, it just didn’t. After a short lived romance relationship period of togetherness, a series of events occurred over a few hours that led me to bail. But that’s how I dealt with problems in my mid-20s.

I got an email from Desmond a couple years ago, around the time that I heard from some other men from my past. I was already pregnant and in a terrible place again, so I didn’t try to keep a conversation flowing. A year later, I found out from stalking his Facebook page that his brother passed away. I didn’t know the details and I don’t deal with heavy topics well, but I sent him an email expressing my condolences anyway. We emailed for a couple weeks, then texted for a couple months, then started seeing each other a couple times a week after I put the baby to bed. I don’t know what I expected to happen; he expressed feelings that never went away and I was remembering all the qualities I liked about him. Although his life had calmed down, mine was the one that was a total mess now.

And just as quickly as I ended it before, he ended it again. I just can’t win.