Let's Talk

"Let's talk about sex baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be. Let's talk about sex." - Salt-n-Pepa

She loves sex. There's just something about the intimacy of two people connecting physically. Being inside another person, having another person inside her. She loves sex. The stuff before and after, that's what she dislikes. Women are fucking difficult. Riddles too complicated for her solve. She finds herself time after time treading water with no sight of dry land. Fuck water, she's treading quicksand that stretches for miles around. And it's been years since she's found solid ground. Women to her are as convoluted as that metaphor.

She strikes another match, watches it flare up, burn til it's almost reached her fingers and lets it go. It falls into the water with a small hiss. Nearly inaudible. That's every flirtation she's had with another woman right there she thinks rolling her eyes at her own melodrama.

It would be better is she was better at pretense. But her problem is that she starts a lie and then gets bored of it. How many people has she presented herself as at this point? Too many by far. But none of them are anyone she wants to be. And as the constraints she puts herself into begin to chafe, she starts to resent the person she's put herself in them for.  But she keeps doing it. Because anything is better than letting someone know her for who she is. Because she learned the hard way that rejection hurts more when you show up as yourself.

But celibacy is shit. That's the problem. That's her biggest flaw. As much as she hates the bullshit that comes with the performance you put on for another person to get them into bed, she hates celibacy more. She's so hungry for touch, for intimacy that she plods on playing games she has no business and no interest in playing. Because that's what it all is. A big game of Let's Play Pretend. Let me pretend to be someone I'm not. Someone less awkward, someone less shitty and someone infinitely less fucked up.

All for a pair of soft lips press against her own. All to feel another woman's arms wrapped around her, to lie between a woman's legs.. to run her hands over her body, learn it by touch. All because. So she keeps dancing to tune after unfamiliar tune. She's so tired of the bullshit but it's her only option. Humans are a funny lot. Full of want. That's what she is really, a big ball of frustrated desires. It burns like a sun inside of her, just beneath her solar plexus. This want. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink she thinks to herself. She shakes her head. Stupid. 

Playing Favorites

Disclaimer: Pure smut. Seriously, this is porn with absolutely no redeeming value whatsoever. You have been warned. I wash my hands of this. Seriously. It's just wrong. If you're not legal and I find out you read this I will personally find you and kick your ass. Not in a good way.

Favorite

Sometimes we'll fuck in the daytime, warm and lazy in our unmade bed while the golden afternoon sun shines in through the open window. Curled up together exchanging whispered endearments... sex is slow and sweet as molasses. Our lips touching and our limbs intertwined I can't tell where she ends and I begin as her fingers move inside of me. My heart feels full to exploding with all I feel for her and I know that I have nothing to hide. I love you I tell her. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou. I whisper it over and over as my lips brush over her mouth, her nose, her cheekbone. I can't get enough of those moments. Making love.. it sounds so trite, so clichéd but at that moment, I don't care. There's nothing quite like it. It's beautiful. But it's not my favorite thing.

Sometimes it happens that we're out... and we can't resist the urge. Surrounded by bodies and music, I whisper in her ear, I want you. We'll scramble out the back, into the dark alley. It might be stupid but I feel like I'll die if I can't have her right there. I push her up against the wall, push her collar aside, bite down on knotted muscle and then lick and kiss the pain away, an apology of sorts. I palm her breast and push her dress up, grind my thigh against her. Theres nothing but damp thin cotton between my skin and her pussy. I press harder as she rubs herself against me. Her fingers dig into my skin as she grabs my shoulder. Harder she grunts, and I give it to her. I laugh, I'm so turned on but this is fucking crazy. It's dark and there's no one near but anyone can walk in. I tell her that and it turns her on even more. Fuck but she's hot. Gasping harshly, she comes right there with the brick wall digging into her back. It's the wildest thing we've ever done, but it's not my favorite.

She loves to be in control and she loves to force me out of it. She loves to drive me out of my mind. She's slowly, purposely, driving me crazy. I don't know how long it's been but it feels like forever. Her wicked fingers and her sinful mouth bring me to the edge over and over again. I'm drenched in sweat and every muscle in my body is rigid with tension. It's been too long, so much.. too much. Every single fucking time I think this is the time, she draws away and leaves me grasping at the feeling she's denying me flees with her touch. The sheets are starting to feel like sandpaper against my skin. Her touch is torture, too much and not enough, never enough. I curse her name with every ragged breath. And still she denies me. I feel like I've been crying, begging, pleading for ever but every time I think she'll relent she proves that her heart is made of fucking stone the cunt. My breath is harsh to my own ears and I can hear my heart pounding. I fucking hate her, why won't she just give me what I need? I promise her anything, everything if she'll just let me come. But she won't, she'll only let me when she's good and ready. When I've lost every shred of sanity. My fingers scrabble at the sheets, simultaneously wanting contact and shying away from feeling. I can't anymore. I'm seconds from pushing her away and taking matters into my own hands. I just can't take anymore. I can't. Just when I think I'm about to break, just when I think I'm about to scream, it hits me. She finally letting me find my release. I am blindsided by my orgasm. I don't know who or what I am anymore. All I know is pleasure, white hot sliding through me. It's the most intense thing I've ever felt.

I'm wrung out, barely able to lift me head as she lays a gentle, almost chaste kiss on my lips. Good? She asks. I smile and nuzzle her face. She always knows how to give me exactly what I crave. And that? That's my favorite thing

Now Playing: Mercy - Duffy

(Body) Parts

Author's Note: So I'm feeling self indulgent and I though I would indulge in some light-hearted feel-good fiction for once. So I came up with this. Just over 500 words. Seriously self-indulgent. Child of my desire to write, some interesting DMs on Twitter over the last couple of days and one lovely fan who I didn't want to wait anymore (Not the same person). You have been warned.

Parts

It started with a hand. Thrust out of her car, lazily riding the currents as she drove by. You smile, but god what a hand. Strong mobile wrist wrapped in a distinctive cuff, tough but delicate... I was a little in love with that cuff. Her thumb ring flashed in the morning sun and I wanted to take the pad of that finger into my mouth and ever so gently bite down, let her know I was there. Those nimble fingers rode nothing but air and I wished I could ride them instead. Oh, it was just a hand... if just was a word that could be said about that hand. A hand that made a heart stutter for just a second. Nothing even need be said about the capable looking forearm, with the sleeve rolled up to just above the elbow. How an elbow can be a such tease I can not know.

Then came the jaw.. different day, same cuff, same hand. A flash of determination and excellent bone structure as she walked into my store. This book she asked, do you carry it. I knew I didn't but I couldn't let her go just like that. The books may be used but they're well loved and I know them all just like any proper mother would, not considering that I'd idly wanted it for myself for quite some time. Still I couldn't let her go, I couldn't find it in my heart. So I typed in names and titles and numbers; offered her conversation and options while that jaw made its frustration clear. It softened just a little at the offer of coffee. I wanted to put my fingers there and touch my lips to the edge. Instead I bit my tongue and stole glance from beneath my lowered lashes. Before my ravenous eyes could map every line and curve of her face, I had to admit defeat. I called around but a copy couldn't be bought for love or money. The jaw clenched and unclenched, she could not be swayed from her search I thought. I promised to keep an eye out, contact her if I found it. I could not find it in my heart to turn that face away for good.

That might have been that if it wasn't for the dimple. She shrugged and smiled and apologized for her abruptness, and I couldn't have stopped myself if I'd tried. I shouldn't be doing this I said but I find myself unable to say no to you. I have a friend, he deals in books as well. I can't call him, he's been away for days. If anyone can hunt it down I know he can. I asked him for it myself and he promised to deliver in a few days time. I couldn't help a little frown. I wondered if she would smile at him like that as well. Instead she gifted me with another. Maybe I could pick it up from you instead. I looked down at the words she had scrawled down. But his store is much closer to you than mine. Her teeth flashed as she turned up one shoulder and told me she knew, she saw me there one time.

Now Playing: So Happy I Could Die - Lady GaGa (;*)

Sometimes, It's Sex

So here's a little piece of fiction that turned out a let less smutty than anticipated. You plan for the sex and the plot just blindsides you I guess.

Usual Disclaimers Apply: Here be Lesbians.


Fresh out of the coldest shower I could manage, I pick up a pair of fresh cotton panties and slip them on. I almost put on a t-shirt but think better of it. It’s a typical summer night in Beirut, the air so heavy it feels like I’m breathing underwater. I can practically feel the nonexistent material clinging to the small of my back.

I walk into the bedroom, the whirring of the electric fan loud as it makes valiant effort to cool the room. No dice. I glance at the bed, Lara spread out on top of it, her long black hair fanned out around her head, as if spread out to catch the last of the coolness from the sheets. She makes a pretty picture, cigarette held gently between fingers that made me very happy just a few minutes ago. I think of joining her there, briefly, but I don’t.

Too hot. It’s too hot for snuggling, too hot even for sex. I’ve gotten too used to the omnipresence of air-conditioning back home. As much as I’ve missed sex with my girlfriend, I don’t think I can manage any more of it tonight.

Even as I’m thinking this, my feet take me closer to the bed. Sometimes it feels like she’s my true north, and no matter how hard I try to resist, I end up making my way towards her.

Despite my desire to fall onto the sheets and put my mouth to hers, I only steal a cigarette before making my way to the armchair across the room. I sprawl out, trying to take advantage of the quickly disappearing relief of the cool fabric.

I take a quick drag of smoke before speaking. “So,” I say, “You want to tell me why nearly everyone tonight was treating me as if I was made out of china?”

“Because the entire fucking community is made up of ignorant gossips that need to learn to mind their own business?” Her words may be harsh, but they seem to carry more amusement that anger.

“Care to elaborate?” Our friends are a pretty tight knit group, and information travels fast. Lara is not a fan of the gossip mill, but evolved girlfriend or not, I hate being out of the loop.

“Word is” she says without preamble, “I’m cheating on you.”

“And why would anyone think that?”

“Apparently if someone walks in and sees you face down on some girl’s vagina, it means you’re being unfaithful.”

“Oh?” I ask, shifting slightly, already slightly turned on by the image of my girlfriend lying between the phantom girl's thighs.

“Mmm,” Lara grins, “She was so juicy. Like eating out a peach.”

And just like that it's as if my last orgasm was years away. “Tell me about her?”

Lara pauses, and gives me a look. I wonder how I look to her... breasts bared, fingers of my left hand curling around the waist of my bright blue cotton panties, already inching them down.

Apparently, I look like a pervert who can't have a serious conversation. “… I know that you have a more or less one track mind when we can spend time together, but can we get back to the whole issue of everyone thinks I’m cheating you thing?”

Definitely an oversexed pervert then. I blow out a frustrated breath. “Me?! You started it, goddamn fucking tease,” I say without much heat. I hope.

“Heh, I know. Sorry couldn’t resist. I’ll tell you later, I promise. So anyway, that’s why…”

“You bet your fucking ass you’re finishing this. Can’t believe you bring that up and then you stop like that.” I am no a fan of sexual frustration. Not when I haven't seen my girlfriend for three very long months.

“Jenna!” If it wasn’t so hot she’s probably get up and smack me on the head. “Focus!”

“OK,” I say, “Right. So. Cheating.” Sex. Sex. Sexsexsex.

“Yes. Cheating. Remember when Jesse was rooming with me before she left for that job in Montreal?”

“Vaguely?”

“Yeah well. One night I thought she’d gone up to Zahle to visit her family, but then she had something come up in town she forgot to tell me about.”

“And she walked in on you with Peach Girl.”

“And she walked in on me with Peach Girl.”

“And you didn’t explain that I was cool with it why exactly?”

“I don’t even know, I mean she left right away. And by the next day I saw her and she’d already told Lulu and Sara. Lulu had told Tanya and Tanya told Rana, and it just blew up. And they assumed, which pissed me off so much that I didn’t deny it, because I don’t need to defend myself to them like some sort of criminal.”

“Fuck.” The problem with being in such a close community is that things never stay private for long. “When was this?”

“Two months ago?”

“And you haven’t told me why exactly?” If I know my friends, they probably haven’t been very warm to Lara since then. I love them to death but the do close ranks ridiculously quickly.

“Because there’s nothing much you could have done from Kuwait? Because you’re miserable there as it is and I didn’t want to add to that? Because however they choose to interpret my actions, it only matters to me that you know what I’m about?”

I’m quiet, looking at my suitcase, contents strewn out like the guts of an amateur sacrifice to the Gods of Long-Distance Relationships. I got here today and in two weeks I’ll be leaving again. It’s going to be the longest we’ve spent together in more than a year. Usually it’s a spare weekend stolen away every few months. Three years already, and god knows how many more to come. It’s not easy. For me or for her. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” It’s abrupt, but definitely heartfelt.

I sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if we both wouldn’t be happier if..”

“Fuck you.” She’s more frustrated than angry when she interrupts me, “I told you a thousand times. I don’t care about easy. I care that we’re together. You and me. That’s what matters. Two days, two weeks, two years, two life times, I’ll take whatever I can get with you. And soon you’ll have enough saved up for that masters in Vancouver. And I can finally take that job. My parents are already there, only two hours away, and they can’t wait. Hell, they probably love you more than they love me anyway. You’re saying you want to disappoint them?”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “No?” God forbid I disappoint Lara’s *parents*. That’s my baby. Always deflecting with other people.

“Good.” She nods, as if it’s all settled. “So now that’s all over, let’s fuck.”

If she thinks that she can distract me from the issue as easily as that she’s delusional. There a lot of things we need to work out, because I don’t want to imagine what would happen to us if we let these things fester. And I need to have a talk with my friends because our relationship is our business. And if I’m OK (more than OK) with Lara fucking other girls when I’m away then they’re going to learn to be OK with it as well. Oh we are going to talk. First thing in the morning. After all… “How can I resist such a pretty offer?”

What I'm Listening to Right Now: متيم - راشد الماجد

It's Not Sex

It's not sex I miss. You can't miss what you never had, not really. What I miss is the intimacy. The easy physical affection. I miss touching. I miss hugging. I miss kissing.

Twenty days, only twenty days of being around only other LGBT women, and it's more real than an entire lifetime of everything else. Twenty days of breathing easy. Twenty days of honesty. Twenty days of belonging. Twenty days of joy.

Three months since I've been back in my real life, but I am no longer able to reconcile myself to the lie. Three months of acting straight. Three months of being back in the closet. Three months of being bereft of touch.

In Lebanon, Inever went long without the someone's arms slipped around me, offering love and comfort. Say what you will about the Community, they are not stingy in their physical affection. I never knew how tactile a person I was until I had all that at my fingertips. Often literally so.

These girls, my girls, their love, it overwhelms. In our space, there are no barriers. At first it seemed so strange, everyone climbing under, over, and onto one another. I was hesitant at first. For a few seconds. But I quickly fell under the spell of their complete openness and generosity in their affection. I had no idea how starved I was for all of it until I could have my fill. I never knew there was someplace I could belong. But like Frost says, Nothing gold can stay.

So I came back to Kuwait. So Eden sank to grief. Once again I am without the comfort of loving arms.

What I'm Listening To Right Now: Reelin' in the Years - Steely Dan

It Speaks

So I’ve been away from the blogosphere for a good while now. A lot has happened. Some good, some bad. Holidays, trips, births, deaths, all the stuff that makes life what it is. My writing skills feel rusty as hell, and I’m not sure I’m fully comfortable in returning to expressing myself in the written form yet. I would have waited until I came back to it naturally, but something came up about which I could not hold my peace.

See, they’re something you need to know about the vulnerability of being queer in this region. If we’re outed, we can lose everything. They’re nothing anyone can do to defend us. We have absolutely no rights. None. Zero.

So as you might guess, we have to be careful about how we live our lives. Because every time we come out to someone we are placing our lives and everything we value in their hands. Scary as hell? You betcha. So why don’t we keep our mouths shut and try to live our lives as best we can in the safety of a lie? Because living a lie that immense means that we might as well not be living. Sometimes, just so you can breathe once in a while, you have to find people you trust enough to say the truth.

Then again sometimes you’re just too young/stupid/horny/arrogant to be careful. And it comes back to bite you in the ass. Apparently that’s what happened to local national football player Fahad Al-Rashidi. The boy was either stupid in love/lust or just plain stupid when he allowed some guy to capture with on a cellphone camera giving what I have to say was a truly awkward blowjob.

When I came across the aforementioned video I hoped and prayed for the unlikely event that it wouldn’t spread like wildfire. I clung to that hope until my teenage sister came home from school with this month’s salacious piece of gossip. Fahad Al-Rashidi was getting kicked off the national team for being gay, and that’s why he didn’t play in our game against Australia. This article here only confirms that he has ‘asked’ to be ‘temporarily excused’ from the team for ‘personal reason’ which makes it more like he’s nipping off for a quick trip to the gents than anything.

So yeah because a twenty four year old guy decided to think with his smaller head, his life as he knows it is virtually over. All because there’s visual proof that he has a liking for dick. (Quel Horror.) We already know he lost his job, since he was apparently a pro footballer, even was on loan to a Saudi team for a while. I wonder how many friends he’ll get to keep, how many family members. How many anything.

I’m sorry Fahad. I’m sorry the people you trusted weren’t deserving of that trust. I’m sorry that we live in a world where homophobia runs rampant. I’m sorry we live in a country where you might get arrested on top of everything else that’s happened or will happen to you. I’m sorry I haven’t done more for a course that’s yours and mine and a countless number of others’. Most of all, I’m sorry that writing this article is all I can do for you.

Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog

Only without the doctorate and the singing. Basically, just the horrible part.

Yesterday I let my fear get the best me. Yesterday I proved myself a coward. Yesterday I felt sick and ashamed and very very small. Yesterday I played the homophobe.

A Little Background:
So I’m taking a 400 level ethics related class, which more or less functions as a discussion group. The instructor isn’t exactly a dick but she gets on my nerves. She stated that religion will not factor into our discussion because it’s hard to find a consensus which you know, thank you Yahweh/God/Allah/Buddha (Hey Brendon, does Buddha fit here or is he more of a Moses/Jesus/Mohammed figure? Please excuse my ignorance in all things non Abrahamic). Then the other week she brings abortion up as an example of something that is legal but not moral (in the States of course because god forbid we have that sort of thing here) which made me go, ”Whoa Nelly,” because wait what now?

So I question where the immoral part comes from, and that just because one person considers an act immoral does not necessarily make it so. She says something about scale and denial of victim and how murder is murder. I point out that it’s murder only if you consider a fetus human, which a lot of people don’t, but she waves it away, claims it as Neutralization and that abortion isn’t what we’re talking about and mlves on.

I’m the only one who spoke out, the only one who thought what she said was wrong, hell the only one who admits to liberal leanings. Fuck it though, it’s not like I’m having abortions on the sly. It’s easy to defend something you’re somewhat removed from.

The Main Event, Sort Of:
Yesterday’s discussion was about media as ethics carriers. So what does she bring up? How the Liberal Western Brainwashing Media is representing the Sick Fuck Gays as Normal, or something of the sort. Now, I could have stayed quiet, I could have. But I didn’t, because that would have been odd for me.

So I made a couple of comments just to show how abhorrent I found that business before ‘joking’ that they probably considered ‘them’ to be part of society, so they included them for diversity’s sake just like black Asian and Hispanic characters. Just to prove my Straight Cred I made a couple of scoffing asides to the girl sitting next to me. It was just a couple of minutes of the entire discussion but it feel endless.

Why did I do that? Because I’m not used to feeling so exposed and vulnerable, and I hated it. Because all wishful thinking aside, I can’t come out, I just can’t, I'm not brave enough. Because I’m a gutless fucking coward who is never going to stand up for her beliefs. Because I don’t want to lose the liking and respect of people I don’t even fucking care about.

So I’m angry at myself, and sickened by the truth of who i reall am when all is said and done. I’m mad at my professor for being a stupid cunting fuck. I’m just, god so disappointed in myself and ashamed for not having the courage of my convictions.

In slightly related news: Goodbye month and a week of being smoke-free.

What I’m Listening to Right Now: Saga of The Ageing Orphan – Thin Lizzy

PS. Those who can do, those who can't read about those who do, sort of. The Kids Aren't Alright by samdome. A fake Vanity Fair article about Tony Stark AKA Iron Man. This is Tony Stark at his best. If you know, he was real, and was the Tony Stark that lived inside my head. So good, and realistic. Great voice, great analysis of the character, just amazing overall.

Pandora's Box

Along with a side of Hope came a big ol' helping of Nasty.

So I was planning to celebrate Obama’s win the way I mark most occasions, with mediocre lesbian word porn. Now I may not be a ‘concerned party’ (more concerned than party) but I was still unequivocally on his side. So I was happy for Americans and cautiously optimistic for the rest of us. Also, thanking the Holy Fucking Intelligent Designer that the presence of Republican idiocy on my TV was going to be diluted. I was as near happy as I can get.

Then I found out that every single anti-gay ballot initiative up for a vote on Election Day passed with flying colors. Every. Single. One.

Now I’m not very surprised that Florida voted to pass proposition 2 and ‘protect’ straight marriage (everyone knows everything you have is less special if everyone can get it), after all they voted for Bush. Twice. Arizona is McCaine country, so again, not too surprised. I’m not even surprised that Arkansas decided to do their best to prevent gay couples from adopting or fostering children (hey maybe their Child Welfare can afford to turn away decent parents). So what if it’s an incredibly dick move that stems from nothing but ignorance and selfishness? So what?

What really knocked me on my ass was California’s passing of proposition 8. Apparently even LA county decided to go with yes on 8. Really? Really? Because ‘and Gomorrah’ sounds so much better?

So no America, you did not do as well as you thought you did. No girl on girl fiction of questionable quality for you.

The United States: All of the Prejudices of Home, None of the Comforts

*Puts another line under USA on list of places I’m definitely not immigrating to if I was actually going to immigrate.*

On a less Oh God Oh God This Can’t Really Be The Twenty First Century note: Colorado voted down Amendment 48, which would have defined a "person" from the point of egg fertilization. (You have to wonder what the authors were smoking when they penned this gem.) Anti-abortion Measure 11 in South Dakota which would have started the ball rolling on a challenge to Roe Vs. Wade and Proposition 4 in California which would have mandated parental notification for girls under 18 and mandated a 48 hour waiting period were also rejected. (California this makes up for nothing.)

See this article for more ballot initiative results.

What I'm Listening To Right Now: Never Gonna Change - Drive-By Truckers

This Is Not Porn

Complete schmoop. This is as saccharine as I'm liable to get. You really should watch this for it to make sense.


She lets out a sigh as she tilts her head, giving me more access to her neck. We’ve been making out aimlessly for the past half hour, long lazy kisses as we stretched out on the couch. She tightens her legs around my hips, and it seems like things are starting to heat up.

She slips a hand under my shirt, reaches up to unhook my bra. I urge her on, “Yeah, come on baby.”

I freeze, give her my best dear in head lights impression. She looks as surprised as I am. “Am I... Am I overwetting your neck?” A giggle bubbles up and I can’t stop it.

“Oh, fuck off.” She tries to shove me off but I can tell that her annoyance is feigned. Mostly.

“It's the engines Cap'n, they canna take it!” It’s embarrassing how funny I’m finding this.

“You know, just because you’re a dick doesn’t mean you actually have one. I’m pretty sure you can’t use the melty man excuse in a lesbian relationship.”

That just sets me off harder.

She rolls her eyes in tolerant amusement. “You are such a pain in my ass.”

“And what a delectable ass it is.” I pause as I’m crawling off of her to give it an appreciative bite.

“Brat. I’d take you over my knee if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.”

“Sorry!” I’m not even a little repentant. “How about I make it up to you?”

“Explosions?” she asks suspiciously.

I count them off on my fingers. “John McClane going up against helicopters, a massage, and oral sex.”

“Add hot cocoa to the list and I'll ask you to marry me.”

“Not til it’s legal. When I leave you for a hot young coed I'm taking half of everything.”

"Fair enough. Now go to the kitchen and git me some pie, woman."

I cheerfully flip her off as I go on a hunt for tiny marshmallows. I don't think I've ever been this happy.


See? Told ya.

What I'm Listening to Right Now: Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Jet

Good Girls Get Rewards

So much for the thoughtful post on reconciling my religion to my sexuality that I had planned.

*Shoots overly persistent muse a dirty look.*

Disclaimer: More porn.

Crack! The sound of her hand coming down on my ass is louder than I expected. It lingers where it landed, hot like a brand against my skin. I’m lying across her legs, the sheets are cool against my flushed face. It should be awkward and silly, but it’s not.

She pauses, idly tracing patterns on my back. “You’re such an odd creature. Why in the world would you choose this for a reward?”

Nnnrgh. She wants to talk now? Nonono. I squirm in her lap, dizzy with want. Less talking. More spanking.

She chuckles low and dirty as she runs her thumb against my crease. “Such a bossy bottom.”

I said that out loud? Wait. Bottom? I open my mouth to protest but what comes out is a surprised hiss as she lays three sharp smacks on me in quick succession.

She rests her hand on my thigh in gentle apology. “You ok?”

Ok? Is she crazy? My breathing sounds loud and harsh in my ears. “Don’t stop”, I say through gritted teeth. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more turned on.

I don’t know how many slaps come after that, five ten a hundred, hard and fast. My ass is on fire but I don’t care because I can almost come from this alone.

“Turn over.” I can tell from her voice that she's wrecked as I am, but I still hesitate. I don't know why but suddenly I feel overwhelmingly shy. My breath hitches in my chest, but I do it.

She’s on me as soon as I do, kissing me wet and sloppy, downright filthy. Her hands are everywhere and she's just wild which is making me crazy.

I pull her down and roll us over. I get on top and ride her thigh; it slips between my legs hot and slick. I'm wet, so wet. One hand rests on my still hot ass, urging me on, the other slips down and she presses gently on my clit and that’s it, I’m gone.

I open my eyes and am caught by her heated gaze. I crawl down with a smirk and place a kiss on her inner thigh.

“Your turn.”

What I'm Listening To Right Now: Breathe - Tristan Prettyman

PS: If you’re ok with boy on boy then you should definitely give this story a look. It was my inspiration. It’s Wincest so it’s dirtybadwrong by many standards, but it’s possibly the hottest spanking story on the internet.

She's So Heavy

In the immortal words of Mr. Lennon: I want you so bad it's driving me mad it's driving me mad.

In other words? Porn. Of the female variety. Forewarned and all that.

She likes nothing better than driving me out of my mind. This is just like her, grabbing me before class, yanking me into a bathroom stall, fingering me quick and dirty while my brain flashes red: Danger! Danger! She takes me to the edge before pulling up my jeans, and buttoning them up with a smug smile on her face. A chaste kiss and she walks away with my panties, a scrap of lace in her back pocket.

It’s so hard not to squirm in my seat, unused to the roughness of denim as it rubs up against me. She walks in and starts the lecture, cool and collected, as if she never pressed me to the cool tile whispering dirty nothings into my ear while her fingers were inside me.

Half the guys in the room are at half mast, saluting that hint of cleavage. She's completely indifferent, they don’t have a chance, she’s all mine, the fucking tease.

I press my thighs in together, and try not to moan. My face must show what I’m thinking; her gaze sharpens when I meet her eyes. She pauses. Please please please don’t asking me a question. She does of course. Bitch.

Frantically, I try to piece together what’s been said while I was thinking about the gory of her breasts. I cough; my voice is completely shredded by need. I must have come up with a convincing enough response, because she gives me a curt nod and moves on, her raised brow making me a promise. Good girls get rewards.

What I'm Listening to Right Now: I Want You (She's So Heavy) - The Beatles (what else?)

Just One of the Boys

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Artificially Distressed

Like a pair of jeans. So.

I like someone and this is new for me. It’s been four years since I admitted to myself that I wasn’t 100% straight. Since then, I’ve buried any spark of attraction I felt under guilt, fear, and paranoia. Hell, I had myself half convinced that I was asexual. Then she shows up in my life.

I’m not ready for her. She’s got these eyes, and this smile, and her *hands*. I could have shrugged it off easy if she’d only stayed quiet. But she’s smart and funny, half confident, half cocky. She’s got a filthy mouth and a chip of her shoulder, and I. Just. Stare.

She makes me flustered. I’m never flustered! I can’t talk to her, and I’m the type that will talk about anything to anyone. And yet when I’m around her I can’t put two words together. Either that or I babble incoherently in ways that I will cringe about for days after.

She’s a friend of a friend, and after our first meeting I have no way of contacting her. I nurse a tiny crush for a little while, and despite my friends pressuring me to find a way to see her I decide to move on. She’s out of my league anyway. It’s nice to know that I can feel attraction to someone not on the TV screen, but that’s that. But apparently it’s not my shot to call.

I’m out with a friend when I bump into her again. My brain runs for cover. She beams as she greets me and insists we exchange phone numbers. I do my best to seem sober and coherent but manage to sound like a concussed drunk. She doesn’t seem to notice, waves goodbye as I drag my friend in the opposite direction. My friend is in awe of the level of retardation I've achieved. She mocks me and tries to convince me that getting in touch with Terrifying Gay Crush would not actually kill me.

I do get in touch. It takes me about a month to get over being completely chickenshit, but I do it. I send her an sms, and try very hard not to be crushed when I don’t get a reply. A week later, she answers. She’d like very much for us to hang out but unfortunately she’s out of the country. We exchange a few friendly (flirty?) messages, before she says that when she gets back ‘all of us’ should get together sometime in Ramadan. I’m not disappointed, baby steps, right?

I wait two weeks, because I’m not a stalker. I mention the possibility of plans. She apologizes that she’s swamped. I ramble disjointedly (yes, in a message, it’s a gift), hopefully conveying similar circumstances and that we could do something some other time. She tells me to check with Mutual Friend and let her know. It seems like a brush off. So I’m assuming that I did come off as a creepy desperate stalker and I need to back the fuck off.

I suck at this.

This Isn't What You Think It Is

Except it is. Just a little word porn. Lesbian word porn because those who can do and those who can't blog apparently. I need to break the habit of writing in the first person. The present tense is new for me I think.

Her hands are unhurried as they map my body. Softly, god so softly they trace their way over me. From the bottom of my ribcage, down to my hipbone, up down up down. She's driving me mad. I’m so conflicted, part of me wanting her to never stop and part wanting those clever hands elsewhere. I don’t know where, don’t care, above, below, I just want her to fucking move.

She smirks knowingly as I arc up pushing into her touch, begging for it to be a little more substantial. She drifts down; bypassing the place I need her most, stroking my thighs, her fingertips warm against my calves. Does she know how crazy she’s making me? She must, but I won’t give in, not yet. I press my lips together, holding it back. She’s not winning that easily. And yet… just one word and I know I’ll get what I want. I shift, enjoying the press of my cotton panties. I’m so wet.

Her mouth is warm against my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. I can’t. I won’t. Her eyes are full of mischief as she smiles at me. My heart beats loudly, my breath sounds harsh to my ears. And still she smiles. I cover that arrogant mouth with my fingers, brushing her lips back and forth with my thumb. She parts them, lets it in and softly bites down on the pad of my thumb. With that my resistance crumbles and I give her what she wants. I whisper it once, then again louder.

Please.

Trite

It's the flavor of the day. Not a great literary work or anything like that. This ain't Ginsberg's Howl. Definitely shit, but it's my shit. Anyway.

Abomination
They hiss
I think
Of abominable snowmen
Except
I am real
Here, Queer
Not hiding in mountains
Not a story told
To frighten kids
I am
Taking the same class
In the next cubicle
Borrowing staplers
Sitting at the table
Making breakfast
So I don’t understand
What they mean by
Abomination