As any other Sunday afternoon I felt the depression creeping into my body... I knew it was coming although I woke up filled up with energy, reason, a purpose in life. Yes, my heart said, its Sunday, and if you don't do something about it, it will creep up on you as it always does, and you will end up with the worst kind of insomnia. Sunday night-cold bed-purposeless life- horrid emptiness insomina.
So, what to do? the television had reruns on, the coldness crept into my apartment as it always ends up doing, so, what then?
Supermarket time was the only thing I could think of. My pyjamas, my long Sunday partner, warming me up as the cold appeared around me, well, I couldn't bear to be separated from it, so I just put a long coat on, buttoned up, and went to buy milk, vodka, and whatever else I thought my depression could crave.
Even though I go to other places to buy fruit, it thrills me to touch the cold, refrigerated, almost unseemly real fruit that just spreads there, waiting to be chosen by an unlucky hand.
The empty excuses to go to the supermarket dissapeared from my mind as I touched the round, cold apples. Red.
I loved the texture, and my fingers, warm a moment ago inside my coat pockets, turned icy cold. I loved that feeling, and I loved touching the silky texture of the peaches.
I went from an aisle to the next, touching the fruit, smelling it, and starting to feel some warm craving creeping on me on this lazy, grey, afternoon.
I couldn't resist it, and as my left hand caressed the pomagranates, my right hand slid between my coat buttons, and up my pyjama shirt, icy cold fingers on my nipples.
The oranges, the melon, and the apples again, the red apples. My right hand slid between my legs, and I touched myself, feeling how my wetness warmed up my fingers. I changed hands, and I groaned.
I guess someone was watching me, but I didn't care, I kept on touching the cold fruit, the strawberries, and caressing myself.
I forgot the milk, and the vodka, and I did see some dark shaded form, probably a man, taking the apple that had woken me up, unlike Snowhite.
I wonder what kind of dreams he had that insomniac Sunday.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
the scarf in silence
What was he going to touch? My knees, my clit, my nipples or my navel?
I couldn’t see.
He had taken my scarf and while he melted his tongue into my mouth, tied it around my eyes.
The moment I couldn’t see it seemed like I couldn’t move either. My hands, which had been untying and undoing everything they could a moment earlier, suddenly became useless, laying at my side, all that was alive in me was my breathing and sudden gasps.
Suddenly I was alone, I couldn’t hear him and I felt powerless. I knew I could untie what was covering my sight, but the expectation was wetting me, and I knew that as helpless as I seemed, I looked completely enticing.
I felt something cold to my lips, I opened them, and felt drips of vodka going inside my throat, sliding down my cheeks, and wetting the little hole that my neck makes as it merges into the rest of my body. The cold suddenly became warm as I felt his tongue tracing the vodka where it had slipped. That’s all I could feel, his tongue licking me, exhilarated by the taste it had on my body.
He poured something cold on my navel, I guess it was the same vodka, and then he lapped it up. I couldn’t move.
My hands wanted to touch him, to sense that he was still there, that it was not just a tongue caressing me, but they refused to break the spell of uselessness.
While I was trying to figure out where exactly he was at, I realized that my sense of smell and ear had become acute. I could hear him, half dressed, drinking vodka, breathing from a corner, staring at me, naked, useless, wet and wanting him more than ever.
I smelled his excitement, and stuck my hips out, telling him without words how much I needed him to touch me, to feel me up, to know that his body was there, for me, for my complete use, although I had become the object of his desire.
With an agressivenes and force I had never even sensed in him, he turned me around, I was lying on my stomach and breasts, and sensing some contact from the carpet, I began to move my body, to excite myself as well as him with the only thing I could.
My hands, useless up to that moment went down and between my thighs. And I began to caress my clit. I was wet but I needed more, so I stuck the index finger of my left hand into my mouth and salivated it profously. Then I moved it down to my clit once more.
I couldn’t see, but I knew he was watching, with that questioning look which was the first thing that had attracted me to him.
I masturbated in a completely different manner than I always do because I knew he was watching. I wanted him to see how I touched myself, to make him feel as though I felt alone, as though I really didn’t need him.
As my groans became louder and came in shorter intervals, I felt his body above mine. He took my hands and moved them away from my pleasure center. He licked my back and spread my ass cheeks apart. He breath into them, and licked me all the way down to my clit, which at that time was vibrating with such intensity that I felt as if I was about to explode. I didn’t tell him that, but I guess he sensed it. And he spanked me. The surprise of that action made me unable to react. I didn’t move, I didn’t scream. I was awed that he would do a thing like that. Then he did it again, and the pain of his hand against my ass made me scream. “Shhhhh, be quiet” he said “or you will make me too excited and I will have to spank you harder.
He turned me around once more, and kissed me on the lips, caressing my teeth with his mouth.
Once more I was alone, I couldn’t feel him above me, his body had moved away from me, I moved again, my hips trying to make some sense of love to the carpet. My groans echoed into the silence. I couldn’t sense him around anymore, I tugged the scarf away from my eyes. He was gone, and there I was, naked on the floor and wet between my thighs.
I couldn’t see.
He had taken my scarf and while he melted his tongue into my mouth, tied it around my eyes.
The moment I couldn’t see it seemed like I couldn’t move either. My hands, which had been untying and undoing everything they could a moment earlier, suddenly became useless, laying at my side, all that was alive in me was my breathing and sudden gasps.
Suddenly I was alone, I couldn’t hear him and I felt powerless. I knew I could untie what was covering my sight, but the expectation was wetting me, and I knew that as helpless as I seemed, I looked completely enticing.
I felt something cold to my lips, I opened them, and felt drips of vodka going inside my throat, sliding down my cheeks, and wetting the little hole that my neck makes as it merges into the rest of my body. The cold suddenly became warm as I felt his tongue tracing the vodka where it had slipped. That’s all I could feel, his tongue licking me, exhilarated by the taste it had on my body.
He poured something cold on my navel, I guess it was the same vodka, and then he lapped it up. I couldn’t move.
My hands wanted to touch him, to sense that he was still there, that it was not just a tongue caressing me, but they refused to break the spell of uselessness.
While I was trying to figure out where exactly he was at, I realized that my sense of smell and ear had become acute. I could hear him, half dressed, drinking vodka, breathing from a corner, staring at me, naked, useless, wet and wanting him more than ever.
I smelled his excitement, and stuck my hips out, telling him without words how much I needed him to touch me, to feel me up, to know that his body was there, for me, for my complete use, although I had become the object of his desire.
With an agressivenes and force I had never even sensed in him, he turned me around, I was lying on my stomach and breasts, and sensing some contact from the carpet, I began to move my body, to excite myself as well as him with the only thing I could.
My hands, useless up to that moment went down and between my thighs. And I began to caress my clit. I was wet but I needed more, so I stuck the index finger of my left hand into my mouth and salivated it profously. Then I moved it down to my clit once more.
I couldn’t see, but I knew he was watching, with that questioning look which was the first thing that had attracted me to him.
I masturbated in a completely different manner than I always do because I knew he was watching. I wanted him to see how I touched myself, to make him feel as though I felt alone, as though I really didn’t need him.
As my groans became louder and came in shorter intervals, I felt his body above mine. He took my hands and moved them away from my pleasure center. He licked my back and spread my ass cheeks apart. He breath into them, and licked me all the way down to my clit, which at that time was vibrating with such intensity that I felt as if I was about to explode. I didn’t tell him that, but I guess he sensed it. And he spanked me. The surprise of that action made me unable to react. I didn’t move, I didn’t scream. I was awed that he would do a thing like that. Then he did it again, and the pain of his hand against my ass made me scream. “Shhhhh, be quiet” he said “or you will make me too excited and I will have to spank you harder.
He turned me around once more, and kissed me on the lips, caressing my teeth with his mouth.
Once more I was alone, I couldn’t feel him above me, his body had moved away from me, I moved again, my hips trying to make some sense of love to the carpet. My groans echoed into the silence. I couldn’t sense him around anymore, I tugged the scarf away from my eyes. He was gone, and there I was, naked on the floor and wet between my thighs.
Friday, January 16, 2009
colecting smells
Lately I have been thinking of smells.
I remember the wonder it caused me when, after my first sexual encounter (which I, naively, had called love-making), I discovered a new smell. Sweat, bodily fluids and gasps intertwined and created the strangest and most enticing bouquet I had ever encountered.
I became obsessed.
Love-making, which was the axis of that relationship, was overthrown by the creation of that new perfume. I could almost skip the first part as long as I could inhale for hours that wonderful, delightful and strange new aroma.
He found it funny, even cute, that I could spend hours after the act, naked as we were, smelling the bed, smelling him, smelling myself, breathing all that had passed. My eyes rolled back and I inhaled deeply, expecting that new powerful aroma to impregnate my body, to stay with me. It only lasted a few hours, and then, it was gone as magically as it had appeared.
So I decided to keep it, to create my own little perfume brand.
After the naked gymnastics I would ask him to stay put, not to move, and I would go all around the bed, or the floor, or wherever we were, and start putting all the fluids I could find into a little bottle.
I was saving the creative fragrance for later, for my own use, for my own pleasure.
I didn't stop to think that maybe, just maybe, bodies were necessary to withhold that essence, to create the powerful scent that made me orgasm once more.
I didn't care. I had my fluids, and in my mind, I could open it up and take a sniff whenever I wanted to, keeping the most precious of the sexual act inside a glass bottle.
Now, years later, I wonder what happened to that precious item, where it went, and if anyone found it, if they would think it as enticing and delicious as I had.
I remember the wonder it caused me when, after my first sexual encounter (which I, naively, had called love-making), I discovered a new smell. Sweat, bodily fluids and gasps intertwined and created the strangest and most enticing bouquet I had ever encountered.
I became obsessed.
Love-making, which was the axis of that relationship, was overthrown by the creation of that new perfume. I could almost skip the first part as long as I could inhale for hours that wonderful, delightful and strange new aroma.
He found it funny, even cute, that I could spend hours after the act, naked as we were, smelling the bed, smelling him, smelling myself, breathing all that had passed. My eyes rolled back and I inhaled deeply, expecting that new powerful aroma to impregnate my body, to stay with me. It only lasted a few hours, and then, it was gone as magically as it had appeared.
So I decided to keep it, to create my own little perfume brand.
After the naked gymnastics I would ask him to stay put, not to move, and I would go all around the bed, or the floor, or wherever we were, and start putting all the fluids I could find into a little bottle.
I was saving the creative fragrance for later, for my own use, for my own pleasure.
I didn't stop to think that maybe, just maybe, bodies were necessary to withhold that essence, to create the powerful scent that made me orgasm once more.
I didn't care. I had my fluids, and in my mind, I could open it up and take a sniff whenever I wanted to, keeping the most precious of the sexual act inside a glass bottle.
Now, years later, I wonder what happened to that precious item, where it went, and if anyone found it, if they would think it as enticing and delicious as I had.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
the noodles
So, I seem to be a bit drunk. Smoking a cigarette and with half a bottle of pinot noir in my system... including about a pound of noodles.
I just got back from a date, at least I think it was a date, because he picked me up, took me to the restaurant, picked up the check and all... but seriously, was it a date?
He is a 39 year old guy who I would have never had flirted with if it hadn't been for the fact that a month and a bit ago, when I thought I had no Mojo left, I kind of flirted with him.
He owns the store where I buy my glasses, and now I am starting to wonder if I will ever be able to buy glasses again. Shit. That happens when you mix glasses and wine, needs and fun.
So we had a rather nice dinner, talked about his recent divorce and how he wouldn't be able to stand his ex-wife living with another guy and his absolute belief that that will never happen. Yeah, right.
I talked about my economic issues, the crisis sucks, life, family, noodles, oh, those noodles with wine, absolutely delightful.
Now I thank god to alka-seltzer and to the fact that he thinks he is a gentleman and dropped me off at my place without any clear intentions. Or maybe its was his cornyness which didn't allow him to try to do anthing else. Of course, if he wasnt as corny and as nerdy as he is I wouldnt have been wondering about what would have happened if he had tried to make more contact with my body.
Anyhow, although I knew nothing would have happened, I did put on nice lingerie, probably for my own delight, and for the fact of slurping noodles knowing what I had under my clothing.
Of course the fact of going out with a geek after seeing the gorgoeus guys at my yoga class didn't help. They take their shirts off, and so do I (I wear a sexy sports bra)... and they are gorgeous. It doesn't matter if I haven't had an interesting inteligent conversation with them, they are beautiful and I can imagine my tongue caressing each musle of their backs...
And yes, I am a bit drunk, and I am thinking of my yoga class mates and of the poor guy who bought me a real expensive dinner and has no hope of getting any, but such is life.
I mean, he doesnt believe in god, and he told me so, and we had this deep theological conversations... (and seriously, whoever has had multiple orgasms cannot be an atheist), so if he doenst get any after such a dinner, well, its not god's fault.
I just got back from a date, at least I think it was a date, because he picked me up, took me to the restaurant, picked up the check and all... but seriously, was it a date?
He is a 39 year old guy who I would have never had flirted with if it hadn't been for the fact that a month and a bit ago, when I thought I had no Mojo left, I kind of flirted with him.
He owns the store where I buy my glasses, and now I am starting to wonder if I will ever be able to buy glasses again. Shit. That happens when you mix glasses and wine, needs and fun.
So we had a rather nice dinner, talked about his recent divorce and how he wouldn't be able to stand his ex-wife living with another guy and his absolute belief that that will never happen. Yeah, right.
I talked about my economic issues, the crisis sucks, life, family, noodles, oh, those noodles with wine, absolutely delightful.
Now I thank god to alka-seltzer and to the fact that he thinks he is a gentleman and dropped me off at my place without any clear intentions. Or maybe its was his cornyness which didn't allow him to try to do anthing else. Of course, if he wasnt as corny and as nerdy as he is I wouldnt have been wondering about what would have happened if he had tried to make more contact with my body.
Anyhow, although I knew nothing would have happened, I did put on nice lingerie, probably for my own delight, and for the fact of slurping noodles knowing what I had under my clothing.
Of course the fact of going out with a geek after seeing the gorgoeus guys at my yoga class didn't help. They take their shirts off, and so do I (I wear a sexy sports bra)... and they are gorgeous. It doesn't matter if I haven't had an interesting inteligent conversation with them, they are beautiful and I can imagine my tongue caressing each musle of their backs...
And yes, I am a bit drunk, and I am thinking of my yoga class mates and of the poor guy who bought me a real expensive dinner and has no hope of getting any, but such is life.
I mean, he doesnt believe in god, and he told me so, and we had this deep theological conversations... (and seriously, whoever has had multiple orgasms cannot be an atheist), so if he doenst get any after such a dinner, well, its not god's fault.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Black Mamba
When she saw what he was hiding in his pants she turned white.
There was no way that could fit anywhere, not inside her, not above her, not anywhere. No part of her body could hold him.
And yet, the attractiveness of his dark skin reflected on her freckles made her wet, the possibility of the existence of such a big member made her gasp, the fact that he was kissing her body made her horny...
but there was no way that could fit anywhere.
And so the story ended, as a possibility of things unfulfilled, of pleasures untried, and of the terror of a huge black dick entering a white pussy.
There was no way that could fit anywhere, not inside her, not above her, not anywhere. No part of her body could hold him.
And yet, the attractiveness of his dark skin reflected on her freckles made her wet, the possibility of the existence of such a big member made her gasp, the fact that he was kissing her body made her horny...
but there was no way that could fit anywhere.
And so the story ended, as a possibility of things unfulfilled, of pleasures untried, and of the terror of a huge black dick entering a white pussy.
Gol... he moaned
So, as it usually happens, when I thought I would enjoy a nice quiet evening with me, myself and I, a man appeared in my life.
The circumstances of how we met are not of interest at this moment, but they were quite unusual, and, I must say, completely unexpected. From the moment I saw him I said, wow, this guy is cute... Maybe it was that the last few months I have only encountered ugly men, or maybe he was really hot... the fact is that his green eyes, tanned and ageless face made me wonder what could happen that night.
At the second bar we had gone to he bent over me and his lips encountered my own. Delicious. I hadn't tasted Brazilian in a while, and I must say, his blood was really warm.
So, a couple of beers later we were at my place, which, really, is not the kind of thing I do, but there was a thing about him that made me trust him, so there we were.
At my place I set the mood with a bit of Simone White... and a beer later we were kissing once more...
He started to go down my neck, and began to moan...
I had never seen something like that, a guy moaning when he's kissing your neck, or touching some parts of your body... and it was cute. He had a kind of 'ay, ay' high-pitched moan which went great with the music that we had completely ignored...
One-hand-Bra-undoing is usually a first test (obviously if a guy has passed the kissing exam), to see how experienced he is, and how nervous he denies being... and he failed... but what the heck, the kisses were good, his skin was soft, and I helped him out.
I did take him to my bed, and we did do things that I had craved and fantasized about for a while (celibacy is not my thing...), and although the first time is alway a bit off, when the other body is strange terrain you must discover and explore, we had a lot of fun and probably woke up some of my neighbors.
a couple of orgasms later, I was absolutely exhausted...
(At this point I have to add that two things really baffled me, the first was that he was a grower... He had a very small dick, and I was quite disappointed when I touched him, but when he stood up to salute me and my body, the size was nice... I hadn't seen that before.
The second thing was that he was uncircumcised... and I had never been with a guy with so much skin down there... I am still uncertain if it was good or bad... it certainly was interesting).
I was exhausted, and he kept going on and on about his trip, and his life, his issues with his father, and his relationship with his sisters. His job, what he thought and felt... and I, well, I wanted to go to sleep, it was 4 in the morning and I was very tired after such an extensive orgasmic workout...
He kept on talking and I kept on nodding and saying uhu to the things he said.
At one point, he started talking about soccer. Talk about a turnoff. I'm not sure if it was because he was Brazilian, or because he was chatting away about all the things he is intense and passionate about, but soccer did enter the field, our field.
As I was trying with all my might to not fall into the post-orgasmic slumber, I did learn that Brazil won its first world cup in 1962, that before that they had good players but their strategy wasnt as great. In 1986 Argentina won the cup because of Maradona, who is amazing, but nothing compared to Pelé...
When he went for water I did fall asleep... half an hour later I called him a cab and he was gone with the words "Eu gosto que voçe seja tao fogosa"...
The next morning I looked for the condoms everywhere to dispose of them, and they were nowhere to be found. I wonder if somewhere in the world a soccer ball exists that is filled up with used condoms.
The circumstances of how we met are not of interest at this moment, but they were quite unusual, and, I must say, completely unexpected. From the moment I saw him I said, wow, this guy is cute... Maybe it was that the last few months I have only encountered ugly men, or maybe he was really hot... the fact is that his green eyes, tanned and ageless face made me wonder what could happen that night.
At the second bar we had gone to he bent over me and his lips encountered my own. Delicious. I hadn't tasted Brazilian in a while, and I must say, his blood was really warm.
So, a couple of beers later we were at my place, which, really, is not the kind of thing I do, but there was a thing about him that made me trust him, so there we were.
At my place I set the mood with a bit of Simone White... and a beer later we were kissing once more...
He started to go down my neck, and began to moan...
I had never seen something like that, a guy moaning when he's kissing your neck, or touching some parts of your body... and it was cute. He had a kind of 'ay, ay' high-pitched moan which went great with the music that we had completely ignored...
One-hand-Bra-undoing is usually a first test (obviously if a guy has passed the kissing exam), to see how experienced he is, and how nervous he denies being... and he failed... but what the heck, the kisses were good, his skin was soft, and I helped him out.
I did take him to my bed, and we did do things that I had craved and fantasized about for a while (celibacy is not my thing...), and although the first time is alway a bit off, when the other body is strange terrain you must discover and explore, we had a lot of fun and probably woke up some of my neighbors.
a couple of orgasms later, I was absolutely exhausted...
(At this point I have to add that two things really baffled me, the first was that he was a grower... He had a very small dick, and I was quite disappointed when I touched him, but when he stood up to salute me and my body, the size was nice... I hadn't seen that before.
The second thing was that he was uncircumcised... and I had never been with a guy with so much skin down there... I am still uncertain if it was good or bad... it certainly was interesting).
I was exhausted, and he kept going on and on about his trip, and his life, his issues with his father, and his relationship with his sisters. His job, what he thought and felt... and I, well, I wanted to go to sleep, it was 4 in the morning and I was very tired after such an extensive orgasmic workout...
He kept on talking and I kept on nodding and saying uhu to the things he said.
At one point, he started talking about soccer. Talk about a turnoff. I'm not sure if it was because he was Brazilian, or because he was chatting away about all the things he is intense and passionate about, but soccer did enter the field, our field.
As I was trying with all my might to not fall into the post-orgasmic slumber, I did learn that Brazil won its first world cup in 1962, that before that they had good players but their strategy wasnt as great. In 1986 Argentina won the cup because of Maradona, who is amazing, but nothing compared to Pelé...
When he went for water I did fall asleep... half an hour later I called him a cab and he was gone with the words "Eu gosto que voçe seja tao fogosa"...
The next morning I looked for the condoms everywhere to dispose of them, and they were nowhere to be found. I wonder if somewhere in the world a soccer ball exists that is filled up with used condoms.
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