On cravings

I am craving many things at the moment.

I am craving a hotel afternoon in a spacious and luxuriously-appointed bed, with a sturdy and comfortable couch, large shower and hours with the door shut to fuck and cleanse and recover and eat and drink wine and fuck all over again.

I am craving Mr OMG’s bare chest against mine. This is not a healthy craving but I wonder if acknowledging a weakness makes it more or less weak. I keep thinking about him sitting with his legs bent and lowering myself on him and feeling glorious warm pain that I never want to end.

I think I am craving to be fisted by a woman with refined fingers and a slender wrist.

If not, I’ll crave being fisted again by a man.

I am craving lying sideways, being embraced by two naked men, feeling the erection of the one at the front grinding into my pelvis, and the hand of the one at the rear reaching around and massaging my middle places into alarming warmth and wetness. His hand will brush the other’s cock because I want them to also crave each other.

This leads to my craving for double penetration.

I am craving the man I met at a party. I don’t mix my social life with the pursuit of sexual partners, but he bowled me over with attraction and the more we talked, the more I wanted his expressive hands caressing my backside. This craving needs to subside in its own time because he was visiting from interstate and staying with a dear friend who doesn’t know of my nocturnal hobbies; the potential complications were too many. I only went that far in my thinking because he liked me, too.

I am craving someone regular. I am adapting to having casual suitors flitting around but they are still ancillary to my desire for someone who wants more than rushed basics. Pleasure Freak, Young Lion and Young Tradesman are on notice that I’m not seeing them unless it’s to indulge in my craving for a hotel afternoon.

On cocks and compliments

Just as I was leaning towards the negative in regard to a casual future with Young Lion, he sent a message complimenting my skills with my mouth and how rare it was for his cock not to be grazed with a partner’s teeth. After thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t just me who found manoeuvring his size a challenge, I did a little strut of pride around the lounge room because I have it, people, even when I think I don’t. But seriously, for me, a compliment after a sexual experience is worth ten times more than one given in the lead-up because the motivation is much purer.

As Dave said in a man’s perspective on oral sex (in my favourite new blog and hurry and write more please), “Most people probably do think that they’re amazing at it. Most of these people have also probably been with guys who will praise their partner in order to get future blow jobs. It’s a vicious cycle. One that doesn’t lead to many people advancing their blow job technique, which is unfortunate.”

I’ve never had the gumption to rate or talk up my technique with a potential partner and I truly don’t know how skilled I am. With my courage in seeking new experiences comes an equal dose of insecurity that still accompanies me on my travels. Porn is hardly a do-it-yourself guide to self improvement and I’ve never been in an F/M/F threesome to exchange handy hints on the spot with another woman (damn, because it’s a good idea come to think of it). All I know with certainty is that I enjoy sharing pleasure and I’m observant to a partner’s verbal and physical responses during exploration. My pervey side finds watching a man masturbate arousing on its own and also lets me see the places he touches — I’ve never met a man who indulges in much foreplay on himself because they tend to go straight to what works .

(From my side as the potential recipient, I don’t listen to any man who says he’s great at performing oral sex on women and those on the dating site who market themselves with variants of  ‘love giving oral for hours’ are sent to the blocked list. The female anatomy is a tricky and temperamental piece of equipment — even when getting myself off, what worked yesterday won’t be what I want today. Immediately before my period I crave clitoral stimulation from a vibrator and a week later I want the whole damn lot. And now. While I prefer experienced partners with a broad repertoire because I might discover something new and I enjoy several non-standard activities, it’s my responsibility to communicate rather than expect a stranger to have the road map to a new and dangerous country plotted.)

ArmyDude has never reached orgasm from my oral sex alone — after a year of experimentation I doubt my technique sucks (apologies for the awful pun) but his sex life is limited mainly to masturbation; the sensations of a set of lips and different hands feel exquisite but don’t finish him off. M1 expected me to find what worked for him with little communication and I’d receive a spanking or paddling when I couldn’t get him to orgasm. One night he became angry and impatient and gave me some hints: how the fuck would I know that his dick needed wrapping in a handkerchief and then jiggled like a tea bag in a cup? For Jekyll, any attention was positive attention. His cock was on the smaller side and I could usually take it all in and lick his balls at the same time — he loved that visual and I enjoyed his enthusiasm and quick recovery time so we could do it all again. Country Hottie can be tricky to keep erect but filthy language works a treat although it’s hard to spew gutter talk with a full mouth. He prefers to fuck anyway, unless I am getting it wrong.

I was in Pleasure Freak’s car this afternoon (I know I said I’d lost patience but he got me at a moment I was on the road and ovulating) and I had a magical time exploring him on the back seat with his legs wrapped around my shoulders. He was so responsive and full of praise and up for anything that it was my pleasure to be let loose on his body. I don’t know him well enough to judge if his exaltations were bribes to encourage more or if his words were real but I was so turned on by the end that he fitted four fingers and the start of a fist inside me without lubricant. It doesn’t mean I’m the “ohhhh you’re such a great cocksucker” he shouted when my mouth was stuffed with his cock and he was near orgasm, but I’ll be volunteering to spend more time down there if the opportunity arises. He also had the perfect finger length to find and work my g-spot in a matter of seconds and actions often mean more than words.

Must be monster dick month

It’s hard to focus on a single theme or learning experience for this post because it can go in several directions. So I’ll just tell the story.

Young Lion, the confident, brash chap mentioned in the previous post, ramped up his campaign of attention and lustful ideas. He was like a self-generating metabolic system that every time he sent a sexually-charged message, he’d ruminate the possibilities and return with greater intensity to the point of begging to meet as his erection was about to topple him. Few things turn me off more quickly than the first whiffs of desperation and I sent him away with instructions to wank until he had calmed down. His mid-twenties supply of inexhaustible testosterone and concept that no hour on a week night was too late to meet made me hardened and protective of my own limited energy reserves — I was jealous of his youth and punished him by ignoring his pleas.

But he bounced back the following day and I was glad of the resilience that equalled his sex drive. We met a day earlier than planned as I had resigned from my job that morning and was in a possibly manic see-saw mood of being inspired by my own bravery and terrified by the potential stupidity of my decision. I know, I’ll go and distract myself to avoid reality and worry about it tomorrow!

He told me the time he was leaving the city and I nominated a suburb halfway to meet that was near a park in case we wanted to continue in his car. He asked which train line the suburb was on. Pardon? I told him he was insane because my car was far too small for any kind of shenanigans, the night was pissing rain and blowing gale force winds and our options were limited to almost nothing — let’s re-schedule. He wrote back and said he was already on a train and coming to see me.

And off I went to collect my young man from the station. He was shorter, skinnier and possessed less refined features than his profile photos indicated, but I grinned when I introduced myself because his cocksureness was accompanied with a lovely vulnerability when I saw him standing nervously with his eyes wide and a trembling smile on his lips. He also didn’t run in fright as I had forgotten to remove my glasses, hat, gloves and several layers of clothing more suited to trampling through snow than impressing strangers. I must have got something right in my current profile because — apart from the lack of availability of most I have encountered this campaign — I’ve consistently met attractive, smart and tempting men who find my oddness somewhat touching.

I led him to my car and he agreed that its diminutive dimensions made anything but driving next to impossible. I told him that exaggeration is not one of my personality traits and we hit the road because we agreed that discovering more about each other would be a good thing. I found a marina car park and we took a walk but the howling wind and salt water sprays sent us fleeing for shelter. We ended up driving along the foreshore and past sports grounds for 40 kilometres looking for a secluded space but the municipality had been diligent in locking and gating its private places. I drove to the last suburb I was prepared to scope (and with a safe train station where I planned dropping him afterwards) and I pulled up in a beachside car park.

We kissed a while and with the frustration of the sexually curtailed I cursed the lack of space, the weather, being convinced to be so rash tonight, why the fuck did I quit my job without a plan? the lack of facilities — what on earth do gay men do for beats around here? I told him to remove his pants and he slid them around his ankles, waiting a few moments so I could fully absorb the view of his pristinely white, body-hugging trunks. He said previously he was gifted in that department and I took his comment lightly — I did the numbers and convinced myself that I would have seen more erect penises than he and I’d be the judge of that.

I could only approach his groin sideways with the driver’s side door open and my legs and backside hanging unglamorously out of the car. And this is when I learned that he wasn’t prone to exaggeration either. At a guess I’d say he had the thickest shaft I’ve encountered in real life or the movies. His cock was wider rather than tall and my mouth was angled from the side and taller rather than wide and I had a hell of a time fitting much in. He pushed my head a little and I stopped him as my lips were so stretched I feared my teeth were exposed. I alternated between masturbating him, trying to suck his cock and licking his shaft and balls. To relieve jaw ache I asked him to masturbate and come in my mouth and he obliged. His physical gift was less sweet on the inside and he spurted jets of hot, thin, sour fluid that scrunched my face and made me beg for a one-swallow finish.

I drove him to the station and we kissed goodbye on the cheeks. He avoided my lips as my mouth was scented with his semen. To be frank, I understood as I gobbled a handful of mints as soon as he left.

Before we parted, I indulged my curiosity and asked if he lived at home. Of course he did. I withheld the urge to ask if his parents would worry about his whereabouts so late on a week night.

I don’t know what’s next. He said it was my turn to organise the next meeting (did I not do enough for this one?) and I can’t decide whether to start corrupting him or walk away because there’s too much effort and logistics involved. He’s verging on being too narrow minded in several activities he won’t consider but interesting that he was curious about attending a BDSM club. I am potentially unemployed soon and won’t have the discretionary budget for a hotel room and I’m also wary of the battery acid that came out of his cock. I know, I’ll avoid reality and worry about it tomorrow.

More bits of the puzzle

The Drummer asked if I had “any gentleman callers” scheduled for last weekend and I almost thankfully said no — I was more than fortunate the previous weekend, my period was almost due and his comments regarding jealousy still echoed as a reminder to be discerning. As things turn out, I said a few posts ago that I should make more female friends and since then invitations have arrived for birthdays, housewarmings and an engagement-cancellation party(!)* over the next few weeks and I’m trying to work out when I’ll have time for misbehaviour. The universe listened a little too closely to my complaints.

ArmyDude: I was planning to end things with him in the next week but — and this is the universe again — we have been placed in the same project team at work. Oh, goody. That’s another thing the women’s magazines don’t warn about when fucking workmates: how to choose the most suitable (or least worst) time to exit without bumping into each other after the bad news is dealt. It was going to be a long project but now it’s not because I’m in charge. I don’t know what’s happened to my desire for him; logically the reasons we were together haven’t changed but my desire for him sexually has decayed to reminiscences. He is the same but I am not.

One saving grace is the constant buzzing of his mobile phone when he’s been around — I have hope he is in the early stages of another fling. He also sent me some ‘new’ full body photos that were several weeks old and I suspect they’re leftovers from a profile he’s created on another site. I hope this is the case selflessly because I wish him nothing but fulfilment, and selfishly because if another is distracting him then potential backlash for me might be minimised.

Mr OMG: Of course, he’s gone again. I already knew beforehand that the quicker we got together, the quicker he’d disappear again. I sent him a testing-the-water message a few days after we met and he didn’t reply — the message contained a question that anyone with a pulse would respond to so that was silence enough for me to keep moving on. Last time I logged into the dating site he hadn’t blocked me but had closed his new account — again. Puzzling man.

Pleasure Freak: We still haven’t met since the first time. He blusters in with big ideas such as asking if I’d like to go with him to a mixed night at a gay sauna (sure, why not?) and if I’d like to watch another man suck his cock (again, sure, why not?) but disappears after we agree tentatively to meet and sends a message the following day asking what happened. I’m not investing any more mental sweat in him.

I might be due for a dry spell. There’s a young lion about town who’s interested in being dominated and hasn’t shied away from some of my ideas (even the concept of orgasm control, which scared away some of the others who didn’t discern the difference between assertiveness and dominance — I am educating the youth of today and possibly scaring them for life). He seems to want to see if I can manage to dominate him rather than choose to gift himself and this mindset seems topsy-turvy in the way I approach sub/dom mind games, but that’s a confusing essay for another day. I do like his pluck in saying I could either dominate him or have him fuck the daylights out of me — he may need to learn that both are possible at the same time.

I’ve been in contact with someone else but we have never got around to meeting because of distance and mismatching availability, but we have become quite close for two people who haven’t met after six months. He is enthusiastically bisexual according to some interesting action shots he sends occasionally and he’s responded positively to some of my more unusual photo requests — not everyone would humour my tiny evil side by coming in his hand, transferring semen to his mouth and sending a photo.

It was my turn to return the favour and yesterday he asked for a video of me pissing. May I say that was a challenging task for a person with only two hands and without an external organ. All I will say to aspiring water sport self-photographers is to take a B vitamin the night before for improved contrast against neutral shower tiles, and kneeling while leaning backwards seems to give the best angle with the least risk of spillage on recording equipment. I also recommend having somewhere to put the camera aside with the clean hand as there’s no use getting out of the shower until the mess is washed away. He sent glowing praise though and I have gained another skill I can’t put on my resume. We might catch up in a few weeks when he returns from elsewhere because I have plans for him.

* What gift might one buy for a newly-single man? I was thinking condoms, lube and a subscription to the dating site as a joke but he is a serial monogamist and already has a new girlfriend.

Squirting, binding, fucking

The next day I spent an evening with Country Hottie.

I was in a leading-from-behind frame of mind and the plan I formulated was to emerge from the bedroom in underwear and leather accessories, hand him the lead and take my sweet time undressing and teasing him until we needed to devour each other. It didn’t work like that at all.

Instead, he removed the garments from my lower body and went down on me. I’m unsure about this squirting caper now: he got me too early in the night and I sprayed like a burst water balloon over both of us. This time he kept going until the feeling of fullness escalated into abdominal discomfort without end and the eventual second expulsion of fluid over the floor, lounge and my face was more a relief than a curiosity. I don’t know how the women in do-it-yourself porn videos keep smiling as they go for seconds and thirds in front of the camera (M1 sends me unsolicited clips even though we aren’t in touch any more) — I was hurting and finding it hard to stand from dizziness.

After a brief recovery he fucked me on the lounge and had the stamina of the detached while I had peaked too early. The bend of my body sitting semi-upright helped his deep thrusts hit my cervix and he was unrelenting even though I was squirming up the wall with each impact. I suppose this was silent payback for my dealings with him earlier in the week.

When I was a crumpled wreck on the upholstery, he laid me on the floor and brought out his ropes. I relished the opportunity to relax as he got the dominant urges out of his system. Again, it didn’t work like that at all. I was lying on my back and he tied my wrists together above my head, and artfully bound my lower body with my legs bent and apart and suspended in the air. The rope ends were tied to furniture to ensure minimal movement. He stuffed a large dildo in my vagina, a vibrator in my anus and alternated slapping my exposed buttocks and clit — not quite my idea of relaxation after the previous treatment.

He found a way of trussing ropes between my legs to hold the toys in place and turned to face the same direction as me. He squatted and I tongued his arse and I could see one arm moving rapidly, presumably wanking over my belly. The bastard would not come and my legs and shoulders were seizing from being unable to ease pressure on the hard floor.

When he came close to orgasm, he removed the bindings and toys and I had time for a quick stretch before he pounded me from on top until he finished. I enjoyed that part very much.

He asked if I wanted to come again, and I said no. I’m fine. Really, but thank you for asking. We curled up and I left before he found the energy to contemplate another round; I was sore all over for two days. If nothing else, the itch for bondage has been scratched for a while this time around.

The forecast postscript … or, the night I had sex with Mr OMG

He floated back with a couple of phone messages during the week. I thought eventually that there was no harm talking to him as there was no ill intent in his motivation. I thought later I was a weak soul whose resolve crumbled too easily after I agreed to meet him. I thought that him finishing a call with an out-of-the-blue, “You have no idea how hard I am right now,” was good and reasonable justification for being a weak soul whose resolve crumbled too easily.

We met in a car park at a sports ground. When I stepped into the passenger’s seat I didn’t know whether to kiss him, forget manners and pounce him, or be gawky and shy because I was getting what I asked for almost unexpectedly; my brain was oscillating between making small talk badly and thinking about the beast between his legs. I planned most of the meeting but thankfully he took charge this time, grasped my face in his hands and kissed me until I was a melted heap of yumminess in the seat. Then I remembered social protocols and said hello.

Fuck, he’s beautiful. I wanted to tell him that his self rating on the dating site as ‘average’ was the most ludicrous and modest thing I’ve read, but I wasn’t in a benevolent state of mind towards the sisterhood with log-ins.

We stopped for a breather and tripped on an awkward gap in conversation. I said I was quiet because I was overwhelmed and still uncertain but glad to be there. I was talking too much in circles and I impulsively kneeled on the seat and worked his ear and neck with my tongue instead. He harked back to the telephone call detailing the state of his erection and I looked down and saw the outline pressing against his light cotton pants in the glow of the car’s clock. I experienced a silly conservative moment that we both knew why we were meeting but I was coy about moving too quickly. But I looked again and saw the enlarged shape at a 90-degree angle to his legs and couldn’t help but run my fingers along the fabric, agreeing he was indeed hard. His hands roamed up the inside of my sweater and down my pants quickly after that.

Coyness thankfully gave way to wanting to be ravaged and I bent to take the head of his cock in my mouth. He was smooth and smelled freshly showered and made encouraging noises that made me want to eat him alive. He seemed to particularly enjoy my wet lips slicking up and down the length of his shaft. I repeated my original experiment of holding my hand at the base of his cock and lowering my mouth as far as I could and there was still the scary gap between hand and lips. I stopped the internal monologue about why I have never managed to deepthroat and said I needed to have him inside me and now would be a good time.

We scrambled over the console to the back seat and sorted out a position with him — taller and with longer limbs than I remembered — crouched on top and me scrunched underneath and wedged against the door. By then I didn’t care if I was upside-down hanging from a tree in the town square because my unfinished business from months ago was about to reach resolution.

I wish he had lasted longer or had time to go again because we felt stunning together. He was careful because of the cramped quarters and ensuring my body was ready, but I had enough room to wriggle and take more and feel gloriously full. I got the unresolved promise of him out of my system in one way but I want more, along the same line that I say I eat good quality chocolate because I’ll eat less, but the truth is I never stop after one piece.

Jigsaw puzzle

A few pieces need to be put in place.

ArmyDude: He is back but dropped by the office unannounced three times in the week of his return and hovered aimlessly when other people were around. I read him the riot act about taking unacceptable risks and asked for some breathing space. He agreed quickly but has sent messages daily and I need a break; he is also having serious problems at home and I’m not comfortable with his boundary management at the moment.

Country Hottie: I sent him a photo of nipple clamps attached to a place I don’t have nipples and he responded awfully quickly like Pavlov’s randy dog. We set a date to meet, he became more flaky than my current temperament would tolerate and I let rip with a message calling him a slack fucking bastard who needs letting go, among other less politely worded things, and I walked away. I felt better after clearing my air, he chose to keep hanging around for now and I’m going to be tied up and spanked a pretty shade of scarlet next weekend. I like him more now that I have acknowledged I don’t really like him.

The man with potential from a few posts ago: We agreed congenially and with a hint of regret to stop before we begin. His diary is a ferociously full beast and, with three weeks passing without a spare few unplanned hours in his schedule, I let him know that things weren’t going to work for me, much as I’d like. There is enough intent without availability in my life without adding to it.

Pleasure Freak: He’s new. He sent a message. I replied that I was growing tired of attached men whose concepts of having time for flesh-and-blood pleasure were illusions and I’d leave it to him if he wanted to get in touch. He sent a nude photo instead. I sent him one from work. He sent another from his car. I enjoyed his sense of daring. We met yesterday and I was almost felled by knee-buckling attraction. He almost thankfully wasn’t quite as handsome as his face photos, but in the lovely paradox that looks don’t always equate to attraction, every girl hormone in my body started having a wild party. He is tall and dark and rangy with broad shoulders and a small arse cupped by faded jeans and emits sexuality that I really and truly want to explore. I held back and looked for clues of what was going on in his head; at one stage he touched my arm as he stood to get something from his car and the girl hormones started somersaulting and doing backflips. Later, he asked if I was keen. I paused to manage some nerves, stared in his eyes and said, “Yes, very much so if you are.”

We talked until a few minutes before he had to go and I made him late for a function because we started kissing in his car and it all felt so very, very good. He made himself even later when he said he was going to wank quickly before leaving. I asked if I could stay and perhaps help because I like watching men masturbate (especially attractive men with high sex drives who have sent nude photos and are right in front of me). He pulled down his jeans and I asked if I could touch and taste. He, of course, said yes. I wrapped my lips around the top of his deceptively thick cock and wondered how I’d manage to fit it in, even with more time and a less cramped position for devouring him. I wasn’t able to wonder long as he gave warning signs of orgasm and I let him escape from my mouth before he came up his belly. I’m trying to behave and not do too much on first meetings with those I want to see again. I am cautiously optimistic (and want his cock inside me in many different ways).

Mr OMG: Ha, now how did he sneak in? I ‘accidentally’ clicked on his profile I’ve been ignoring and he sent a smile the following day. Now I wish I hadn’t, and he hadn’t. I sat on my hands and pondered whether to re-open the not-quite-healed wound. I ended up sending a guarded message to which he was brave enough to reply and we spoke briefly on the phone last night. He is a beautiful man and the centre of a thousand fantasies but after a somewhat awkward conversation (which had to end abruptly and was left open-ended) the reality is that I’m not sure I want to see him. Months after we met the first time he is still drifting and doesn’t seem to know what he’s looking for. I think I don’t want him and I’m too surprised by that thought to believe it yet.

Forecast postscript: No, I don’t have ESP; I think tomorrow I’m going to contradict my last sentence.

The Drummer: Last week The Drummer and I were having a heart-to-heart talk about his mental health, and a side issue that caught me by surprise was his admission of jealousy towards my other life and the opportunities it affords. He is losing his masculinity and sexuality on an increasing dose of anti-depressants; he has (we have) a long and tough journey and I’ll never give up on him but this week I wanted be somewhere else, live someone else’s life and not have to be the parent, the boss, the leader, the guide, the decision maker for a partner who has lost himself. I need someone strong, too, but I look around and the only place I see that kind of help is in the mirror and I am sad.

I didn’t have a response to address his jealousy but the next day I said to him all I really want with the others is something along the lines of what I had with Jekyll, who was around but we weren’t in each other’s faces, and we could mix up the car parks and hotel rooms and go to town on each other in any way with firm boundaries. I don’t have that at the moment and my other life is not all he is perceiving it to be. The majority is just chasing and distractions and misplaced hope. I get nervous meeting new people and cynical from knowing that the intentions of most online aren’t what they appear. I get a little house crazy some weekend nights if he is working and my closest girlfriends work nightshift and a couple of other friends disappeared after I entrusted them with my other life secret. I feel lost and probably in need of more female company sometimes. Some men are mindless diversions, like the stripper, and it’s so easy that it’s not fun. If I could have anything sexually, it would be more of him as my partner, away from the grip that medications have on his sexuality, and perhaps one other to fill the urges for controlled insanity, and that would be it, but that’s not life at the moment and so I will roam with a heart equally weighted with desire and discontent, but I will stay home tonight because my eyes are red and puffy from purging this.