The Blonde of My Dreams

Sometimes I have these startlingly erotic dreams that interject my regular flow of boring or just plain confusing dreams. For the most part my dreams aren’t memorable enough to survive waking and the ones that are just so superior in What-the-fuckness that they linger for days. As far as the erotic ones, the wtf element that serves as a constant in every single one since puberty has been a petite-ish nude woman with shoulder-length blonde hair.

The very first dream I had of her was the first ever sexual dream I ever had – she was laying in the middle of a white, featureless room in a very deep sleep. I straddled her waist and ran my fingers over the skin along her sides and breasts until she woke up, parted her lips and sighed as if she were still dreaming. I kept skimming my fingers over her in an exploratory sort of way and at the same time became increasingly overwhelmed and aroused. I woke up and lay in bed for a couple hours, staring at the ceiling wondering what the fuck that dream was really about.

Another memorable dream I had of her was during a sex party where she was the hostess clad in a slinky silky silver robe and slip outfit. I spent the entirety of the dream sifting through naked couples and dark rooms draped in red fabrics looking for her – she was always just leaving when I arrived in a particular room. Of course, when I finally caught her, I woke up.

The latest dream had her as mischievous headmistress type showing me a room of leatherbound books and impact toys. she wanted my help writing and illustrating a book that highlighted each of her tools. To ensure the validity of the content, she insisted on trying each of the toys on me. I agreed but sat down first to start drawing the cover…she stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders and bare breasts pressed against my….woke up.

The others I’ve had usually feature her as an extra or some sinister character. I’m not really sure what to make of them but they keep my nightlife interesting.

Kissing and Telling (with sweaty kisses)

Oddly enough, I’ve been too busy having sex to post about it.

Nothing unusual for the most part; fucking lots, cumming lots, then silly post coitus discourse. I’m the one most affected but I wonder how common the giddy high is, and maybe I’m starting to suspect that it’s from the asphyxiation. Anyway,

Living with M is about equal parts pros and cons. Outside of the occasional sleepovers, I’ve never shared a bed with anyone and am clearly not used to it. The other night I found myself boiling over in silent rage as, next to me, M twisted, snored, and talked at me in his sleep. He also has a habit of feeling me up in his sleep which is sexy if I’m around 5% awake but utterly terrifying if I’ve already slipped into the REM sleep. I’m pretty sure I decked him for cuddling with me in the middle of the night which is about as startling a wake up call as I can imagine but he just Harumpfed and went to back to sleep.

There are, however, the little gems that make it all worthwhile. Everytime I change into M’s favorite fetishwear (pajama pants), he becomes very anxious to get it on and the passion with which he pursues this endeavor is something like a mad fury to grab at all my sensitive bits, sink his nails and teeth into the less sensitive ones, and really just fuck away. M is also elated to have me around so that he can shave me whenever he wants with ample time to prep and get all the nooks and crannies (all while maintaining a rock hard erection).  It’s funny and convenient that we share something of a hair removal fetish.

We still haven’t used much of anything in the toy box although I am counting on a non-stop, furied fuckfest later today…

This photo is unfortunately very reminiscent of M and I’s sessions. I hate sweat…it’s gross and clingy and not my thing. The really unfortunate part is that recently M mentioned how he just adores the smell and taste of my sweat, he likes the way it makes my skin look AND when we jokingly discussed sweat as a seasoning for food his laughs were NOT convincingly enough in a derisive tone.

Performance anxiety

BF asked if the sex has gone downhill in the year we’ve been dating.  I suppose the novelty has worn off.

When I don’t see BF for the better part of a week, due to work and busyness, I start to wonder if my relationship is pointless.   Like FWB all over again.

On the plus side, sex is often really good at the end of that week.

I don’t lust for him the same way I did a year ago, for better or worse.  That shit gets distracting, especially when you’re trying to write a senior thesis.  In class, on the bus to work, all these illicit daydreams and flashbacks of the night prior.

Part of his appeal was the element of uncertainty.  I’d always go to his place to study, and I’d make an effort to look nice, and I was always on edge at the prospect of getting fucked at the end of the night.  But it was no sure thing.

Part of it was wanting what I shouldn’t have.  I shouldn’t have been studying his body instead of my books.  I shouldn’t have been pursuing a guy rebounding from the love of his life.  I shouldn’t have fucked him on the couch at 2am while his roommate slept in the bedroom just feet away.  I shouldn’t have been sleeping with one of my best friends.

We’d been sleeping together for months before we started dating.  During that time, we pretended we were just friends when others were around.  I pretended I wasn’t in love with him.

I was struggling to keep my life together and graduate, and I think the sex was wrapped in lust, secrecy, and cravings for intimacy and validation.  Like how I imagine Catholic sex to be, or maybe Hester Prynne and Arthur Dimmesdale’s affair.

It was tortured, and cathartic, and flawed, and I couldn’t get enough.

I’m glad life has slowed considerably since then.  Perhaps too much.  But the crucible in which this relationship formed has cooled a little since.

I don’t want sex to be a chore.  I don’t want to overthink it and get performance anxiety.  I don’t want him to worry he’s an inadequate lay.

But Dan Savage and Betty Dodson are telling me I’m going to need to get to work.  Must get down and dirty with myself, and hisself, and start creating some fireworks.

Photo: Sexy in the Workplace

It was my last day at work. Quit a week ago.

Whew, thank god.

Going the distance

Kudos to those stalwart individuals like Mlle. Nottibits who can sustain long-distance relationships.

Kudos to those ballsy/idiotic individuals who are ready to tie the knot.  I wish you the best.

Kudos to you who can juggle it all -  families, meaningful career, meaningful hobbies, meaningful relationships, meaningful friendships, etc.

Sorry for the Dan Savage fail.  He was every ounce the delightfully inappropriate pottymouth you would expect.

Dan left 2 distinct impressions on me.

1) You know it’s love when you think his armpits smell fantastic.

2) Monogamy is normal, but it’s not natural.  Most people fuck up and cheat.  Open relationships and threesomes can be a good way to improve an otherwise monogamous relationship.

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Commitment.  What’s the rush?

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Nottibits – you’re a gem.  Good luck with the move, and have lots of fun and sex and illicit substances.  The District will not be as cool without you.  Let me know when you’re back.  I still owe you a drank, or many.

Good night, and good luck.

Photo: passionate F*CK

The passionate fuck I needed and deserved finally found me ver the weekend. Initially, M seemed pretty annoyed with the reintroduction of condoms (Atlas this time) but he didn’t seem to have any real trouble reacquainting himself with em. We got back into anal sex and I orgasmed myself into a monstrous, asphyxiation induced headache.

Concupiscent, desiring, hard up, hot to trot, hot, lascivious, libidinous, lustful, oversexed, passionate, randy, turned on

My ever shrinking budget demanded a few sacrifices in the past month to compensate for some other stuff, the crucial to living kind of stuff. This meant cutting oral contraceptives out of my life for awhile – the fact that the price per pack went up about 450% and that I’m not gettin laid made that decision a little easier. However, I am now defenseless against mittelsmertz and an old, long-forgotten affliction that might be something close to nymphomania.

Having been on the pill for so long, I just thought that my diminishing sex drive was in small part due to the hormones but in larger part due me growing out of teenagehood. This proved not to be so.  So, the past few days have been interjected with me pigging out on porn and literotica and fantasizing and responding accordingly to the physical/sexual demands of such activity (read: masturbating) I spend most of my waking hours contemplating taking a sick day to help out with my renewed lusts for sex. While distracting, I also found that my general mood was changing; every day I feel happier and more light hearted and that my self-esteem is improving - I can’t tell if my body looks better or I just felt sexier, good both ways really.   Suddenly, I wanan revert to my high school days – the experimenting, the sex outdoors, short skirts and naked pictures for naked pictures sake.  I wanna roll around in in cartoon colored underwear with M and reignite my love affair with S&M which might be due to the loss of hypersensitivity in my skin caused by the contraceptive, though, clearly, I am no doctor. And I feel compelled to get more ink done and a new piercing AND AND AND I want red meat.

I’m genuinely happy and horny, I can’t think of a better cure for the recession blues.

*The title is made up for synonyms for the word HORNY

Photo: Kissing Scene

I went out last night with the intention of having one drink and be in bed by 10 PM. However, much more drinking and kissing was to be had and by the end of the night I felt like:

 

Only I was swimming in alcohol due to happy hour specials and an extremely low tolerance for the stuff.  I wish summer would get here soon.

I need to meet some vanilla guys with ponytails…Obviously

When it comes to the fetish world, I know I can’t judge anyone based on their outside appearance – I think it works most of the time when there’s a leash and collar involved but otherwise I’m just screwed. When I meet new people in the typical places,  I try to gauge them from some conversation usually to no avail (one friend just asks “what side of the coin are you on”, I envy his brazenness). Where am I going with this…

From the male subs I personally know, I’ve created a stereotype for just about all really tall, slim guys with ponytails.  It’s bad, it’s gotten so bad that now I see these types out and about and think they all have secretly longings to be caged or beaten or otherwise humiliated.  There’s one guy with a trench coat (of course he has a trench coat..) I see near my workplace and the thought of him quietly polishing my boots in a corner fills my heart with joy and spreads a mischievous grin across my face. Really, I should know better but friends like Lou (pictured below) just make it all that much harder for me to see these long haired guys as anything but submissives* Besides, racial stereotypes are sooooo last year, sexual lifestyle ones are all the rage especially as kink is getting extra popular these days.  And there are certainly worse stereotypes out there, yes?

I’ll try to stop myself from thinking, daydreaming, fantasizing such things about the trench coated guy, god I hate to be so narrow-minded as to stereotype within the BDSM community.

*But, for the record, EVERY SINGLE GUY I know with long hair is a kinky motherfucker, no lie

Photo: (Bi)Curious Girls

I spent the night hanging out with my lesbian friend, Em. We checked out girls and danced in an empty club. I love M to death but after spending time with Em I always feel like:

We discussed doing something like that to some hapless girl at a club but then we just danced drunkenly by ourselves….HARD.