Take A Big Swing, Blue Eyes

I was warned expressly by a guy who reads my blog not to write about him. He's been acting like a complete nut. Total meltdown.


He threatened me, so I decided to write this:

Fuck you, Blue Eyes. Don't threaten me.

Bruises

I have a love.


It's not one I usually admit to. I certainly don't tell others often. I'm actually terrified of my love. In the past when people have stumbled across it, I play coy. I don't tell them how much I love it.


My love is a hand around the throat.


I don't mean a touch. I mean hard. Hard enough that I can't breathe at all. Until my vision goes dark and I pass out.


I know - I can hear the danger lectures... Asphyxia is a dangerous fetish.


Nonetheless, I have a newish friend. He happily obliges my fetish. He's responsible (non drinker, non smoker, non drugger). He happily holds my neck until I faint. Until I've had enough.


I don't play alone, I'm not interested in dying. I'm just addicted to that rush. 


Tonight, my new friend held my throat, and watched me gasp for air. I hate to gasp. So he squeezed tighter. He watched my eyes until I fainted, then held me as the hallucinations set in. He stroked my hair and held me close as the shaking set in. As it subsided, he'd squeeze me close, hug me, and watch my eyes reopen.


The bruises are forming already. I can feel them on my neck, around my trachea, along the arteries.


Rumour has it this is what cocaine is like. I can see why people get addicted. I have to wait until I can feel it again. 


Patience.

Sublime

So last night BabyFace came over. We talked.


It was amazing. We drank red wine. We had an honest conversation.


We spoke about BDSM. 


He's finally come to terms with it. He's a Switch. He just broke up with a Domme.


I couldn't even believe the things I was hearing. BabyFace is now a big bad Switch, looking for a sub to Dom. I could see it in his eyes too.


I feel bad, perhaps I took some of that innocence. 


Regardless, he's as sweet as ever. I curled up, put my head in his lap and he stroked my hair while we watched a movie.


Then we curled up on my bed, he held me close.


No kissing, no sex, he just held me. Then he said that he didn't want me to vanish on him again.


He told me he was sorry. That he understood his behaviour forced me into a position where I had to be a bitch. I don't perfectly agree, though his behaviour, at times, was substandard. 


We're at a new level of honesty, of understanding, of respect. 


Though consider this a plea: Please don't fall in love with me again, I promise I'll break your heart again.

Proud of Myself

So I figured out something amazing.

It's happened before once or twice.

But I finally worked out how to push things in that direction.

This was taken from
the official Lelo website.

I've managed to work out how to squirt. 


I bought a Lelo toy a while ago... I'd been using it to massage my clit. 

Silly me. 

I should have been pushing it inside and using the slight hooked end to rub my g spot.

Explosions of joy...

This toy... is changing my life. One squirting orgasm at a time...

BabyFace

I hurt someone a long time ago. I was inconsiderate. I was mean.

I expressed contrition.

Then I hurt him again.

I expressed contrition. I apologised, not just to him, but to our friends.

Then I hurt him again.

And on it went. Over and over. Seven or eight months.

I was mean.

I could make so many excuses for my inexcusable behaviour. There are many reasons. I shan't try to justify it today though.

I was 22, he was just a baby. 19. I got drunk and kissed him one night. We ended up in bed together. I remember this moment vividly.

He was on top of me, we were naked. He kissed me and I held his face, stroked his cheek with one hand. I said these words:

"No matter what happens, I'll never love you."

Then he pushed his hard cock inside me for the first time.

That time ended with me on my stomach, wrists pinned against the small of my back, his other hand around my neck, forcing my face into my bed. I think he spat on my cheek. He fucked me harder and harder. The sunlight streaming in my bedroom window. We'd fucked for hours.

We bought take away, sitting on the floor of my apartment in our underwear and t shirts, talking. We hung out. We worked together. We flirted. I teased him. I played quite the coquette. 

He got sick of it one night at work, slammed my chest against the counter. He spanked my ass. Over and over. 

We played and played and played.

We'd kiss at work when no one was watching. We'd go clubbing and he'd stand next to me and stroke my ass through my dress, pulling my panties tight around my pussy. We'd sit next to each other at dinners. Then we'd sneak home together... and he'd fuck me hard. 

I didn't love him. He loved me though. And I knew it. I just didn't care.

At my birthday party, it all finally came to a head. I was kissing Bee (his best friend). I kissed another guy.

He finally cracked under the stress. He walked out. He sent me a message. Telling me we couldn't be friends any more. Telling me he couldn't stand to see me the way he had. That me not caring was too hard. He changed work shifts to get away from me. He stopped visiting during my shifts. He vanished. He deleted me off Facebook. Gone. 

Fifteen months of total silence. Not a whisper. After three years of speaking virtually every day. Silence. 

The silence was deafening at first. Something would happen and I'd think of him. I'd pull out my phone... only to realise I'd deleted his phone number.

Time went on. I'd hear the occasional whisper. Our friends to this day call him "Your Boy" to me. He was my boy. BossMan would lecture me. Telling me over and over to call him and apologise. I wouldn't do it though. I didn't want to make him hurt more. 

And so on it went.

Then out of the blue, he sent me an email about tax. Tax. Of all fucking things. Tax. I replied with a polite thank you, and an inquiry as to how he was.

The conversation grew. 

Best of all, I apologised. He accepted it too.

I nearly cried reading the words we shared. Not something I do often. But I'm filled with this sensation, maybe I'm softening. Maybe I'm starting to care. Regardless, I like it.

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. - Mark Twain

Bee

There was a girl. Once upon a time. She was a very good friend of mine.


We met while I worked with her best friend.


Over time him and I became very close. Sleeping together a few times. Him and I were incompatible. I was in my 23 and sleeping with a teenager. Granted he was 18, but I still felt a little... strange. Younger man and all.


He eventually fell in love, I invariably didn't. He sent his best friend, Bee, to do recon. Our group of friends, her now included, ended up drinking together, partying together, her working her way through my defences at his request, to seek information about why I didn't feel the same.


Eventually I came to trust her and I laid it out for her. He was trying to make me be his mother, and I wasn't ready for a teenage child.


She explained this to him, over and over and over. Painfully. Breaking his heart repeatedly. I broke it over and over. The kid was a masochist. He kept coming back, and I'd serve him up a fresh plate of heart ache. 


She got angry with him, resenting him putting himself in the position to have his heart broken. She ended up bonding with me over our mutual dislike of kicking this kid when he was down.


Our bond over hurting him was strangely compelling. She took to spending girls nights at my house, watching action movies, playing guitar hero. We spent Friday through Sunday together. Sometimes more. 


She's taller than me. I'd guess 168 cm tall. Average build, but muscular. Large firm breasts, light brown hair, green eyes. Her eyes are a little more hazel than mine.


She was sleeping with a guy. An engaged guy with a pregnant fiance. They'd been sneaking around for sometime. Eventually she broke it off with him. I picked up the pieces of her broken heart, lying naked in my backyard, bathing in the sunshine of late spring. Months went by. Three days a week, we'd sunbathe and talk.


With how close we'd become, and the public knowledge that we were both bisexual, rumours started. Whispers. People would stare and wonder. 


She was an exhibitionist. She revelled in the attention. She'd walk up behind me in front of our mutual friends and slip her hands around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder. Brushing my hair off my cheek. She loved to tease them. Torture them. 


One night, we'd been out partying. It had been a long night. Her, my boss and I wound up catching a taxi to my place for a nightcap. Nothing unusual, really. 


He made a joke about us being sexy lesbians. She kissed me, just to tease him. He was in a committed relationship. He wouldn't touch us. She was just being a tease. 


"You're bad" he remarked. 
"Yes, she is" Bee agreed.


She pushed me back in a chair opposite him, getting down on all fours. Looking over her shoulder, ass exposed a little because of her short dress.


"Should I lick her?" she asked. "Maybe I should punish her for being naughty with my tongue."


He froze. Stunned. I looked at her eyes wide. She winked. I wasn't sure if she was serious or playing. Either way, I was wet. 


She licked my lace panties with her tongue. I shivered slightly. 


"Look him in the eye" she whispered in a firm voice. Barely audible, but the directness was unmistakeable.


I obeyed instantly.


I looked him dead in the eye, and she immediately reached inside my lace panties, pushing two fingers straight inside me and as she got all the way in, she applied pressure to my clit with her thumb.


I shook immediately. The eye contact between BossMan and I wasn't breaking. She licked my clit softly, flicking it. I came in seconds. 


He sat there. Staring at us. 


That's how it all started.


She took to teasing me in public. Spanking me sometimes, kissing my neck, nibbling my ears, stroking the back my thighs under a skirt.


She pushed me into the store room at work. One night she even kissed me in front of her heartbroken best friend, just because she could. She wasn't always nice, but she was always a tease.


We ended up close. Very close. A perfect understanding. At night, sometimes we'd watch a movie, sometimes we'd fuck. But every day, we'd end up naked in my yard, talking together, lying in the sun. 


Months went past. The lazy spring weather of October turned to a chilly Autumn in April. The sunshine days were fewer.


My birthday came. We kissed, we partied. She pinned my wrists against a wall in a pub and let a very beautiful lesbian kiss me, tease me. Bee knew how to drag me outside my comfort zone. Make me feel beautiful and dirty in the same heartbeat.


We spent the night apart. Her best friend having a final breakdown at seeing us together. He's never spoken to me since.


During the cooler months of that Autumn, she fell in love. She fell in love with a guy who controlled her. So she lied, manipulated, cheated. I helped her. I gave her alibis, I manipulated his trust. Even though he considered me a friend.


Her and I stopped sleeping together, we just kept teasing guys occasionally. Just for fun. I was happy to help her get her exhibitionist fix.


One day he caught on. He realised I knew more than I'd let on.


He caught me by the wrist, put me on the spot and asked me a question I couldn't cover. The time it took me to think of a good answer was too long, the lie obvious. 


Caught in the depths of her bad lies, tangled in more than a year of deceit. I let it slip. I told him some of the truths. Since the day I told him a whisper, she's not said a word.


I don't miss her for the sex as much as I miss her for the companionship. For the fun. For her big hazel-green eyes and beautiful smile. 


Don't you wish sometimes that you could just fix it? Even when you can't.

Miss You

Alright guys, so I've been kinda celibate for a while. Not like me at all.


Why?


Well, I've been caught up in this idea of "connecting". You know, actually meeting someone I like enough to spend the night with (and not hate them in the morning). Wanting to look at them, them look at me and have a truly deep understanding. 


A sexual connection that is red hot. One that ties us together and is a little consuming. 


It sounds like obsession, and I suppose that's not far off true.


I suppose something changed. I'll do my best to explain it.


The sheer act of things isn't enough. It's not that I want "vanilla" sex, with no twist or spice. Quite the opposite.


Punk offered to spank me. To put me over his knee and spank me. Hard too.


Truthfully? I want to be spanked. Hard. But not by Punk. By someone who when their hand lands firmly on my ass it stings in so many different ways. Where the moment is intoxicating. Where the thrill exceeds physical. The energy spanning into emotional and psychological thrills.


The subject of me sleeping with women has come up in several conversations lately with various people. Either in whispers of threesomes, or in the suggestions of a lesbian interaction.


I keep coming back to my old friend. Her light brown hair, her big hazel green eyes. Her cheeky smile. She was so beautiful. She was a tease. My darling girl loved to play, to tease. She was never sexier than when she was being a show pony. A true exhibitionist, a great lover. But also my friend.


I miss her terribly. 


We haven't spoken in four months now. One day I'll write a blog about my time with Bee. 


But for now, I just miss her.

A Stumble

Once upon a time there was a girl. That girl just wanted to fuck and chat. And when that was all she wanted, things were easy. Life was easy.


Then one day she awoke in her big bed. Alone. And wondered if it was enough. The fucking wasn't helping. The chatting was irritating. She turned off her phone, ignored phone calls. Vanishing. 


Weeks went past. The less calls she answered, the less came. 


She became invisible.


She started to wonder what feelings she had. The feelings were darker and scarier. Less contentment. The disposable men no longer fulfilled the feelings.


Her eyes grew sad.


She was alone. Walking in the woods.


She made new friends along the way. The friends offered counsel, opportunities.


Those opportunities, she wondered, might be what she wanted, but perhaps would leave her hurting more.


Perhaps, she wondered, it was time to stop.


Sometimes, you shouldn't get back on the horse. Sometimes those gauche attempts are a sign. Riding just isn't your thing.

A Break

I'm preoccupied. Other thoughts. New ideas.


This week has been unusual.


Punk is away, he's still sending me messages. He misses me. Things are quieter on that front. The intensity is gone, the feeling that he could drag me in has passed. 


Spike and I caught up. Things aren't as perfect as I thought with the girl who shares my name. He misses me. I didn't care.


Red called. He broke it off with his distant lover. He's not leaving any more. He suggested red wine and a deep and meaningful. I said I'd see how I felt.


Pup called. He usually texts, but he called. He wanted to schedule time for next week. I said I'd see.


(s)Ex and I caught up. We watched a bad movie, talked about where we were going in life. He tried to kiss me goodbye. I turned my head and gave him cheek.


MarriedGuy is pretending he's actually going to marry the love of his life. Most of the time. He asked me if I'd watch him jerk off. I declined. Normally I wouldn't mind, but I just didn't want to this time.


Muso and Body are both texting me. Those two are fuck ups. They both offered me naked photos. I declined those too. Body still sent me a photo of his cock. It was a decent cock. I'm sure his girlfriend would be thrilled to know he sends photos of it around.


I've had a couple of old flames text me to "catch up and hang out". The implications aren't subtle.


Granted I've been unwell (just a cold).


Normally on busy weeks like this I revel in the attention. The naughty text messages are an aphrodisiac.


Instead I turned my phone off, and have let the thoughts of other things preoccupy my mind. I don't know if I'm changing, I think I'm probably just distracted.