I Wanna Ejaculate, Too!

I Wanna Ejaculate, Too!

Wow, I can't believe that this time last week I was fucking the BFE. Where did the week go?

I have been extremely busy with work all week that there were times that I forgot I was horny. I'm wondering if that's a good thing? Is it really possible to forget your own hornieness. Or perhaps I've been really distracted?

Anyhow, get this: I'm so fucking jealous. My best mate, Anne, lives in New York. She's gorgeous. She's a lesbian. No, we haven't done anything together. We're just mates. If she were some random girl and not my mate of course I would have pounced on her by now. Anyhow... so I got an urgent voicemail from her.

I called her back thinking that something was wrong, but she told me that last night she got her girlfriend to ejaculate. Whoa! I thought that thing only happened in lesbian porn movies. I'm so jealous. I wanna ejaculate! Or even better, I want to make someone ejaculate. Wait, actually, I guess I have made a lot of guys ejaculate. But how cool would it be to have such great skills in bed that you can make a girl squirt. If I had those sort of skills maybe some woman would be calling me the BFE (best fuck ever).

Do you think it's wrong that when she was talking to me about jilling off her girlfriend that I was fingering myself?

Think DFS, Think Stalkers

Think DFS, Think Stalkers

I went to DFS today to buy a sofa. It took me ages to get there, like 2 and a half hours. Okay, truthfully it really took me that long because I stopped to get my pussy eating along the way. STILL, I hate when it takes me ages to get somewhere.

On the bus from the DLR there was this weird guy in a green hat giving me strange looks. I got off the bus, he got off the bus. I climbed the stairs to the overpass, he climbed the stairs to the overpass. I took the ramp down from the overpass and so did he. Once I got to the bottom I crossed over to the stairs and began climbing to the top again. He waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. That really freaked me out. I then phoned the Ex.

"What do you mean someone's following you? Just go somewhere public."

"There's no where to go. I'm along side of a highway."

"What highway?" He asked, not really sounding concerned.

"I dunno, I'm in Beckton."

"Beckton? What are you doing in Beckton?"

"I'm buying a sofa."

"I thought you were going to buy that sofa from that small shop in Islington."

"Maybe. DFS is having a sale-"

"Their prices are very bad. Don't get a sofa from there. No matter how much they say you'll save"

"I've got bigger fish to fry now. There's some dude following me."

"Go somewhere public. Call me in 10 minutes."

"Okay... if I'm still alive!" I hung up the phone.

The guy in the green hat disappeared.

I went into another sofa shops before going to DFS. As I exited the sofa shop I spotted the guy in the green hat loitering outside. I stayed in the sofa shop until I couldn't see him anymore. I went into a second sofa shop. I didn't see any sofas I liked in my price range. I went on to DFS. They had a woman in the front of the store offering champagne and drinks to customers.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked. She was cute. Asian. Monroe mole near her lip. Great eye make up.

"Listen," I said softly. There's a guy in a green hat following me. I don't know who he is but he's been following me for the past 20 minutes. If you see him come in here would you please tell me?"

The girl looked at me like I was nuts, but kindly agreed. I spent about a twenty minutes looking at all the sofa there. They were pricey but much nicer than the sofa stores. I phone my mother.

"What are you doing next weekend?" I asked.

"Oh I don't know, dear."

"Can you come over here?"

"To England?" She asked sounding really confused.

"Yeah, I've got a lot going on. I can't handle it all. The new job. I'm about to be homeless in 3 days. I haven't exchanged on the new flat. I have to move out of the old flat. I need to get a car. I need a fridge. I need a bed. I need a sofa."

"Why do you need a sofa if you have no place to live?" Of course leave it to your parents to point out the blaringly obvious.

"So I can be comfortable when I'm sleeping on the side walk" I yelled, a little to loudly.

I then looked across the room. There was the guy in the green hat staring directly at me.

"Mom, I have to go. There's a guy following me."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I have to go."

I hung up without saying goodbye. I walked back to the front of the store to the girl offering drinks. "That guy is here. I don't know why he's following me. Just keep him away from me."

"Wait here while I get my manager."

I put my sunglasses on and adjusted the pink beret I was wearing. I know. It looked completely ridiculous in a DFS but I was really freaked out.

The manager escorted the guy in the green hat out of the store. He then offered to give me a deal on a Manta sofa. I wasn't in the mood to buy a sofa or for his hard pitch sale. Even if I could get three years free credit. The whole scenario put me in a bad mood the rest of the day.

Sometimes I just hate men.

Speed dating: Bored Shitless

Speed dating: Bored Shitless

Tonight I went speed dating with Stephanie, who had the party a couple weeks ago, and the Goat, a Northern friend of mine in the industry. The Goat and I have worked on about 3 different jobs together. He's cute, but not my type. He's a bit too naive for me. I've told him about some of my sexual adventures and he's been flabbergasted. Also, he's over 30 and just went to his first rock concert yesterday. How is that even possible?

So the three of us went speed dating. None of the guys there at the event really appealled to me. There was one really fit guy, an ex-marine turned construction worker. I think, however, he fancied Stephanie.

I was really bored at the event. I wasn't attracted to anyone. And the guys there kept asking me the same questions:

"How are you?"
"Oh is that an accent I detect?"
"Where are you from originally?"
"Why are in London?"
"How long have you been here?"
"Aren't you homesick?

I was DYING for someone to ask me something interesting. Finally I was so bored that when guys asked me, "How are you?" I answered frankly, "I'm really fucking bored? And you?"

None of the guys impressed me. Maybe I am being too picky? Stephanie didn't find any guys she liked either. The Goat found 6 potential matches. Now, keep in mind that there were only 16 girls. 2 of us girls were Stephanie and I, so really he found 6 potential matches out of 14 girls. I guess guys really aren't that picky, eh?

The V Festival: Giving head during Radiohead

The V Festival: Giving head during Radiohead

Okay, that is a complete lie. It makes a good headline. Don't you agree? To be clear, no, I did NOT give head during Radiohead: it was a hand job. Somehow, "Giving a hand job during Radiohead" doesn't have the same ring. I did consider giving head, but the ground was a bit too muddy to do so. Also, that would have been in bad taste and even I have my limits.

So yes, I gave a special someone a handjob during Radiohead.

It was a slightly difficult task because he was wearing buttonflys. I suppose had he known that I was going to require open access to his cock his trouser choice would have been different. Then again, had I known, my trouser choice would have been different as well. (a skirt maybe?)

Unfortunately, one can never expect these things to happen. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. And I think it's fair to say that the night contained elements of surprise, fear & ruthless efficiency. No devotion to the Pope or red costumes, however.

There's much more I could say about this, but I won't. I'm a fairly open person, but there are times when some things are just private.

Wrong hands

I'm a bit happy because I saw the DG today. :-)

I had arranged via instant messenger to have lunch with my old team (sans the Minion).

My work had given me a laptop. I copied my old files on to a DVD. On my last day at work the previous Friday I made a copy of these files. I accidentally left the DVD in my laptop before I handed it back. Luckily I had a co-worker rescue the DVD. Now I could give a shit about old scripts and specifications I've written on the DVD. I really want the DVD back because almost every conversation I've had with the CS on it. No, I'm not coveting these conversations. I just don't want the to fall into the wrong hands.

I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, look how open I am. CS, has a lot to potentially be embarrassed about. He's an asshole any how so I guess I shouldn't care if he's embarrassed or not. I actually don't care now who in the office knows about us now. Since I'm not there there to deal with the consequences. [evil grin]

Anyhow, there are a few saucy conversations that the DG and I had that I absolutely do not want to get out. He's a mate and I don't want to get him into any shit.

So I met my old team for lunch and to get the DVD back. The DVD, however, was locked in the desk of someone who was not there at work. So I'll have to come back again to get it.

Even before I met my old team, I saw on instant messenger that CS was working form home. That means no chance, as Franz Ferdiand would say, of "I time every journey to bump into you accidentally." So it kind of seems like fate that him and I won't see each other again. What can I do?

Anyhow I had lunch with my team. Then I met up the DG and talked with him for about 10 minutes. There's one fantastic thing that being away does: it makes the reunion extra special. So it was very nice seeing the DG again. Especially since I was greeted with a kiss on the lips and a hug. I noticed, the receptionist, BKFITW, raised an eyebrow as this happened.

Oh, I forgot to mention earlier this week that the DG did not give me the job. I did make it into the top three. So I'm totally pleased with myself. He needed a producer with more experience. I'm not mad or bitter or anything. I'm just pleased for him that he got the right candidate. I'm also glad that it did not put a strain on our friendship.

In other news I did get a new job. I start on Monday. It's more money, however its further outside of London than I like. It's an exciting project so I can't wait. It's a real boost to my career. It's only for 3 months but could develop into a lot more.

The job I accepted was so much better than the one I interviewed for with the DG. I think one reason I wanted the job with the DG is because where I worked was very social. Everyone liked me. I was the popular girl. That hasn't happened to me in a while, being the popular girl, that is. I was never the popular girl in high school. I was sacrificing my career because I wanted to be popular. I was afraid to make a move from my job even though I knew I deserved better. I was wiling to stay because being well-liked and popular was more important than advancing my career.

Now that I'm getting a mortgage, I guess it's time to move on. Anyhow, in the past year about 10 people have left at my old work. Stephanie left last week too. She was really one of my pals. I guess I have to look out for #1 first and now worry about what pals I have. It is difficult, however, when you're an immigrant and you only have your pals in this foreign land to rely on.

That Fucker!

That Fucker!

That Fucker, CS, had the never to cancel on me. That's like the 3rd time he's done that. Fuck it, I'm over him. Wednesday would hae been my onely chance to see him for a long, long time. If he's cool with that, so am I.

Asshole.

Why?

Why?

Why anyone would want me for a wife is beyond me?

I had another date with Grandpa yesterday. At the end of the date he asked me to marry him.

If I married him, I would obviously be his trophy wife.

I can't believe I am actually thinking about it.

A. I hardly know him. Only been on 4 dates with him

B. I'm not sexually attracted to him.

C. He lives outside of London.

D. I'm not in love with him

E. He has money. He's a millionnaire. But he probably only has 1-2 million. I'm not a gold digger, but if I'm going to marry
someone I'm not in love with, then money should be the next best thing.

F. He's 55 years old. Hello, May-December romance!

Ughhhh.

In other news, not that I'm counting my chickens before they're hatched BUT, I have a date with CS tomorrow. I'm very excited even though I know that it will probably be our first, last and only date.

The Weekend I Didn't Come

The Weekend I Didn't Come

I'm slightly disturbed because I did not orgasm the whole weekend. I find it quite frustrating to be around men when I am all worked up. Even if the men are 'just friends.'

The way I see things is that I generally put people in one of three categories:

Category 1: You're fuckable.
Category 2: You're not fuckable.
Category 3: I haven't met you.

I'd say categories 1 & 2 are the main categories and for the sake of this entry those are the ones I'll focus on. Women, in general -- oh wait, I shouldn't be bold to speak for all women. Ok for me, personally, I know within a minute if I want to fuck a guy. Even if the guy is a friend it is possible for him to be in Category 1. Just because someone is fuckable, however doesn't mean that I'm chasing after him.

To me, being fuckable more or less indicates that in the right circumstances I'd fuck you. For instance, lets say you're my buddy or even someone I've met recently. You're in a relationship. Your woman is out of town. We're both drunk. We're at dinner. There's lots of flirting. Yes, you'd be totally fuckable. I'd probably eat my dinner thinking, "I so want to fuck you." Most likely, however, I wouldn't follow up on it. There are a myriad of reasons for me not wanting to follow up. Those reasons range from fear of rejection to guilt about possibly ruining a relationship, etc.

So even if my loins were on fire AND we were both outrageously flirting with each other AND I was drunk, I wouldn't make a move or give you any indication that I'm interested unless... you make the first move. I know, that's quite bad of me. Well, I never claimed to be Miss Moral. Although I do like the idea of being Miss Oral ;-)

If you're in category 2, there is no such circumstance that could ever happen where I'd want to fuck you. Generally, people in this category include, 95% of my women friends, guy friends I've had for 10 years or more, all of my family, most of my gay male friends. In addition, this includes guys that I do not find sexually attractive.

Anyhow, I better go. I am horribly horny. I hate feeling this way. I mean I hate it when there's no guy I like around. I'm going to finger my clit for a while and think of CS. Ohhh, I have an interesting CS story, but will tell you later. His wife is out of town and I am out of work. This can only lead to trouble. :-D

I have to go to an interview now. Maybe if I'm brave I'll also finger myself on the train. That sort of thing is always SO much fun.

The Unexpected Shag

The Unexpected Shag

Saturday Night.

I looked great. I don't like to brag a lot, especially about my looks, but I looked awesome.

I was wearing a tight black short-sleeved T-shirt with my astrology sign on it in diamonique studs. I know there's a British term for that but I can't think of it now. The shirt was kitsch but, in a very tasteful way. The thing I really like about that shirt is that it makes my boobs look fantastic. They looked firm & ripe and showed off my cute waist. I love when my tits look like that. I want my tits to look so great that any guy would want to titty fuck me. No, not that I'm into that... anymore...

The skirt I was wearing was a black designer skirt that I stole from Françoise a couple weeks after I fucked her. I love this skirt. This skirt was so great, that it was worth fucking her then falling out with her just so I could get to wear it.

So black shirt, black skirt, black heels. I was on fire. The party was near Islington at my pal Stephanie's place. It was a house warming party. She and her two Irish flatmates bought a house together.

Despite the fact that I looked fabulous the party was desperately short of straight men. I arrived at the party with a longtime pal of mine, a sound engineer. Let's call him, the Soundie. He's straight, by the way. I invited the Ex. He said he'd meet me at the party.

I also invited a friend of mine who used to be somewhat famous. He was the drummer in a popular band in the early 90's. Eventually, he fell out with the lead singer left the band. I'm not sure what caused the falling out. Two months ago, however, I read in some monthly music mag, that it was a dispute over money.

I've never asked Mr. Ex-Famous-Drummer why. We never talk about his days when he was with band. I think that's one reason why he likes me. I don't clamor him for details or ask him what's it's like to be in the same band
as ______, the lead singer

Before arriving at the party, I called Stephanie to warn her that I was bringing Mr. Ex-Famous-Drummer with me. She wasn’t a fan of his band, necessarily, but she was excited that I was brining even a former celeb with me. Additionally, I told her that she nor anyone else at the party should make a big deal out of the fact that he's coming, Everything should be very low key. Don't even mention that he was in a band, unless he does so first.

I got a text from Mr. Ex-Famous-Drummer on my way to the party. He said the trains were fucked and he couldn't make it, but that we'd meet up next week.

I entered the party with the Soundie and immediately I sensed something was up. People were being extra nice to the Soundie; treating him with a certain reverence. As it turned out, Steph had spread the word that Mr. Ex-Famous-Drummer was arriving. Apparently several people at the party thought that the Soundie was Mr. Ex-Famous-Drummer.

Anyhow I wish I could tell you that I met a fantastic guy that night. The party, however, had a sizeable number of gay men. Of course I got along with them. Behind every fat teenage girl there’s her gay best male best friend. So I have loads of gay friends who have remained my friends now in my thinner days. At the party I did spent a good part of the evening gossiping and talking about Madonna. I know that sounds like a horribly stereotypical thing to do with your gay mates. What can I say? It happened.

I did have a great time. The party was great. I wouldn't say fantastic, but it was pretty damn good. There was good music. Good food. A well stocked fridge. Tons of alcohol. Lively hosts/hostesses and nice people.

The Ex arrived at midnight. In fact the party didn’t really kick off after midnight. One of Stephs’s flatmates made a comment about parties in general not getting started until after midnight because “all the Paddy’s are still in the pub.”

When the Ex arrived he was already somewhat drunk. At least he was in a good mood. I spent the rest of the evening chatting to him. The party was so crowded, that it became increasingly difficult to meet and talk to the people there.

I noticed Steph flirting with the Soundie. It was funny to see. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been out with Steph and saw her drunk and flirting with men I’d have a lot of money now.

I like Steph. She is the tallest woman I’ve ever met in my life. She’s 6 foot 3. That’s almost a whole foot taller than me. We look like Abbott & Costello when we hang out. The thing about Steph that I really like is that she’s a leggy 6’ 3” Swedish blonde. She has model looks. You would think that guys would fall left, right and centre for her. Somehow, they don’t. I’m not sure why. In any case, Steph is beautiful and if she wanted to, she could be a model, but has absolutely no interest in that. She’s a geek. She’s a bit quirky. She interested in computer technology. She’s an information architect. I think that makes her cool. She’s all around a great person so I do hope her and the Soundie will hit it off.

Ok, so back to the party. The Soundie left at AM. Steph and the Soundie are the same height. I’m thinking it must be cool to be eye level with a guy. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. At that point I turned my head. I do think there was a kiss involved, but I really don’t want to see my friends making out with each other. Seems a bit too… incestuous…

At 2:00 AM, the Ex and I took a minicab back to his place. We sat on the couch and watched TV for a while. I fell asleep on his lap. He woke me up and told me to go to bed.

I went the bedroom. I didn’t have any pajamas with me. I used to keep a set there, but I took them away when we broke up. I took off the skirt and bra. I slept in T-shirt and thong. I was dead tired. All I wanted to do was sleep.

So the Ex, wakes me up. He says that I can play with Charles if I want to. Charles is his cock. It’s pronounced with a French accent, like Sharles. This is particularly strange because the Ex almost never wants to have sex with me, Well, maybe that was the case when I was fat. But even after I lost the weight I always still felt like I had to coax him into fucking me – and that seems wrong because I know now that there are plenty of guys who I wouldn’t even have to ask twice who would fuck me.

The Ex already had a semi when I placed my hand on his cock. I stroked it for a bit then stopped and sort of drifted off to sleep. He woke me up again, “You can play with it more,” he urged.

“Ohhhh alright,” I thought. What a reversal of fortune. Usually it’s me trying to get him to let me play with his cock, now it’s the other way around. The student has become the teacher!

I stroked his balls, and shaft. His semi grew into a full blown hard on. I sat up and moved closer to him. I opened my mouth and engulfed his cock. He sighed with pleasure. I love that sigh. I moved my mouth up and down on his cock. When my moth reached the tip of his cock, I used my tongue to add a bit of a tickle. Simultaneously I was cupping his balls with my hand. Eventually I reached down further and attempted to stick a finger in his arse. There was something weird about his positioning so I couldn’t actually stick it in. So I kept cupping his balls and sucking. I got kinda bored by that after 10 minutes. Then I went back to stroking his cock.

He turned to his side and started fingering me. It felt pleasurable, but I knew I wasn’t going to cum from it. He fingered me for only three minutes. Then he suddenly rolled on top of me and thrust his cock inside me.

“I’m not wet enough!” I screamed at him. God, I was so mad. I wasn’t wet enough and it really, really hurt . I tried pushing him off me. I guess I didn’t try hard enough. I kept insisting that I wasn’t wt enough. I guess he didn’t care as he kept pounding me.

It was seriously one of the most painful fucks ever. I was so NOT into it. I only got into it a bit in the end. After a half hour of him thrusting his cock in me, I was wet enough. I started enjoying it a bit then. We must have tried about 10 different positions. I found a position that felt quite nice: me on my back with my legs wrapped around his back and my ankles crossed. That felt nice even though I didn’t cum. I was just hoping that he would cum and roll off me.

Eventually he rolled off me. He laid on flat on his back as if he has had the work out of a lifetime. I then gave him a hand job and he came. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Next time he wants sex, he better eat me out, first.

I fucked a girl and stole her skirt

I fucked a girl and stole her skirt.

Now I wish I can say that this happened at the party, but it didn’t. Nor did it happen after the party. It’s the skirt that links the events.

A few years ago in New York City I befriended this beautiful girl Françoise. Despite her French first name and French last name, she wasn’t French. She was from a hick town in West Virginia. She was mixed. White mother, black father. Her skin tone was about the same shade as Jade Goody. She had green eyes and long kinky Afro hair. At the time we reconnected she was toning up her body. She was about 5’6” and had fantastically toned arms. She had apparently started a swimming regime and lost all her baby fat from college.

I said “reconnected” above because a few years before we both attended the same college. I started off at college as an English major. She majored in fashion & media. I didn’t talk her much in college but I knew these things about her.

1. She loved wearing overalls without a shirt or bra underneath. (I think you British have another word for overalls. I don’t know what it is, but this is what I mean. http://www.rmconnection.com/oshkoshb.htm
2. She was a lesbian. She wasn’t butch, but a definite tom boy.
3. During the second semester she was crossing the road and got hit by a truck (lorry) and was dragged for a city block
4. She received a very large settlement because of the accident. I’m not sure how much but it was in excess of $100K (according to our mutual friends)
5. The joke on campus was, “Not even a Mac truck could keep the dyke down.”


Now fast forward a few years later. We met up at an informal college reunion. It turned out we both lived in NYC. Françoise was an up-and-coming fashionista. No more overalls for her. She was glamorous and sexy. She had a fierce, no-bullshit-type attitude. She dumped her girlfriend of 5 years. She was dating men. And lots of men at that. She was Samantha from Sex in the City but with the youth and good looks.

Françoise worked as an assistant to a well-known gay fashion designer who was incidentally friends with Dave Gahan from Depeche Mode.

She had burned through her 100K. Had a bit of plastic surgery (which was covered by the insurance company). She looked sensational. I, unfortunately, was still fat. I think it would be fair to say that I was frumpy as well. Françoise had chosen me as her pet project.

I know, it almost sounds like one of those cheesy look-at-me-now films. You know the kind where there’s a frumpy girl who goes through a transformation and then suddenly the captain of the football team falls head over heals for her?

Ok, well, at the time I didn’t have such a big transformation, but Françoise took me bra shopping. I had been wearing the wrong-sized bra for years! Apparently the bras I had been wearing made me look ‘droopy.’ I remember after going to this posh shop for a bra fitting she said to me, “Oh my God, look at that, you actually have a waist.”

Basically, Françoise taught me how to look glamorous and how to attract the men. She taught me the secrets of how to get a guy to buy you a drink. And how to get the bartender to buy you a drink.

I am a natural klutz. One of the most important lessons she taught me regarding Cosmopolitans: “Face to the drink, before drink to the face.”

We went to parties, gallery openings, premieres. Her fashion connections had really opened the door to a whole new range of experiences. So I guess that’s not bad for a girl from West Virginia.

Of course I idolized her. I really wanted her life. Whenever we went out all the guys went for her, not me. I was her fat frumpy, wannabe-glamorous friend. The wingman. Wingwoman? I got her left-overs. The guys she didn’t like, for whatever reason, were pawned off to me. There were numerous times when she would pull at a bar. She’d wink at me, wave by and be out the door with some dude she met 10 minutes ago. That felt horribly demoralizing. I was left there to finish my cocktail and on one occasion to pay the bill.

Actually, now that I’m writing this all out I’m just realizing how much of an uneven friendship it was. I should have written this out years ago.

The thing is,I knew Françoise was a bitch. I knew it from the way she treated men; the way she treated her clients. BUT and this is a big but, I knew that underneath her bitchiness there was a heart of gold. Much, much later I found out that underneath her bitchiness there was not a heart of gold. There was just more bitchiness. That, however, is another story.

So one night we went out on the town. We ended up in this dive bar on the Lower East Side. This bar, however, made a mean Cosmo. We had been getting our drinks for free. I spent almost no money that night. Strangely, on this night Françoise was unable to pull. Sure, there were a ton of guys around. She wasn’t interested in any of them. One guy we met made the mistake of saying, Hah, where are you from West Virginia?”

It was a total joke and there was no way that the dude could have known. It was so obvious that he was using hyperbole by juxtaposing her glamour with the stereotypically uncultured state of West Virginia. She took offence and threw her Cosmo in his face. Yes, she was a total bitch. But there’s something exciting and raw about bitches. I do wonder however if she had paid for that drink if should have done the same thing? Probably.

We hit the dance floor. It was during the time that “Rockfella Skank” came out. “Check it out now, funk soul brother…” I remember that song playing throughout that dive bar. We held hands and danced. It felt great. It didn’t feel romantic. I don’t want to give you that idea. Dancing with her made me feel more connected to her.

We later went back to my place. It was 3:00 AM. Never mind that I had to work the next day. I let her sleep on my waterbed. Most of my friends have never slept on one. So when they come over I’d sleep on the futon and they’d sleep on the water bed.

I started falling asleep when all of a sudden Françoise was calling my name. She was strewn out on the waterbed. She said she was lonely and wanted me to join her. Ok, I admit to being naïve. I wasn’t sure if it were an invitation to sex, or if she was just drunk and wanted a buddy.

As I laid next to her on the waterbed she wrapped her arms around me and started kissing me. I kissed her back. I wasn’t even phased. It wasn’t like, “Oh my God I’m kissing Françoise!” It just seemed like a natural progression of the evening. I removed her shirt, and her bra.

I kissed her nipples. They were smaller than mine, but still a nice C cup. Kiss, suck. Lick. I reached down the front of her panties and started fingering her. The thing that was strange is that normally I am such a passive person in bed. But suddenly I was so active. I was aggressive. It was my goal to make her cum.

She wasn’t shaved, but I enjoyed her bush. I fingered her with my forefinger and middle finger. I enjoyed watching her sigh and twist. I was getting off on the fact that *I* was doing that to her. It felt so powerful. Is that how most guys feel when they make a woman cum?

I stopped fingering her. I pulled down her panties to her ankles; never taking them off completely. They were charcoal coal gray lace. I buried my nose and face into her pussy. I licked her clit. Then I sucked on it for a bit. I went back to licking. She insisted that I stick a finger in her. First one finger, then another. Finally a third. I was fucking her with three of my finger and eating her out and it felt like the best thing in the world. She, alike me was a screamer. I was somewhat concerned what the neighbours might think; you know the sounds of two women in bed? But what the hell. The only sad part was that she didn’t go down on me. We had been in bed for 3 and a half hours then it was time to go to work. She couldn't find her skirt so she grabbed one of mine. It was a skirt that my mother made for me. Anyhow, we shared a cab ride uptown and never spoke of the incident again.

A couple weeks later we had a threesome with a guy that we picked up at the same dive bar. We went back to her place in Brooklyn. The threesome ended up being a two-some. Just her and the guy. Once again I was the wingman. I was jealous. I left in a huff but not before raiding her closet stealing one of her best designer skirts.

We didn’t talk much after that.

It thrills me to no end when I wear that skirt. In fact that was the exact skirt I wore to the party. Now that I’ve lost a lot of weight I love showing off my new body. Wearing that skirt gives me confidence. I love the way I look in that skirt. I love knowing that I fucked someone over, literally and figuratively to get it.

The party on Saturday night was good. And I scored; with a guy. I’ll tell you about that later. Right now I'm dealing with a crisis. I'm seemingly unable to cope at the moment.

Recovered entries

Hiya,

I just realized there were a couple entires from last week which had not transferred over from the old server. The entries are now avaailble here (in the same chronological order) So if you fancy re-reading, check it out.