Como Quieras

I've been thinking about my partner a lot lately. I still have about a month before I get to see him and all of the old memories and new fantasies have been swirling around my brain, seeking escape. This is... mostly memory.

The air was still and silent that early morning. He cut through it quickly like a sharp blade, and slipped in behind me, bringing a wisp of chill air into my warm blanket fortress. I woke with a sharp intake of breath as his icy body pressed against me, our legs tangling together, hands encircling my waist.

“Hola, Nena. ¿Me calientas?” he purred in my ear; his hot breath rolling down my neck. His defrosting hands began to search my curves and folds for new warmth, exciting a trail of chills and coos in their wake.

I slid my legs through and around his, wiggling my ass against the growing hardness of his cock. His soft lips grazed the nape of my neck; kissed down my spine.

“¿Me quieres cojer?” The small of my back arched; mis nalgas pressed harder against him. I felt his wet lips as he dragged them up my spine.

“Sólo si quieres tú.” He whispered and nibbled my ear. I pinched a condom between two fingers; with a sly flick of the wrist and sideways glance I handed it over my shoulder to him.

On broken computers.

When do you tell someone about a deliciously sexy dream you had about them? Would you tell a lover? A friend? A coworker?

It may just be a result of internet pornography withdrawals (my computer having been out of commission the past few days), or the hallucinogenic caffeine-to-sleep ratio I’ve been running on, but my sex dreams have gotten a bit strange even for me.

I have an acquaintance, let’s call him Ed. In a gross oversimplification of his identity, he’s a transgender male. Unnaturally red hair; soft, almost delicate features and the most palpable suggestion of a cock in vale of his crotch. His chest is both soft and hard. He’s undeniably attractive and charming, but given the age difference I couldn’t see myself attracted to him. Well, at least not my waking self.

It started with a chance meeting at dinner, a rather intimate embrace as we parted and a startling lack of alone time with my favorite masturbatory aids. As I woke the next morning, warm and disoriented, with a distinctly pulsating sensation emanating from my vulva, a flood of images poured into my mind:

-his nose buried in my hair, grazing my nape-

-the wet taste of pussy lingering in the back of my mouth, the feel of short curls on scrotum skin as I hungrily lick and suck-

-his swollen shaft giving way to sweet folds at my tongue’s insistence-

-legs entwining, grinding pelvic bones-

-hard pussy pushing deep inside, searching-

-arms wound tightly around me, a small hand tugging at the side of my waist-

-soft unbound breasts and hard bound chests, nipples and flesh brushing, teasing, tumbling, a single body bucking, rock- knockin, contorted in tense passion-

In the end, I told him. But the juicy details stayed mine.

When bad porn Karma happens to good little freaks

I’m very picky about my porn and I find that my cunt is too political for her own damned good. Pictures and video alone generally fail to satisfy. Though my twat has been known to get all drooly over a good hentai (I’m usually halfway to orgasm at just the thought of Kami Tora’s beautiful artwork), it’s mostly words that get me juicy.

Nothing like a rousing tale to set me groping about for the nearest battery-powered forest critter (rabbits and butterflies and dolphins, oh my?). The trouble with words is that they can offend and disturb quicker than they arouse. Lately I must have accumulated some bad porn Karma because I keep stumbling upon low-grade smut like this from Erotic Spanking Stories. Just when I started getting comfortable, having encountered more than a few titillating morsels there, this story charged in and dried my pussy up like a forest fire. I really should have seen it coming at this point:

Julie burst out laughing. “Let me get this straight,” she chortled. “In this day and age of feminism, when women are fully the equal of men, you spank your wife.”

One hand somewhat mindlessly stroking my puffy outer labia through the soft, short tuft of hair, I paused. I’m not sure why I continued reading at this point, but it just got worse:

Tom looked at her, raising an eyebrow of disdain, “That’s correct. When she is being a brat. As for your vaunted feminism, I can’t say that I see that women are one iota happier today than they were when their husbands called the shots, when they showed proper respect.”

That was it. My pussy closed the hatch and boarded the window as in preparation for a storm. Now, of course, fantasies and role play can be beautiful and liberating. I myself enjoy being taken over someone’s knee more than most. But this bullshit just rubs my politics the wrong way. Why must pornography promote patriarchal norms? I find it simply incomprehensible why, less than a century from emancipation, women are believed by anyone to have achieved full equality. Despite the marginalization of my gender, I am VERY HAPPY with my status as a legally sovereign individual with at least the theoretical legal protections that entails. Basically, just because I want you to spank me (or dominate me in general) doesn't mean I secretly want you to oppress me as well.

Back on the horse

I have a capricious nature. I’m not crazy; just easily bored, I suppose. Soon as I’ve gotten into the swing of something is usually when I decide it’s about time to move on. That said, I’m in my mid-twenties and still in the final throes of my undergraduate education at the third university (of four). I got my first job around a decade ago and, by conservative estimates, have collected a paycheck from close to twenty employers by now. And that, mind you, doesn’t include any of the various sources of non taxable income I earned in that span of time.

I’m feeling that itch again. That deep kind of itch that can only be scratched by a good tentacle probing or, in my case, an 8’ polished chrome pole. It seems that even change has become routine and I’m right on schedule to start pulling out old tricks. There’s just something about cold metal between my thighs that’s so...