Changes

Daddy T and I broke it off. It was and unhappy ending and I was actually pretty heart broken about it. He sincerely wants to stay friends, but that's always so awkward for me; especially considering how much I still want to be able to fuck him. But moving forward: trying to take care of myself, and focus on some other things in life right now that need to be resolved.

Mr. Squirts is in the hospital, so I've really only been hooking up with Mr. Bricks. But had a club date with a cute girl on Saturday, and going out again on Wednesday.

Went to an all night party at a friend's house last night, and ended up in one of the spare bedrooms with a male friend of mine. He's cute and funny, and we had great conversation all night long. Lying in bed, making out, he's treating me right - pinning me down, choking me, playing with my tits just right, fingering me until I got off. And then he puts my hand down his pants... and he's small. With the largest balls I've ever experienced. It was like two fists side by side. Craziness.

Should've Known Better

So. The Boyfriend dumped me. Or, rather, was a complete shit for three weeks thus forcing me to break it off with him. You know, the whole mixed-messages, passive-aggressive deal where the guy says "I just want to be friends" but also "I never said you should try to 'get over' me and 'move on'" and "You're the one making this into a break-up" but also "I like where my life is right now, alone." Men do that when they don't want to be the Bad Guy by dumping you, and they don't realize that stringing the girl along makes them into a Total And Complete Asshole Whom My Friends And I Will Mock And Ridicule For The Next Two Months.

I should've known. After the husband moved out, I only wanted to casually date and have sex with multiple partenrs, and was happily doing just that when I met the Boyfriend. But after many, many, many relationships, he really had sweeping a girl off her feet down to a science, and that's what he did with me... that is, until his infatuation wore off - which was around the same time I realized his impotence was chronic and not just because he's "really stressed out right now."

I need a hard penis so bad right now, you have no idea.

Well, back to the dating game. STAY in the dating game, this time.

Take A Hint

Mr. Near Miss - He of the Emotional Maladjustment - actually contacted me again. After two months of no contact, he called in late May. After two or three minutes of a rambling, self-deprecating spiel about how he's horrible and I have every right to hate him and probably don't want to see him and he has no right to ask... he asked to come see me. When I said "no" he acted shocked - kinda throwing a rock through the sincerity of his "I'm so lowly and know you don't want to see me" line. He asked why and I told him it was because I was involved with someone and had agreed to not fuck other men. And that even if I was still solo I wouldn't want to see him - because how did I know he wouldn't just disappear again tomorrow.

That phone conversation ended with him wishing me luck and me telling him to take care. Two days later, on a Friday evening, he called again and left an insanely long voicemail about wanting to talk to me and how he needed to make amends for his behavior and how he envies me, blah blah blah. A couple days later he called again with another rambling message. And again a couple days after that. And again. The messages got more and more desparate, with the final message saying we were right for eachother and he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't think we'd both be better off together and geez it'd only been two months that he'd disappeared. It had been two months since our last phone conversation. I don't wait for anything for two months. I yell at my fucking mother if she doesn't follow through on something within a week.

It became obvious that he wasn't going to go away unless he had some kind of resolution, so the next time he called I answered the phone. He approached the situation like we were just a couple having an argument, like we were involved, like he hadn't disappeared for nine weeks. It got to the point where I had to flat out tell him that I didn't care about him anymore, that he'd missed the motherfucking boat, that I was going to get off the phone with him and never call him again. He said he was sorry that he bailed and I said I wasn't because I'd met my match. I finally had to hang up on him because he just. wasn't. getting it.

I know what was bothering him was the remorse and regret. That feeling where you wish you could go back in time and change things, but you can't. You fucked up and now you have to deal. I sympathize, but am at a point in life where I can't spend any more time or energy on people who are unreliable and emotionally unstable.

In other news, still looking for a girlfriend. Oh my god, chicks are hard to pick up on.

Eau de Man-Stink

In a lot of ways, The Artist is my perfect sexual match: passionate, aggressive, tender, forceful, affectionate. We both have that duality in our sexual nature and successfully feed off eachother, alternating between the kind and the cruel. He loves eating pussy even more than I love sucking cock (which is a lot). We've stood kissing and stroking each other for minutes on end. I've shown up at his place, ripped our clothes off, kissing him so hard our teeth clanged together, and got off all over his face.

My affection for him is totally influenced by the fact that he gave me the biggest, hardest orgasm I've had in years. I'm talkin' uncontrollable screaming, limbs thrashing, muscles clenching so hard I pulled my hamstrings and got a charley horse. God bless that man's mouth.

Mostly it's really rough sex. Me sucking him off while sqeezing his balls and biting his dick; him forcing his cock down my throat and then pinching my nose closed when I start to gag. Riding him with his hands tight around my neck until I see stars. On my back, pounding me so hard he leaves bruises on the inside of my thighs.

For some weird fucking reason, I really like the sweaty, stinking smell of him after sex, and I've actually put my face in his chest hair and armpits to sniff him in. He suggested gagging me with a dirty, sweaty t-shirt of his, and the idea made me dripping wet.

Delicate Egos

Men can be overly sensitive when it comes to sex and anything remotely involving their performance. When it comes to their cocks, they are usually either too confident or too fragile. A new lover says "I like it like this," and I do it like that. Yay, a new technique has been added to my repertoire! He's not criticizing my skills as a lover, just sharing what he knows about his body and knows what will get him off.

I tell this guy "please harder" and he wilts. He says I can't make demands of a man like that (uhh... yeah, I can). He's okay taking suggestions when his face is in my pussy, but not when his cock is in play? Fucking annoying. Other men thank me for being so expressive and saying what I want, rather than lying there silently and leaving them guessing. This one loses it at the slightest implication he might not be the world's most perfect fuck. I told him, "Perhaps you'd prefer I just lie there and wait for you to finish so I can roll over and go to sleep?"

Trouble Brewing

This weekend, The Hippie said, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

The Hippie has the annoying habit of calling me when he's had too much to drink, and when he's had too much to drink he gets cryptic. To the point where I sometimes have no idea what he's saying. After one too many drunk, cryptic phone calls in a row, I stopped seeing him for awhile. A couple weeks ago, stressed out and horny and in need of some comfort, I went to see him again.

The drunken calls have stopped, and we've been getting along really well. Plus, the sex just keeps getting better. He woke me up in the middle of the night yesterday by licking my pussy, got me off twice (and I never come from oral), thanked me, and I went back to sleep. (Can't beat that).

Later on he says, "I think I'm falling in love with you." I said, "Then maybe I shouldn't see you anymore." I have a soft spot for him but could never love him. Months ago he said something so fucked, so unnecessary, so unforgivable. He'd had too much to drink (again) and said it out of stupidity. Not malice but sheer fucking stupidity. He admitted to thinking it over before saying it and so I could never love him. If he thought about it beforehand it means he's so ignorant (about me, at least) that he'd be recklessly insensitive. I've done that before and heard plenty of "that shouldn't have hurt your feelings" and "a normal person wouldn't have been offended by that." Never again. (so it was probably a bad idea to fuck him twice after he professed love, huh?)

A Near Miss

Honestly, I almost fell for this guy. In his early 40s, wide palms, thick fingers, dark complexion, scruffy, short curly brown hair with natural streaks of red. It was one of those weird connections where holding each other we just fit. Lying together, our bodies just interlocked and it fit perfectly. He was such a good kisser, and his mouth tasted so good. I was in trouble.

He was a good fuck, somehow knowing to do everything exactly as I like it. His hands were vicious, and when he'd spank my ass it'd hurt so much more than any paddle. He didn't need any toys, just those hands. He was rough: pining me down with hands on my arms or a fistful of hair, or cupping the top of my skull and pulling me toward him over and over. Once, from behind, he thrust in while pulling back on my hair and yanked my neck out. I could barely move my head for a couple days afterward.

Even better, our personalities meshed well. We'd had a lot of the same experiences and tragedies, and could really empathize with each other. I even let him meet my fucking mother.

One day he stopped calling. For two weeks. I left three messages, nothing psycho, just "haven't heard from you, hoping you're okay, let me know if something's wrong or if you want to get together." The not knowing was heart-wrenching. It would've been easier if he'd called and said, "I don't wanna fuck you anymore." He eventually called, and I called him back, and he said that he'd emotionally shut down, couldn't deal with intimacy, had been thinking of me every day, blah blah blah. Could he come over and see me? I was horny, so yeah. When he arrived, he looked different to me. He'd lost that rosy glow a person takes on when you have a lot of affection for them. How you see them in a better light because you like them. Instead he looked pallid and desperate. We fucked several times that night and he took me to breakfast the next morning before going home.

He told me that the whole time he wasn't talking to me he was wishing I'd just show up at his house. He said he'd leave his front door unlocked at night, in case I came over so I could just walk right in. How fucking ridiculous is that? The guy isn't talking to me but wants me to somehow know to go to his house, walk in, and do what? Emotionally rescue him? A couple days after our last meeting, I called and told him it was nice being together one last time (He goes, "Don't think of it as the last time." I say, "Uh huh.") and to give me a call when he figures out his shit. Haven't heard from him since (never will).