Some Questions…

Why do I shut down when you want me?

Why do I get stone cold when you desire me?

What am I so afraid of?

You rescued me from my past

And how do I thank you?

I shut down and neglect you…

Well listen baby,

It ain’t gonna’ happen anymore.

It’s over.

It’s of the past.

From now on,

When I get scared,

I’m gonna’ open my arms and run to you.

I’m gonna’ look up to you and smile, smile, smile.

What is there to be afraid of?

You rescued me.

Now it’s my turn to rescue you.

Getting Closer to Kink…

It was the Spring of 2007 that I started seeing a super hot younger guy. He was fun: loved to party and didn’t judge. He was physically perfect: great build, tall, muscular but slender, hairy, had a beautiful face, and had the hugest cock of all time (for me). I think he measured in at 8 something inches. We took it slow at first with the kisses and sleepovers. But it wasn’t long before we were constantly having sex.

Oral was intense with him. I could never get the whole thing in my mouth. I’ve always struggled with this because of my first oral experience.

Let me lay that out quickly: The first time I sucked a guy’s cock was my freshman year in high school.  I went to boarding school, so I lived with a bunch of hotties from all around the world. So. It was after dinner and this Post-graduate and I went into the woods. It was dark, but was lit by the outside of the gymnasium. We were just at the edge of the forrest. He pulled his pants down and forced me to his cock. My gag reflex has been tainted from that night, I swear. He kept forcing me on his cock and whenever it went too deep into my throat, I threw up on the ground. It’s such a blur… I liked the guy a lot, but did not enjoy this moment with him. He obviously didn’t care about me, but just wanted to cum. I don’t think he came. I think I would remember that.

So ya, I gag a lot when I go down. I’m still working on it though.

Back to Spring of 2007: He was hung. I would try to suck it and he would gently press my head down further. We fucked like jack rabbits. All the girls wanted him. Now that I think about it, I think I got off by having the guy that all the girls wanted.

This relationship moved rather fast. I was pregnant a month into it… This scared the shit out of the both of us. We had just gotten a new apartment together and two weeks in, I was throwing up around the clock. I didn’t end up having his baby… I wasn’t ready to settle with that responsibility. I am very fortunate to have had that choice. We both moved out and away from each other. It was brutal doing the long distance relationship.

Whenever he would visit, we would get a hotel room or stay with friends. We’d fuck, eat some food, smoke some weed, party, and then he’d leave.

I really hung onto this long distance thing. I loved proving some self control. I would later find out that he couldn’t be faithful though. Eventually this ended when I fucked a guy while I was both drunk and on ambien. God, what a fuzzy and idiotic memory. I remember he fucked me doggy-style and it was super sexy.

But what I enjoyed about that past relationship was delving into anal sex. I don’t know what lead us down the road, but we were both ready. He would slowly force his fat cock into my tiny, tight ass hole. I finally came while fucking this way. The orgasm was great. It really intensifies the feeling of the clitoris. Though the process of getting to the point of cumming may seem strenuous and painfull, it really doesn’t hurt after he’s really plunged in there! It’s super hot, ladies. If you’re guy loves you, then he’s not grossed out by any aspect of you. It’s a win for everyone. I haven’t had any horrible experiences, but I do advise going to the bathroom before you allow anal sex to take place … unless of course you are really dirty. =)

The more open I am to experiences, and less judgmental, the better and more exciting the reward.

Here and Now.

Let me assert something: My relationship with my Man is “the Daddy and the Baby”. With that, allow me to delve into our sexcapade of tonight (thus far).

The Baby approaches the Daddy with a shy look in her eyes and tells him that she wants to suck his cock but doesn’t dare to. Why would the baby not want to please her daddy? She proceeds to unzip the Daddy’s pants and tugs them from his waste. He gets up to pull them off, but the Baby insists that he leave them around his ankles. Because the Baby tried to take control, the Daddy finally steps in and fully takes over.

The Daddy tells the Baby to suck Daddy’s cock. When she gets down there, it’s so stinky and pungeont because the Daddy hasn’t showered in a couple of days. The Baby moans because of the stinky cock,  but the Daddy just shoves the baby’s face further down the shaft. She takes it as much as she can. It’s just so thick. She can’t take it all. So the Daddy gently grabs the Baby by her hair and pulls her down into his stinky cock. She gags and moans as tears fill up her eyes. Deep inside though, she loves to please her Daddy. All the Baby wants is to please her Daddy.

As the Baby sucks her Daddy’s thick shaft, he tells her that if she doesn’t make him cum in ten (10) minutes, then the Baby will get an ass whipping. Though the Baby wants to make her Daddy cum, she also wants to get that harsh beating so that she can be punished and controlled by the Daddy.

When the Baby moans about how stinky her Daddy’s cock is, he shoves her face into his balls. He makes her suck and lick those fat balls. All she can smell is that stinky croch. It makes her gag as she gets her face shoved further and further between his legs.

Because the Baby complains about the smell, her Daddy makes her lick further below his fat balls. This makes the Baby cry out. She just wants to service her Daddy though so she does whatever he tells her.

When the ten minutes are up, the Daddy tells the Baby to go bend over the couch with her feet on the ground and face shoved into the pillow. Because the Baby didn’t completely satisfy her Daddy, she is to be fully punished. So the Daddy goes to his desk and pulls out an antena. As the baby anticipates what she is about to feel, she begins to breath heavily and quiver. Why couldn’t the Baby just satisify her Daddy? Why didn’t she make her Daddy cum?

Daddy is so mad. He starts by kissing his Baby’s ass and biting it. Soon, the antenna is out and he whips the baby’s ass. She cries out because she’s never felt anything like this before. But the Baby loves it and loves to take it. He only whips her a few more times.

The Daddy picks up the Baby, kissing her all over, hugs her so tightly and tells the Baby that she is so loved. He kisses her wet face and tells her that the Baby is Number One. The Daddy sets the Baby free to do as she pleases.

Why Do I Feel This Way? What am I Talking About?

I have spent much of my twenties trying to uncover what’s wrong with me. When, as time has passed, I either don’t think that there is actually anything wrong; or rather, I have discoverd my newest self-diagnosis. And that is, my existential anxiety.

I don’t like to subscribe to labels. At all. Maybe I am have Tom Boy traits, but I love fashion. Sometimes I am organized, other times I live and thrive in a chaotic environment. I love not having time frames, but thrive on pressure, structure, and discipline.

I am an artist but socially very conservative. I paint. I analyze my paint. I love color. I love to watch the combination of colors. It can become very harmonious, much like music or the perfect social interaction. You know, metaphysically, when it seems there is space between two or three bodies, the souls are so interconnected, that there is actually no space between anyone or anything at all. Everything is connected. Everything is transcendental.

The problem is, when my life isn’t harmonious, I feel anxious. Very anxious. I live for hope. I live for seeking out the next best thing, whether that be a band, a meal, or meeting someone I love. I can’t sit still. While I close my eyes to think, I have to open them back up in order to tackle life. I have to go look and retrieve something.

Can I find it? Do I find or resolve anything? Why can’t I fucking sit still. I find that I fear being in the moment. I can’t just be. I know, I know, I need to meditate more. We all do. It’s hard to find reason in so many things and I get so distracted. I fear accomplishing things… What if it hurts me? What if it makes me happy?

On another note, why do I zone out so often. I seem to go somewhere, without a single thought… And my Man keeps asking me, “What are you thinking about?” Is it possible that I’m not thinking about anything? Couldt it be that nothing is crossing my mind?

Most of the time, outside of zoning out, I have racing thoughts. I became aware of this and I harnessed this at a very young age. I was always sent to bed at a “reasonable” time for a child, but I would lay in bed, for hours, with my eyes wide open, contemplating positive and negative connotations of how to get what I wanted.

My thoughts lead down so many paths. I like imagining my soul and brain, though I know they are separate entities, they are a tree, with tiny twigs and massive branches constantly growing. It’s the little touches, the little details to theory that end up growing into complete thoughts. While I may be traveling, I am also traveling with someone.  While we travel, we have conversations. And while we converse, we connect. There are so many micro aspects that create my life.

I love to create. I think that is what I am here for. Fucking and creating. Yes. That’s it. And maybe digesting a meal of food every once in a while.

 

The Beginng of The Blur

While I had eaten that mushroom in the Fall of 2006, I still had a lot I needed to focus on: taking my courses in college and interning for the local District Attorney. Shew. My extra-curricular may have been the same as a typical college girl’s: drinking 6-packs (of beer) for dinner, smoking the pipes, and gettin’ down with the neighbors.

I forgot to mention something: In the Summer of 2006, I do recall dating a couple of older guys. One was bald, so that just didn’t work. He didn’t have much of a personality, other than boasting about his entrepreneuril skills; give me a break. Further, I went and dated his close friend, who had a red afro. That, I thought was unique. I wondered, what color is his  croch? He was the first guy with whom I experienced anal. It was kinda’ hot. We did it spooning. Some how one of us suggested it, maybe me, because I was on the rag at the time and hardly knew him. Ha, and yet I’d have anal with him for a brief moment. I didn’t cum though.

This fling was just a fling. You know, a couple dates here and there. We lived miles apart. Some might call this romantic, I thought of it as inconvenient. Soooo we did the long distance e-mails, some letters here and there. I wasn’t that into him. Plus, school would begin and I could find another student or something.

The end of Summer 2006 was a bit kooky; sleeping with those two guys who were at least fifteen years older, plus, fucking that one other guy from my past who always insisted on cooking me dinner (going down on me)… In the mean time, I thought I could focus on studying for the LSAT. That was some sort of focus.

School began. I went to that festival. I ate that six inch-long mushroom that triggered my ever-lasting, existential anxiety, and began dating new boys. For some reason, the freshman class had a lot of hotties. I know I dated guys my age here and there, but for some reason, I was attracted-and usually hook up with-younger guys. Was I immature? Am I immature? Who knows…

By Winter of 2006, I was pretty-much settled in-with, though didn’t want to be with, a hot, nerdy, stoner, dealer. He had everything desirable: a sweet, Italian face, a Jewish nose, a cocky yet humble demeanor; he was a soccer player and sold headies, which is the best weed imaginable. Oh, and did I mention, he was hung. Perpection to a T. Great sex, a bit awkward. He had that runny-nose thing, just like a past lover had. What’s with guys fucking and having a runny nose at the same time?

I was harsh to this one. He loved being a victim. I swear he wanted to cry when I fucked him. Maybe I was raping him. Maybe he was gay. I swear, so many guys that I’ve  dated, hide behind me to prevent the assumption and truth that they are, in fact, gay. I would never imagine it until the relationship was over.  He was a weak guy, and smoked too much weed. And now I remember: he had the lowest self-esteem of any guy I dated. He had no reason though. He had great genes and came from money. Maybe this was his reason for self-loathing.

I remember having an intense trip one night that winter of 2006, and he seemed to be such an empty soul. Clarity is certain on lsd. For me, I see either the light in people, or the darkness in people. It’s wonderful when you’re tripping around light-hearted souls. It’s great tripping alone, too! When it comes down to it, all you have is yourself! Love yourself. Own yourself. Entertain yourself. No one can take you away from who you really are. At least, I don’t think one should allow this. And while we’re at it, always surround yourself with those who allow you to evolve.

This stoner relationship wouldn’t last but it would get me through the cold winter. I remember, I must have been so insecure at that point in my life. I never wanted to meet his parents. I always managed to avoid the initial, “Hi, How are you? Tell me about youself” bull shit. Why did I need to entertain his parents? Fuck that. I wouldn’t stand for it. I knew he wasn’t the one.

That relationship ended when, on St. Patrick’s Day of 2007, I cheated on him with Tequila and a new dick. He never found out, I just let him know it was time to end the sleepovers. No more playing house with that guy. I had a new cock who knew how he wanted to be fucked. He and I had always been aware of each other from social situations. But that one night, he seemed like such a good guy. He was bigger, loud, enjoyed laughter, and laid a sweet riff on the guitar. Yup. I was going home with him. We trudged to his artsy apartment through the snow and darkness.

It’s a bit blurry now, but I do recall one thing I enjoyed about this fuck:he knew what he wanted in bed. We would go missionary, and then he would tug at my legs and turn me over for doggy-style. It was so hot. I was his little rag doll. He threw me all around in bed. But it would only last that one night, for some reason. I wasn’t ready to get serious. So we went back to being friends after that night.

It seems, now looking back, that I was afraid to get serious with the ones who I’d get the most kinky. Why?! Why were the seldom dicks usually the hottest? The guys with whom I was serious, the relationship had dull or little sex. But when I’d meet random guys along the way, I would get closer to something desirable.

Something inside of me always told me that while I was in a relationship, I was to come across as conservative and tame. While I was out on my own, dating and playing, the sex would be wild, erotic, fun, and experimental. Why was I unable to free myself with a guy for whom I cared? Where is the logic?!

After Sophomore Year of College…. Oy, yoy, yoy…

Let’s see if I can write here. I brush my hair aside and think of what comes to mind. Does that comment make any sense? No.

By the time I was a Junior, I was a complete narcissist. I saw who I wanted, when I wanted… but with a very different facaud. I really didn’t care about guys anymore. I really didn’t care about myself or anything.

In September of 2006, I was sent to a festivial “up north” by the… uh… essentially, “free drugs” club of the university to promote the beneficiries of marijuana. In my journeys, I decided to consume a six+ inch mushroom. WOW. While I would love to step away and take a break from this entire message, I still need to explain my entire mess.

Where do I begin? The girlfriend with whom I attended this festival was the new lover of the past guy who left me for  the west. (At this point, it’s useless to ponder her power over me; she was the new, fresh one for him… I can understand this position…) It became a very complex situatuation for me later…

Anyway, that six inch-long mushroom sent me to a car.  Yes, a car… where I tucked myself into a sleeping bag by myself and contemplated why I should not kill everyone and myself… I was trippin’ face. I locked myself in a car for 5+ hours, tucked into a sleeping bag. I had no reason not to kill everyone around me, including myself. Everyone appeared so negative and so black to me. Who did I have? All I had was myself… And that is what I learned. Only I could cure myself of this situation. Eventually,  I pulled myself out of my skull, and once again engaged myself with my surroundings. You know, the trip all started when I heard the band on stage playing a Talking Heads song…. I felt, they knew I was there. I mean, The Talking Heads are my favorite band of all time… I thought, The World Revolves Around Me…

From here on, nothing would ever be the same.

Living the Life…. Or so I thought.

After Freshman year of college…. let’s see…. It’s a bit blurry. I enjoyed going out at night, skipping classes, and writing papers at the very last moment. Who doesn’t thrive on that pressure? Anyway. I got more physically active and this only made me more sexually manic. I slept with a couple guys here and there… no one of any great significance. I remember teasing, with that look in my eye. While I didn’t give a damn about one specific dude, I needed to know that he cared about me. Where is the logic here? Did I seek attention? Could I go on without getting off?

I had a lot of parties in my tiny studio. I recall dancing on my table to Bob Marley. The nights seemed to go on, joints smoked, beers guzzled, kisses kissed. And who knew which lucky guy would get to stay the night with me. I always felt I was the best lover any guy could have. Was it my experience? Was it my personality? I really felt like any guy would be lucky to be with me, so why not give as much as I could to each sexy dude along the way? There were lots of runners, stoners, and artists mixed in with my sexcapades.

When the party was over, it was just beginning for Dude number….. who knows, maybe 11ish? and I…. whomever he was. Maybe I would pull out that last 40 oz… Come on, I was a poor college student. Or maybe it would be a wine night. Maybe, my neighbor would call up to us, and we would go blow a few lines; stay up for just a little bit longer. Then the lovin’s would take over. But by then, it would be a blur… I would wake up the following morning, kick out the dude, maybe give him a kiss, and continue on  with my self-fulfilling day: Go for a jog, eat a bagel with coffee, read up on my recent politics, and maybe make it to class. By 3pm, I might be ready for a few bong rips. By night fall, I’d be flirting with someone new. It always felt so good to meet a fresh face. And what better way to get to know him other than to love on him?

The thing was, outside of the loving, the dudes were dear friends. We would cook dinner together… you know, date. It just seemed they were all back to back. I didn’t ever feel slutty, I just felt appreciated and entertained. I remember, this one guy, he kept calling, insisting on making me dinner. I knew what this meant. I always knew. Well, let me reiterate…. I didn’t always assume sex, which I will later discuss. I always kept the least intimidating guy around, as a friend. Whether he be some one who smoked me up or studied with me, I knew there was more to our relationship than just sex. Maybe I just built it up in my head, or I was passive to the entire subject, but I didn’t think the guys just wanted sex from me.

Let me assert something. There were two types of guys to me: Those who I’d fuck, and those who I’d friend. The thing was, while I could have a solid friendship with those who I’d fuck, I could never fuck my friends. That is a state I hold to this day.

I settled with a guy for a long while that was active in the same sport as me. At first I avoided him because I knew that he really wanted me. And then, one day, after messing around with a few guys, I was finally ready to settle with this dude.

Funny story, actually. While in Fall pre-seasons at college, eating dinner together, we were very attracted to one another. We ate. And while we ate, we grilled one another. Finally, we uncovered that we were each others’ first relationships from back in Junior High. I know, I know… How would we be unable to recognize each other? Well we went to seperate schools and met only twice. Either way, I settled with him eventually.

The problem with our sex life: he came as soon as he entered me… every time. You can only imagine how this left me. The thing was, I wasn’t yet comfortable with masturbating in front of a dude… so… I didn’t. I never came with this dude. But I really cared for him. We skiid… We hiked…. We smoked… You know, we shared lots of extra-curricular together. He was uber passive… I hope that by now, you’re aware of my energy and aggressiveness. Whatever… This didn’t last. I kissed some boys and made him aware immediately with super guilt. Oh, that guilt… I will never forget.  The crying, the agony. It was so tiring… and very selfish on my part. Not only did I eliminate the commitment, but I let him know. In time, he would leave. He left to ski in the west. He left me in an apartment to party…

In the Beginning…..

First off, I am not much of a writer. Sure, I write. Doesn’t everyone? Don’t let this little opening distract you from my main themes to be discussed. This is going to be about my story; my relationships, and specifically: my sexual endeavors.

So, where do I begin? Let’s back up to the ripe age of 16, when I lost my virginity. I was physically so ready. I was sopping wet between my legs. He was hung (to me). He didn’t really mean a lot though. He could have been anyone. But he was the one. We started to make out and before we new it, he was strapping on a condom and shoving it between my legs awkwardly. Mind you, we were in my parents’ house. It was completely inappropriate; or was it? …. Maybe this was very common to beginners.

We pumped it for a few moments. I had never felt so excited down there. Let me back up even further though….

All my life, well, when I reached the age of 8 (eight), I was masturbating around the clock. It all started in a hot tub with a girl who was quite a bit younger than myself. We were close friends, to the point of rubbing up against one another in that hot tub. Yeah, we rubbed our thighs up against our private places to the point of my first orgasm. I didn’t know what it was, what that feeling was, or what the hell it meant. It was infamous though: Her grandmother walked in on us as I was cumming. Luckily, despite her ambivalence, she turned and left the room. God, I was empowered from that moment on. Though, I was not exactly aware.

I wanted more of it though. I masturbated day in and day out, around the clock. Literally, hour after hour, day after day. I would rub myself until I would cum. I would take a breath, and begin the adventure again. Orgasm after orgasm. I felt so isolated. My calf muscles hurt just thinking about it. I would imagine a man on top of me. I would imagine cumming. I didn’t identify with the feeling until jr. high though. I finally discovered that the feeling was “good.” DUH. Of course it was good… Why else would I keep returning to that feeling? No one could please me better than myself.

I never did anything with boys until high school though. And it was the summer going into my junior year that I finally had my chance. He wasn’t my boyfriend, nor much of a friend at all. But we were ready. He needed a place to crash in between his concert and home. Anyway, he told me it would be okay. Damn, I didn’t need his reassurance, I just needed him inside of me! I was sopping  all over the floor. His dick slid in with no problem at all. We pumped for a few moments on my pink carpet. It felt amazing; the most natural thing possible. And then I heard movement from the upstairs. It was my parents, damn it. So we stopped. That was the end of our relationship. No cumming at all. But I was no virgin anymore. I felt part of another world. It was some accomplishment for me. We will delve more into this later though.

Following this was my first serious high school relationship. You know, the kind where you have your songs, that special and constant eye contact, laying in bed for hours where it seemed only minutes were passing by. He was the one for me and I for him. Of course I was submissive and he was really a complete jerk over time.

After the first month, I had finally pushed him to have sex with me. It was great, I think…. I mean, we both came. I had an orgasm from intercourse for the firts time. We both had. We continued to have mundane, conservative, missionary  first-relationship sex for over a year. It was amazing to us. There was all that build up, tension, and that infamous disappointment without the arrival. At the time, I thought it was love. I thought we had it all. Well, that mundane sex could only leave room for improval, right?

College Life For Pretty and Petite

Yikes… Where do I begin? How about at the beginning. Well, I studied for a semester at a tiny school in Vermont.  It was here that I discovered the beauty and effects of dear, old marijuana… Ohhh boy… goooood tiiiiimes. High times, for sure. Anyway. I only spent one semester in Vermont. But in that short time, I fell for a “lonely stoner,” as they call them nowadays.  We met in November, right before Thanksgiving. Maybe it was October, I don’t know.  I was fuckin’ stoooooooooned. It was short and sweet. We dated until the semester was over, you know early to mid-December.  Not for long at all really. Heeee waaaas huuuung. I mean, he was only as tall as I, which isn’t very tall. But I swear, “tripod”, “third leg” whatever you wanna call it: he had it. And it made me cum.

I thought I loved him. Why? Because, and I will tell you, I had never cum like this before. So we’d smoke and fuck and smoke and fuck and before I knew it, it was December and we were fighting about how I was such a whore for seeing someone new. (Again.) I didn’t care. I wanted that new guy more than I wanted him. You know, now that I think about it, I didn’t really want this newer guy. I just wanted some thing new. But why would I abandon such a beautiful cock? Who knows…

Onto the “new cock”, (who was actually in between a few dicks ago for a short, short while…) Also,  no more weed for the next year or so. I stayed with this cock, not because he was hung, AT ALL, but because he supported me during a rough spot in my life. He was sweet. He tried to convince me that he wanted more than my private parts. I believed him while I could. I took a semester off and began work at some retail gig. This was the first dick to ever live with. He moved into my parents’ home and stayed in my bedroom with me.

*Side note* At some point I began to think of my relationships in a unique light. For the most part, I had fun with the guys I saw. Sleepovers were usually the fun part. Cuddling, laughing, cuddling, touching, eventually fucking…Was I a child in a teen’s body, simply having sleepovers with my bestfriend; and maybe we would fondal each other out of curiosity? Do you ever wonder if we are just grown children with a sex drive? Oh, the beauty of growth!

Where was I? Ah yes, my second long term relationship, with Dick number……. eight? (yes, 8). You know, I don’t know if it was my self-esteem, the respectable friends I had, or the way I approached my relations with guys: I never thought of myself as a whore. Surely though, I was young and tallying them up.

After the summer of of 2004, I decided to transfer to a  university in my home state. Jesus, I never thought I would let this happen. That’s an entirely different complex though. I broke up with Dick number 8 and started dating again. I became close friends with a sexy boy, who was also a transfer. The two of us were instant friends at this new school. (Ultimately, he would always be a fall back for me…)

While I was out with my roommate one Friday night in Autumn, now that I think of it, I believe it was the first or second Friday of the semester. You know what this means. Easy fucks eeeeverywhere. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, I was completely part of the soon-to-be-discovered sexcapades.  New school, new dicks… EVEERYWHERE. Typical college girl, right? I never thought I was typical though. I thought I was the raw deal; the infamous and unique princess. Some often recall, that when I enter a room, you can’t help but notice.

It was on this September night that I made eye contact with this adorable, smiling, blue-eyed, bombshell. We couldn’t help but walk directly toward one another. He presumed to walk me home and tuck me in, hardly giving me a good-night kiss. What kind of fuck was he? I wanted that kiss and he barely pecked me on the lips! Ugh… Somehow I fell for him for the next month or so.

The sex was alright. He was huge, but seemed to always have this little-boy look on his face, always with this runny nose. I recall him dripping his snot between my tits one night. I’m pretty sure I was the least insecure about it…He always came inside of me. I was on birth control so we didn’t use a condom all the time. I remember going to classes after we had fucked, and I could smell the combination of his cum and mine between my legs. I wondered if anyone else took notice of this pungent smell during a foreign policy lecture?  This relationship ended when I found him making out with a friend at the Halloween Dance.

After this cheating incidence, I felt more jaded, and more empowered than ever. Who dare cheat on the princess? God, this blew up and tore at my ego for so long. So what did I do? I fucked. I fucked a few mother-fuckers. Maybe I wouldn’t fuck each one, but I woke up with a lot of guys…. Some times I would have to take a close gander at a guy’s face to make sure of who it was! How aweful of me… I was losing myself in a way. Partying all week, staying up all night, having sex with freshman who were hardly attractive. I wonder now, how many guys’ virginities have I taken?

After My High School Relationship Ended…

… I realized something: I could sleep with whomever I wanted! PARTY!!!! That is what sex became to me: a party, a party supply… something or other. The definition of party to me? A force or energy that leads to great climax… An even more satisfying party? One with a great after-party.

The first guy I fucked was straight out of a relationship too. So we had something in common. I thought it was gross that he had lotion and tissues on his night stand. But I passively disregarded it, understanding that he too needed sex just as much as I. We humped like jack rabbits the night we met. I was so vulnerable. I had no qualms. From the moment after that first relationship, I no longer tied myself to any man. I fucked who I wanted, when I wanted.

There were a few after this past guy, but no one who meant a damn thing to me. I just fucked without any emotional ties…..

Following my high school graduation, I spent a summer out of state after my grandfather had passed. Here, I met a guy whom I thought I wanted to be serious. He had that southern hospitality down; opened the doors and paid for each meal. So I was left saying thank you all the time.

Whenever we fucked though, we were not so compatible. He couldn’t get or stay hard. This pissed me off of course. How was I to feel? Maybe undesirable? Was he gay? Was he just a wuss? Of course I had become a bit harder since my first relationship had not worked out… So I was a bit harder on those I dated. Double-standards became the reg. for me. I could be the bitch, but he had to be a sweetheart. What kind of a man is he without showing constant respect? I would withhold sex, be a bitch, and nobody would win.

So when I moved back home at the end of that summer (2003), he came to visit for a week. It was here that he, and you learned that I was already seeing some one new. It started here with the “overlapping boyfriends.” I of course always seemed to justify this act. I was never able to say “goodbye”, end things, finish things, or even really accomplish anything without knowing that I would somehow be rewarded. In this case, I would find a new man. A new life form. A new reality: a new cock.

This new relationship ended very quickly when the dude showed no interest in being a MAN. While I would try to convince myself that the best guys were sensitive and fed into my every need, I would later in life learn quite the contrary. Don’t get me wrong: to this day, I demand a little sensitivity here and there from My Man. But we will get to that later. Anyway, in my reality, (which I hope you are or are not judging by now) I would just need someone who could keep up with me. But I never thought this would be possible. Sooo I kept dating the same types of guys: the jock, the athlete, the pretty boy, the sensitive nerd, the popular, sexy, desirable, one that no one else could have but me. I always found some thing unique in the one guy who I chose to date. I would worship the men with whom I was serious.

One at a time, I would convince myself that I was in love. And when it did not work out, for whatever reason, I would fuck say, three guys in a row, maybe mess around with two in 1 (one) day. I just needed that delivery, the security, the accomplishment, the desire… TO GET OFF. The thing was, I was dating respectable guys. Now, where are we in my story? Ah, just about to enter college….

I am sure you have your suggestions as to who I am as a person. But this is not some psycho-babble. I promise, in time, we will reach my current situation with My Man, which is far juicer and epic than my past.

I always entertained myself with the fact that I could have any guy I wanted. Yes, I am attractive. I am not boasting. Rather, it has taken me a lifetime to discover my inner and outer beauty. While I may seem arrogant, egotistical, maybe narcissistic even, I am now just comfortable and realizing myself. Of course, I have some thoughts as to how I should have treated these boys better. They deserved a good girl. And it’s not that I’m not a “good” girl without morals, I just need to cum; with the right man. Buuut, I was a lost, angst-ridden teen. How could I love someone else when I, in fact, did not know how to love myself or understand the true concept? My sex life and finding true love got jumbled along the way…. And in the mean time, I just kept fucking…