Last night I was hanging out at a local dive bar at which, I am almost ashamed to admit, I've become somewhat of a permanent fixture at. I always wondered about people who went to the same old bar several nights a week and stayed until the wee hours of the morning drinking themselves silly -- I mean, why? and I used to look at that lone woman sitting on the last stool at the bar, in some cleavage defying shirt, drinking alone and chatting up the bartender and think "oh how sad" Suddenly, I've become her.
At any rate, I like this bar. It's a dark, dirty hole-in-the wall (and trust me, there are plenty of holes in the walls) -- the place doesn't even have a sign, just a red light over the door -- and the drinks are cheap and the other patrons (when there actually are other patrons) are pretty laid back and for the most part, non-judgmental. It's a straight bar and sometimes I feel like there should be a sign on the wall that warnsmostly-lesbians like myself: Please Do Not Feed or Tease the Straight Men. Not that it would stop me.
It's not that I'm particularly attractive or sexy or even an engaging conversationalist (in fact, the only reason I can chat up these straight boys is because I've downed enough Jack Daniels to feign mild interest in what they have to say). But, as my conservative co-worker D. pointed out last night "Guys like you because you talk very frankly about sex." Read: Guys like you because you talk like a slut. No shit.
I can't even pinpoint when my foray into slutdom began. I mean, as early back as 8 years old, I remember playing an over-sexed version of "Dare or Double Dare" with the landlord's son and daughter behind the garage. Note that we didn't even play Truth or Dare; we just skipped the bullshit and went straight to the good parts. I can remember be grossed-out by french-kissing, but somehow, putting little Paul's pre-pubescent dick in my mouth didn't phase me. So, you see, I was only destined for slutdom.
When I was 11 or 12, my father took me on a service call (he was a television repairman, back in the days when people actually repaired their broken TVs) to this guy's house. No one was home (at that time, people just left their doors unlocked so repairmen could help themselves if they weren't home ... it was all very Mayberry) so I snooped about the house while my father tinkered with the console TV. I found two curious items that led me to believe these people were surely perverts: contraceptive foam in the bathroom drawer and a photo of the homeowner's wife and young daughters -- naked -- on some family camping trip proudly displayed on a desk in the study.
Forty minutes or so later, the owner came home and my father introduced me to him. This man invited me into his study and pulled a book off a shelf, scribbled something in it, and gave it to me. I looked at the book's title: How to Talk to Your Child About Sex and realized that this man was the very same doctor of sexology who authored the text. Inside it he wrote: For XXXX, I am sure you are as interested in this subject as I am. To this day, I feel that gift in no small way foreshadowed my future.
At any rate, that book taught me a lot. Geared towards parents, the book was divided into age-appropriate sections and gave examples of the types of questions children of different ages might ask and examples of how parents should best respond. From masturbation to homosexuality, that book covered it all in a very sex-positive and candid manner. No wonder why I turned out the way I did.
So, back to the bar. I'm getting pretty wasted and I'm chatting up this late 30-something balding guy who works as a political analyst for a local network (well, in New York City, all networks are pretty much local). We are chatting along nicely, and I remark to the bartender (who is my heterosexual male equivalent when it comes to our preferences on sex and women) "Don't I play nice with the straight boys?" He bluntly responds "I think you just want a nice hard cock." I wasn't really in any position to deny that accusation.
I don't know if this is normal behavior, but when I first meet someone, my immediate instinct is to picture myself fucking them. If I can entertain that picture in my head, I continue to engage with the person ... if not, I become disinterested. Now, mind you, this guy is nice ... really nice. He has a house on the beach, obviously lives comfortably and would probably be great husband material -- bad sign when all you are really looking for is a raucous one-nighter of nasty sex.
I'm trying my hardest to imagine him pulling my hair, his cock buried deep in my ass as he grunts things like "Be my fucking slut. Are you my fucking slut?" The mental image I get is so bad that I almost visibly crack myself up. The bartender tells me I just need to try harder, but this guy is just too nice . He's just not the type of guy you let cum on your face, if you get my drift. Actually, he's just not the type of guy that would ever even consider doing something as disrespectful and degrading as ejaculating in a woman's face.
I mean, I know Gloria Steinem would roll over in her fucking grave (not that she's dead) if she were to read this, but sometimes, I just like to be objectified during sex. I mean, there are times when I just want to go out and get fucked, nasty-style , and that's it. But don't get me wrong, the feeling of objectification is mutual. And women, especially, suck at this.
About a year ago, I started to go to these monthly sex/S&M parties for women. I thought it would be great to go somewhere where I could just have nasty, decadent, anonymous (but always safe) sex, with no strings attached. So, I do it up school-girl style, in my little red-plaid skirt, mary-janes, thigh-highs, pigtails -- the whole nine yards. I pack a little bag with the essentials like lipstick, lube, butt plugs and my trusty strap-on and I am good to go.
The party is held in a BDSM play space and the place just reeks of sex and sweat and desire. Once things get started, there are chicks in slings being fisted, being flogged, being fucked -- I'm in heaven. I get a couple or early propositions, but my suitors don't really meet my mark, and then I make a play for a lost-looking brunette who is probably a second-year NYU student. We chat for a few minutes and I try to get a sense what she's into and ask if she wants to go into one of the backrooms lined with plush velvet sofas. She obliges and we find a spot in between other writhing couples and start making out.
She's sitting on top of me, straddling my lap and facing me, so while we are making out, I unbutton her sweater and pull it off her shoulders, and move my tongue down her neck to her breasts. Her tits are small and her nipples stiffen immediately as my tongue traverses between them. She's not wearing a bra and I pinch and pull at her right nipple with my hand as I suck on her left one. She begins to moan and starts grinding her hips into me.
I unbutton her jeans and she stands up just long enough for me to push them down. I pull her down onto the sofa, pull off her pants and kneel between her thighs. She's wearing plain blue cotton bikinis and I can see that a sizeable wet spot has begun to form on the front of them. This girl is ready to go. I am dying to lick her cunt, but safe-sex is the rule at these shindigs and lapping pussy through a dental dam does nothing for me, so I resort to donning a pair of latex gloves, peeling off her wet panties and start fingering her cunt.
Her clit is as hard as a cherry pit and I squeeze it between my left thumb and index finger, as I slide my right index finger into her pussy. Her pussy juice and the latex make a slick combination, and I am amazed at how easily my finger slides into her cunt. I continue to rub her clit while I slide a second finger into her pussy and start to vigorously fuck her with my hand. Her eyes are closed and she's biting her top lip and sighing. By the time I work her up to three fingers, my arm is getting tired. I slip my hand out and tell her I am going to fuck her. She whimpers "ohgodyes ." I pull off my skirt and strap on my harness and fit it with my mid-sized dildo. I slide a condom on it, lube it up generously (not that she wasn't wet enough) and tell her to turn over onto all fours so I can fuck her from behind.
She gets on all fours, her head low to the sofa, and I kneel behind her. I slip a finger into her gaping slit and then guide the head of my dildo into her. I put the head in and stop for a second to make sure she is okay. She moans. I push in a little deeper. She can't wait and bucks her hips back against me and forces my cock deep inside her. I like this impatient little slut. I grab her hips and plunge my cock in and out of her, slapping her right ass cheek with my hand on every down stroke. Her head is buried in the couch cushion, but it doesn't do much to muffle her screams of pleasure as I fuck her cunt harder and faster.
I reach under her with my left hand and rub her clit as I pound away at her pussy from behind. The friction of the base of the dildo on my clit is making me hotter and hotter as I fuck her. My left hand is now completely soaked with her cunt juice, so I remove it from her clit and slide a single finger into her pink puckered asshole as I fuck her.
There's something about anal play that triggers a really deep visceral response from people. I know when I am getting ass-fucked, fingered or rimmed, the sounds I make are deeper, more animal-like and I've noticed this response in others as well. Her ass is tight, but I can tell she's loving the way my finger feels inside it by the deep growls she makes. I continue to work her ass and pussy at the same time and barely seconds pass before she starts begging me to put my dick in her ass. I've never actually fucked anyone up the ass with a dildo before, but I figure now is as good of a time as any. I pull out of her steamy pussy and squeeze some more lube onto my cock.
I slip my index finger out of her tight ass and spread some lube around her asshole. I ask her if she's ready. She tells me she's never had a dick up her ass before. I think to myself yeah, well, I've never had my dick up anyone's ass either. Fortunately, I'm an expert at the receiving end (pun intended) of things and I tell her to relax, and push down on her ass as if she were going to the bathroom (this relaxes the sphincter). She obliges and I position the head of my cock at her anal opening and push gently. I give her a few seconds to get used to the pressure and very slowly push my dick in a little deeper. She grunts and lets out a little cry and I know all to well that her ass isn't used to having something this big going into it. I tell her to relax and take a deep breath and push back towards me. She does ever so slowly and I watch my cock disappear into the folds of her ass.
"Oh my god" she moans and with another grunt, her ass swallows all but an inch or so of my cock. I work my dick in and out of her ass and she's moaning and groaning like a porn star. I slide a gloved finger into her cunt and fuck both holes at once. This is putting her over the threshold and her cunt is gripping my finger as her body works its way up to orgasm. She begins to shudder and I slow my fucking of her ass as she comes. Her muscles contract so forcefully that she pushes my dick out of her ass. I slide my finger out of her pussy and put it into her mouth for her to suck clean. She's spent and a steady stream of lube and assorted bodily fluids glistens between her thighs. She rests as I clean up and pack away my strap-on, find my clothes and get ready to move on.
"That was really hot," I say to her, and give her a quick peck on her sweaty forehead and turn to go back into the main play space.
"Wait," she says, "can't I get your number or something?" She looks hurt.
"Why?" I ask, perplexed.
"So I can call you ..." she says, almost pleading.
I just walk away. I don't mean to be a bitch or rude, but I don't go to a sex party to make friends or find lovers or start a relationship or god forbid cuddle ; I go to fuck and to get fucked. Sometimes -- a lot of times -- that's all I really want.
At any rate, I like this bar. It's a dark, dirty hole-in-the wall (and trust me, there are plenty of holes in the walls) -- the place doesn't even have a sign, just a red light over the door -- and the drinks are cheap and the other patrons (when there actually are other patrons) are pretty laid back and for the most part, non-judgmental. It's a straight bar and sometimes I feel like there should be a sign on the wall that warnsmostly-lesbians like myself: Please Do Not Feed or Tease the Straight Men. Not that it would stop me.
It's not that I'm particularly attractive or sexy or even an engaging conversationalist (in fact, the only reason I can chat up these straight boys is because I've downed enough Jack Daniels to feign mild interest in what they have to say). But, as my conservative co-worker D. pointed out last night "Guys like you because you talk very frankly about sex." Read: Guys like you because you talk like a slut. No shit.
I can't even pinpoint when my foray into slutdom began. I mean, as early back as 8 years old, I remember playing an over-sexed version of "Dare or Double Dare" with the landlord's son and daughter behind the garage. Note that we didn't even play Truth or Dare; we just skipped the bullshit and went straight to the good parts. I can remember be grossed-out by french-kissing, but somehow, putting little Paul's pre-pubescent dick in my mouth didn't phase me. So, you see, I was only destined for slutdom.
When I was 11 or 12, my father took me on a service call (he was a television repairman, back in the days when people actually repaired their broken TVs) to this guy's house. No one was home (at that time, people just left their doors unlocked so repairmen could help themselves if they weren't home ... it was all very Mayberry) so I snooped about the house while my father tinkered with the console TV. I found two curious items that led me to believe these people were surely perverts: contraceptive foam in the bathroom drawer and a photo of the homeowner's wife and young daughters -- naked -- on some family camping trip proudly displayed on a desk in the study.
Forty minutes or so later, the owner came home and my father introduced me to him. This man invited me into his study and pulled a book off a shelf, scribbled something in it, and gave it to me. I looked at the book's title: How to Talk to Your Child About Sex and realized that this man was the very same doctor of sexology who authored the text. Inside it he wrote: For XXXX, I am sure you are as interested in this subject as I am. To this day, I feel that gift in no small way foreshadowed my future.
At any rate, that book taught me a lot. Geared towards parents, the book was divided into age-appropriate sections and gave examples of the types of questions children of different ages might ask and examples of how parents should best respond. From masturbation to homosexuality, that book covered it all in a very sex-positive and candid manner. No wonder why I turned out the way I did.
So, back to the bar. I'm getting pretty wasted and I'm chatting up this late 30-something balding guy who works as a political analyst for a local network (well, in New York City, all networks are pretty much local). We are chatting along nicely, and I remark to the bartender (who is my heterosexual male equivalent when it comes to our preferences on sex and women) "Don't I play nice with the straight boys?" He bluntly responds "I think you just want a nice hard cock." I wasn't really in any position to deny that accusation.
I don't know if this is normal behavior, but when I first meet someone, my immediate instinct is to picture myself fucking them. If I can entertain that picture in my head, I continue to engage with the person ... if not, I become disinterested. Now, mind you, this guy is nice ... really nice. He has a house on the beach, obviously lives comfortably and would probably be great husband material -- bad sign when all you are really looking for is a raucous one-nighter of nasty sex.
I'm trying my hardest to imagine him pulling my hair, his cock buried deep in my ass as he grunts things like "Be my fucking slut. Are you my fucking slut?" The mental image I get is so bad that I almost visibly crack myself up. The bartender tells me I just need to try harder, but this guy is just too nice . He's just not the type of guy you let cum on your face, if you get my drift. Actually, he's just not the type of guy that would ever even consider doing something as disrespectful and degrading as ejaculating in a woman's face.
I mean, I know Gloria Steinem would roll over in her fucking grave (not that she's dead) if she were to read this, but sometimes, I just like to be objectified during sex. I mean, there are times when I just want to go out and get fucked, nasty-style , and that's it. But don't get me wrong, the feeling of objectification is mutual. And women, especially, suck at this.
About a year ago, I started to go to these monthly sex/S&M parties for women. I thought it would be great to go somewhere where I could just have nasty, decadent, anonymous (but always safe) sex, with no strings attached. So, I do it up school-girl style, in my little red-plaid skirt, mary-janes, thigh-highs, pigtails -- the whole nine yards. I pack a little bag with the essentials like lipstick, lube, butt plugs and my trusty strap-on and I am good to go.
The party is held in a BDSM play space and the place just reeks of sex and sweat and desire. Once things get started, there are chicks in slings being fisted, being flogged, being fucked -- I'm in heaven. I get a couple or early propositions, but my suitors don't really meet my mark, and then I make a play for a lost-looking brunette who is probably a second-year NYU student. We chat for a few minutes and I try to get a sense what she's into and ask if she wants to go into one of the backrooms lined with plush velvet sofas. She obliges and we find a spot in between other writhing couples and start making out.
She's sitting on top of me, straddling my lap and facing me, so while we are making out, I unbutton her sweater and pull it off her shoulders, and move my tongue down her neck to her breasts. Her tits are small and her nipples stiffen immediately as my tongue traverses between them. She's not wearing a bra and I pinch and pull at her right nipple with my hand as I suck on her left one. She begins to moan and starts grinding her hips into me.
I unbutton her jeans and she stands up just long enough for me to push them down. I pull her down onto the sofa, pull off her pants and kneel between her thighs. She's wearing plain blue cotton bikinis and I can see that a sizeable wet spot has begun to form on the front of them. This girl is ready to go. I am dying to lick her cunt, but safe-sex is the rule at these shindigs and lapping pussy through a dental dam does nothing for me, so I resort to donning a pair of latex gloves, peeling off her wet panties and start fingering her cunt.
Her clit is as hard as a cherry pit and I squeeze it between my left thumb and index finger, as I slide my right index finger into her pussy. Her pussy juice and the latex make a slick combination, and I am amazed at how easily my finger slides into her cunt. I continue to rub her clit while I slide a second finger into her pussy and start to vigorously fuck her with my hand. Her eyes are closed and she's biting her top lip and sighing. By the time I work her up to three fingers, my arm is getting tired. I slip my hand out and tell her I am going to fuck her. She whimpers "ohgodyes ." I pull off my skirt and strap on my harness and fit it with my mid-sized dildo. I slide a condom on it, lube it up generously (not that she wasn't wet enough) and tell her to turn over onto all fours so I can fuck her from behind.
She gets on all fours, her head low to the sofa, and I kneel behind her. I slip a finger into her gaping slit and then guide the head of my dildo into her. I put the head in and stop for a second to make sure she is okay. She moans. I push in a little deeper. She can't wait and bucks her hips back against me and forces my cock deep inside her. I like this impatient little slut. I grab her hips and plunge my cock in and out of her, slapping her right ass cheek with my hand on every down stroke. Her head is buried in the couch cushion, but it doesn't do much to muffle her screams of pleasure as I fuck her cunt harder and faster.
I reach under her with my left hand and rub her clit as I pound away at her pussy from behind. The friction of the base of the dildo on my clit is making me hotter and hotter as I fuck her. My left hand is now completely soaked with her cunt juice, so I remove it from her clit and slide a single finger into her pink puckered asshole as I fuck her.
There's something about anal play that triggers a really deep visceral response from people. I know when I am getting ass-fucked, fingered or rimmed, the sounds I make are deeper, more animal-like and I've noticed this response in others as well. Her ass is tight, but I can tell she's loving the way my finger feels inside it by the deep growls she makes. I continue to work her ass and pussy at the same time and barely seconds pass before she starts begging me to put my dick in her ass. I've never actually fucked anyone up the ass with a dildo before, but I figure now is as good of a time as any. I pull out of her steamy pussy and squeeze some more lube onto my cock.
I slip my index finger out of her tight ass and spread some lube around her asshole. I ask her if she's ready. She tells me she's never had a dick up her ass before. I think to myself yeah, well, I've never had my dick up anyone's ass either. Fortunately, I'm an expert at the receiving end (pun intended) of things and I tell her to relax, and push down on her ass as if she were going to the bathroom (this relaxes the sphincter). She obliges and I position the head of my cock at her anal opening and push gently. I give her a few seconds to get used to the pressure and very slowly push my dick in a little deeper. She grunts and lets out a little cry and I know all to well that her ass isn't used to having something this big going into it. I tell her to relax and take a deep breath and push back towards me. She does ever so slowly and I watch my cock disappear into the folds of her ass.
"Oh my god" she moans and with another grunt, her ass swallows all but an inch or so of my cock. I work my dick in and out of her ass and she's moaning and groaning like a porn star. I slide a gloved finger into her cunt and fuck both holes at once. This is putting her over the threshold and her cunt is gripping my finger as her body works its way up to orgasm. She begins to shudder and I slow my fucking of her ass as she comes. Her muscles contract so forcefully that she pushes my dick out of her ass. I slide my finger out of her pussy and put it into her mouth for her to suck clean. She's spent and a steady stream of lube and assorted bodily fluids glistens between her thighs. She rests as I clean up and pack away my strap-on, find my clothes and get ready to move on.
"That was really hot," I say to her, and give her a quick peck on her sweaty forehead and turn to go back into the main play space.
"Wait," she says, "can't I get your number or something?" She looks hurt.
"Why?" I ask, perplexed.
"So I can call you ..." she says, almost pleading.
I just walk away. I don't mean to be a bitch or rude, but I don't go to a sex party to make friends or find lovers or start a relationship or god forbid cuddle ; I go to fuck and to get fucked. Sometimes -- a lot of times -- that's all I really want.
panxromana:
Um - YAY!!!!