On with the new

I'm abandoning this blog, at least for now.  I'm starting a new one full of more of my bullshit thoughts.

www.xquisitehorror.wordpress.com

Get it back.

I think they're wrong.  Profound experiences, even the negative ones, are supposed to be chock-full of learning lessons and shaping opportunities, but when 'supposed to' fails us (yet again), what then? 

I haven't the answers.  I lack the resolve or energy or both to figure them out. 

I wonder how he'd feel if I told him I was a worse person for having known him?  Would it make him sad?  Would it make him think that was just my stupid, shitty perspective?  I'll probably never know, but the fact, for me, remains...

...I'm worse for knowing him. 

I'm less confident.  I'm less trusting.  I've lost faith—in most things but most devastatingly in the two things that kept me soaring above it all—myself and love.  I'm skittish and awkward and at a loss (or I'm just lost).  I don't date anymore and I don't believe people when they tell me pretty much anything.  I barely write and I can't bring myself to finish any book I start.

I didn't think I could choose someone so wrong for me, someone so cowardly, someone who would lash out at me instead of giving me the benefit of the doubt, someone who could abandon me and then blame me for it. 

I spent over 5 months actually believing he was strong and that I meant something profound to him.  I thought he understood me and shared my value system.  I thought he wanted more from life than suburban hell and yard work and school plays and block parties and mask after mask after mask.  I thought he wanted a life where people, a few select people, knew him, instead of a million people who simply knew his name. 

Was I really that wrong? 

I am such a fool.  I feel like a stupid, lovesick, hopeless little girl.

Jesus, why did I even bother? 

I guess I did for two reasons: love affects me in more intense ways than it seems to affect most people and jesus christ did I love him.  That fueled everything: the good, the bad, and the grotesque.  And I remember an 18 year old girl who had barely been loved who met an 18 year old girl who loved her so fiercely and purely and epically that she finally woke up.  I remember that feeling, my world expanding and filling, going Technicolor.  I just wanted him to feel that, too. 

But it all seems so futile now, so stupid. 

I've moved on in a lot of ways but it's not over.  I just want it to be over.  He haunts me in the little homes he built in my mind.  I don't go more than 8 hours at a time without thinking about it or him. 

I'm sad.  Both pathetic and bereft, actually.  And I'm ashamed that I still feel like this because my life really is wonderful.  I live in a home surrounded by people and things I love.  I have the family I never knew I always wanted.  In three months I will have a beautiful baby girl.

But this relationship, this profound experience, scarred me.  In some strange way, I knew he had this power the whole time.  That's why I was so terrified of loving him.  I couldn't help it but I knew that if he rejected what we birthed I would forever lose a part of myself and the loss would be vast, the pain palpable and ever-present. 

How could something that forever changed me be so meaningless to him?  I'll bet he's already convinced himself he never really loved me.  Maybe he didn't. 

I doubt nearly everything now, but I never doubt the fact that I loved him.  And I still love him.  Not that it matters.  I guess it never really did matter.

Love has always had the power to change me and my mind and my life and I think now that I'm a freak.  Because nothing was ever going to change him, least of all a headstrong, passionate moron like myself. 

I used to think love could do anything.  But no.  Love bows to fear and inertia and anger and circumstance.

I miss my naïveté.  I miss the me before him.  I wasn't perfect, but I was sure and hopeful.

I need to believe it's possible to get it back.

Fuck Button

FUCK BUTTON

We have this little like button.  And it does amazing things for us.  A fuck button?  A fucking awesome button.  No matter.  Call it what you will, but I want to press it again and a-fucking-gain sometimes.  Classically conditioned, I want my hit and then another and then another.  Repeat.

However understandable its use, it's strange how on each unassuming female form there lies under jeans and skirts the potential for euphoria, one's own, little poppy-production plant, just waiting for the power indicator to switch from red to green.  

I walk around most of the day aware of my hands and legs, eyes and arms, thinking nothing of what my body was built to do.  But this little like button and its intricate nerve system plugged into a surreptitious brain override function likes to shake me into recognition, beckoning me with memories of the fruits of the last time, the opportunity for fantasy, for release.  

It's sort of like having an interlude with one's self.  It grabs my throat and slides its grip down my chest, over my abdomen, and applies strategic pressure so I have no choice but to yield.  And I always do.  At home, in my car, in a bathroom at work.  My body has its way with me.

Usually, the impulse lingers until my fingers give way to my hard nipples.  I caress and gently squeeze this turgid flesh, rosy pink with blood-flow facilitating sensitivity, each burst of pleasure surging down the autobahn linking this flesh to my clit.  Concentrated attention given to each responsive peak floods, quite literally, my pussy and my hips dip and crest to meet each hot, lusty wave.  

In an effortless routine, one I know all too well, I'll slide, pushing gently but firmly, my dominant hand over my belly until it falls below my pelvic bone.  My fingers, instinctively, gravitate towards the opening of my pussy to feel the liquid effects of previous efforts.  Satisfied with this gleaning, my submissive hand continues to manipulate and tease the closest nipple, to cup the fullness of my breast.  It is at this point this little like button, the thing that initiated this base dance, is at its most fecund, filled with potential energy dying, killing to be kinetic.  My hand submits and I begin to twirl and swirl my fingers, wet with my cum, over my swelling clit.  As I apply varied pressure and speed, teasing myself (a seemingly impossible task), my thoughts drift to flashes of pornographic images.

A beautiful, toned brunette vixen nestled in between my legs growing wetter herself as she laps and moans hot breath onto highly sensitive nerve endings.  His hard cock's swollen head sliding from my clit to my taint and back again pausing for just a few painful seconds at my dripping cunt's entrance, daring me and himself to give into broken rules.  

My fingers move faster in an earnest effort to race to a finish line and then the control panel of this sublime circuit halts my hand and I breathe in slowly, deeply, moaning quietly, as my body falls back into its plateau.  Undeterred, but a bit more disciplined to prolong bliss, my left hand grazes my hip bone, jutting out just slightly beneath firm flesh.  It makes its way up through my abdomen's valley and climbs to ready nipples, blushing with prior use and begging for resumption.  I take in air quickly, and my lips part to release sighs and vowels.  My right hand takes the cue and journeys again to this like button, my clit, still unsatisfied.  As I rub again, the flashes return.

His uncontrolled hand comes down across my ass as he fucks me harder and harder from behind, grabbing my hips and slamming his cock into me again and again and again until I can feel him cum inside me.  Someone I've never met grabs his hard cock and strokes it up and down, slow at first, and then pumps feverishly until he climaxes, streams of hot cum falling on my breasts and stomach.  I finally can't take it anymore and pull his teasing hips and cock into my tight pussy and revel in how amazing his bare flesh feels inside of me for the first time, consequence be damned.  

Each perfect image burns into my mind and fuels my body's responsive climbing.  I go up and up, my hips grinding, my mouth cursing, my clit hard and swollen, my cunt wetter, my body hotter, everything approaching that immaculate inevitability.  I breathe in, each nerve in my being inundated with pulsating, high-frequency ecstasy welling, congregating around my clit until...holding breath...everything, all energy, expands and releases as my cunt contracts and spasms, my fingers pressed firmly, holding steady, as my hips ride out the residual ripples of intoxicating rapture.

Yeah.  That little like button.  Its powers boundless, lies in wait, untapped, begging you, then commanding you to push until satisfied.  But sated it will never be.

Sexy Prose

Why is fucking so fucking amazing? Sure, we are biologically programmed to want it, but I have a genuine passion for sex, a zeal, a lust. Sex is essential. Like food. It is not the only thing for which I have a drive, but it is my favorite drive, my most enjoyable drive—the scenery is amazing and the destination...FUcK...the destination, is, well, unbearably splendid. I really can't think of anything I like more. Conversation can be stimulating, love comforting, reading pleasurable, but fucking has no equal. That hot, wet, sick, terrible, wonderful, compulsion to touch, to caress, to tear, to affect, to destroy. 

Oh, and men. Men. Fucking men. Watching and interacting with this marvelous, strong, lust-overridden creature. The large hands, the broad shoulders, the smattering of hair running around and down chests and torsos, congregating at hard, throbbing cocks, eyes longing, needing...to touch me, to fuck me. To be grabbed by a man, a man who is what a man should be—confident, secure, effortless in his sexuality, clever, kind, passionate—is indescribably delightful, but I'll try. 

I feel good. No. Great. Alive and wanted. I feel an emphasized femininity, what I lack of his underscoring what I alone possess. My soft, curved breasts pressed against his flat, expansive chest. His rough hands cupping my yielding face. His hard cock, despite our best efforts, pushing our hips apart. My smooth leg twisting about his. His coarse face tracing my neck. My gentle hands gripping his hips. My pink lips parting to accommodate his firm cock. His head, wet with pre-cum, throbbing as my tongue twirls. 

Nature overtaking us and our succumbing to it. Nipples meet fingers. Moans, gasps, and sighs resound. Tongues explore outlines and the space between. Hips rock to and fro, grinding and lifting. Eyes, overjoyed, absorb the erotic triggers of erogenous zones. Earthy, sweet scent swirls around only to articulate on tastebuds. Tantalizingly anticipating movements and inevitabilities. Bodies lost in the dimensions, climbing all the while to the crescendo of orgasm. FucK. 

Nothing can be better than this.

When I Say So

"Fuck, I really want to hurt her.  Just tear her apart.  Bruise.  Scratch.  Draw blood.  Trace my hand down the small of her back and then..."

SMACK. 

gasp.  Mmmm...ooh.

"I know she likes that.  But I really don't even care at this point.  I like that."

SMACK.  SMACK.

ahhhmmmmmmmmuh.

"MMmmm.  Her ass is so red where I hit it.  Just looking at it makes me so fucking hard.  Clearly, she's noticed."

What Do You Think You Are Doing? 

i want to touch your cock.

I Know.  But Did I Say You Could?

no. but.

SMACK.

You Get To Touch My Cock When I Let You.

"When I roll her over, I know exactly what I will see.  She'll move her hips.  Waiting.  Wanting.  Yep.  Called it.  God I bet she is so fucking wet.  I love feeling her flesh give way as I bite down her torso.  Bite.  Harder.  Teeth.  Hips.  Harder."

owww.  fuckahh.

"I love shoving her legs open and pinning her down.  I don't even need to touch her to know how wet she is.  I can smell her warm hot.  But just to be sure...I'll run my hands over her lips.  Uhh, yeah."

ohh, goddd, yeah.

You Like That, Huh?  Too Bad.  Sit Up. 

"I love grabbing the back of her head and shoving my cock in her mouth.  So warm and wet.  And her tongue.  Swirling.  Fuck.  Yeah, that's it.  Suck me.  All the way down.  Just like..."

Yeah, You Love Having My Cock In Your Mouth.  Just Sliding In And Out.  FUCK. 

mmmmahhhmmm.

On Your Hands And Knees.  Now.

"Fuck, I want my cock inside her.  I want to ride her so hard it fucking hurts.  Fuck.  Look at that ass.  She is so fucking wet.  Just begging for it.  I can't help but scratch her as I position her hips."

SMACK.  Thrust.

gasp.

You Like Being Fucked This Hard. 

uh huh.

Harder?

mmuh huhh.

How About Now?  Does That Hurt?

mmmmmmmmhmmm.

"Fuck.  She is so fucking wet.  God that makes me so fucking hard.  I want to feel her pussy cum around my cock."

You Like It When I Reach Around And Touch Your Clit?

oh, fuck, god, yes.

You Are So Wet.  And Your Clit Is So Swollen. 

mmmmmmmmm.

"I fucking love riding her as she gets closer and closer.  Oh, yeah, tense and squeeze."

oh, fuck.     fuck.     fuck.

Fuck.  Yeah.

ohhhhhhhhhh.......gooooooddd.

You Want To Cum?

mmmmhmm.

You Will When I Say So.

"I love torturing her like that.  Getting her that close.  Controlling her cum.  Just the fucking surrender.  Fuck it gets me so close."

SMACK.

ahhh.

You Like Riding My Cock? 

mmm, yeah.

I'll Bet Touching Your Clit And Fucking You This Hard Gets You So Close.

fuck. mmm. yeah.

You Are Going To Cum Now.  And Hard.  Yeah, That's It.  Oh, Yeah.

oh, fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

Yeah.  Let Me Feel You.  Come on.  Oh, Fuck. Yes.

holy shit. oh, fuck. ohhhhhhhhh, ffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

"God, she just rides my cock when she cums.  So fucking hot.  I want to cum in her so badly."

Fuck. You Are So Sexy.  The Way You Cum.  The Way You Take My Cock. 

mmmmmm.  oh, yeah...

Do You Want To Feel Me Cum, Now?

uhhhhuh.  cum in me.  hard.

Beg For It.

please.  i want to feel it.  please.

Fuck.  I Am So Close.

oh, yeah, fuck, god that's so fucking good.

OH.  Oh, Fuck.  Oh, Yeah.  Oh, God.  Fuck, Yeah.

gasp.