OrbitalErotic

We're Back

2005-12-25T02:28:00.000-08:00

Did you think I would never come back?

Fucking

2005-04-30T10:38:00.000-07:00

Last night we went out and had a delicious meal of Moroccan food, complete with samovars and a live belly dancer. Later, we walked around in the night air and stopped into various stores, one of which was a really cool record shop where we looked at vinyl records and weird, underground posters for movies we'd only scarcely heard of. Later, we got a couple drinks from Starbuck's and read the local entertainment paper, side by side, as she sipped her caramel frappuccino and I sipped by double long espresso con panna.

We called for a cab and waited outside for five minutes or so, standing outside of a hardware store with her whole body buried against me, the top of her head just under my chin. We were pressed tightly together and she started to giggle. When I asked her what was up, she commented on being able to feel my semi-hard cock against her and how big it felt. I laughed, too, and told her to lift her face and kiss me. She did, laying her sweet coral lips against my own and making my blood race. I told her then to whisper something filthy in my ear. She obliged.
"I want you to take that huge cock and thrust it so deep into me that I can't breathe"

Hearing her soft whisper so close in my ear filled my erection with warm blood instantly and she began to press harder against it. We were rubbing and pressing like this as our taxi arrived and we climbed in. Once we were situated inside, we snuggled up close; she stroked me sweetly through my pants as I slipped my hand under her skirt and rubbed her through her panties. We traded kisses as the cab driver took us back to her place. It was a bumpy, jostling ride so we didn't really get as cozy as we probably would have liked.

We got home and there was a little delay before we went to the bedroom; a quick visit to the washroom, putting a bag away, feeding a cat... things of that kind. Then, only a few minutes later, we were on her bed together and I was laying her on her back, sliding her dress both down over her sweet breasts and up over her warm, damp pussy. We frequently indulge in surprisingly little foreplay, believe it or not; I had only just finished wiggling her out of the last of her clothes when I climbed onto her, locking my mouth on hers, and thrust into her -- a little at first and, as her face changed from red light to yellow and finally to green, I sank into her all the way up to my balls and her breath froze as she raked her nails over my ass and tipped her pubic bone up to me to rub and grind and press.

She starts climaxing almost immediately. She cries and gasps and screams as I thrust back and forth into her... sometimes pushing down so the length of my shaft rubs against her hard clit and sometimes lifting her legs and thrusting up into her so I can stroke her G spot. I can literally feel her getting wetter and wetter with every orgasm; becoming warmer and more yielding. I bite her neck fiercely and hold her arms over her head and my orgasm shakes my whole body as I press deeper into her... claiming her...

We had spoken several times about something we wanted to do when we were together next; for me to fuck her, ejaculate, allow myself to go soft and then wait with her until I am erect again and continue fucking without withdrawing myself from her. I suspected that the sensation of my cock swelling and hardening inside of her would be exciting and erotic, and I wanted to try that. As I was still throbbing and convulsing in her, spilling out tablespoons of semen deep inside her, she was still fucking me furiously while I was still hard. We were both slick with sweat and our skin was hot to the touch as we kissed and licked, painting each other with our mouths and lips.

She continued to fuck me, laying there on her back, pretty and sweet with her smooth, ivory body twisting and convulsing all over my (believe it or not) still-hard cock; pressing against to take me deeper and feel the blunt head stroking the sweet parts inside of her. I rose up on my arms and told her I wanted to see her rubbing her clit with her fingers while she fucked me and, as she did, her whole body locked like iron and I savored the view of her wild, soundless orgasms.

I did not, in fact, go soft inside of her. I stayed quite firm and rigid and was able to continue my strokes up into her body, reaching under to squeeze her ass and hold her still while I slammed roughly against her. She came and came as tears streamed down her face (taking her mascara with them) and, as she raked her nails over my nipples and cried "fuck your girl" into my ear, I came into her again. The second orgasm was a hard, sharp one that ripped through me and nearly made me black out. I don't know if it's the fact that I never actually went soft or if it was the ruthless, deep fucking, but when I came into her - filling her even more though my first load was still in her - it almost hurt. It was incredibly intense and heavenly and we were both so spent and exhausted after so much grinding, licking, pushing and coming.

We joined one another in the bath and relaxed there, talking and giggling a bit and holding hands and kissing, letting the warm water wash away the perspiration and traces of other fluids from our skin. She noticed as she got out of the tub, however, that all the ejaculate had drained out of her into the bath and that she smelled like semen once she got out. I found this to be both funny and sexy and entirely appropriate for the kind of night we had.

Report

2005-04-29T17:31:00.000-07:00

The day went well. Very.

So well, in fact, that you get a photo.

Submissive Day

2005-04-28T23:01:00.000-07:00

I am visiting my true love right now. So far it's going just beautifully.

Tomorrow is the day when she is going to be completely submissive and owned. It is the day when she does not speak and only does what I make her or tell her to do... the day when she cannot say no and may only carry out instructions as they are given, trusting only in me to tend to her needs and take care of her. I will wake her and feed her with my own fingers. I will bathe her myself as she is on her hands and knees in the tub, warm water all around her. I will keep her naked all day, save for the collar around her neck. She will be led on a leash from place to place and will be made to suck and lick me where I want as I want to be sucked and licked. I will fuck her at will and, once I've finished, take her onto my lap in a ball, kissing and holding her. I will groom her myself (including oiling her skin and shaving her legs and pussy) and brush her hair. I will dress her and, later that night, will take her out on the leash I showed you in an earlier link.

If anyone else has any ideas of ways to spend the day, I'd love to hear them.

Domming

2005-04-25T13:43:00.000-07:00

The word "Domming" in and of itself is kind of an amusing word, as it's derived (as we know) from the word "dominate", but the transitive verb which is born from "dominate" is "dominating". "Domming" refers to something else... and that's what I want to talk about.

I dominate my love in many ways. Sexually, of course... sometimes in terms of day-to-day living. I will sometimes take her in my arms and hold her on my lap, curled up against me, making her feel protected and small and safe. This is a form of domination, even though there's no discipline, no servitude, no fucking. I take care of her, and she loves wearing my collar and being naked and vulnerable with me when I do. It establishes some roles and it definitely illustrates a power balance. It makes her happy. It makes me happy as well.

I do spank her at times and I do tie her up. Anyone who has read this blog knows what I do already so I won't reiterate it here.

The point I'm trying to make right now is that I have problems with the broadly-perceived definition of what "Domming" is. I believe it's far too narrow. I believe it's far too small-minded.

There are those who, when they learn a bit about my activities and the nature of my relationship with my sweetheart, actually "tsk tsk" me for making various kinds of mistakes. "A sub should never be allowed to do x, y and z" someone will explain to me sternly... or "You don't seem to be committed enough to being her Master," another will preach. There are those with ideas of what Domming looks like stuck in their heads and, for some reason, they feel it gives them the moral superiority to explain to me how it's done as if I'm some sort of padawan learner.

Here's the thing, everyone: I know how others do it. I've read plenty. I've seen plenty. I've even participated in a few things in my time. I know that there are "rules". I know that there are "standards". I know there's a so-called "community" which creates its own status quo. There are costumes and symbols and rituals and dogmas and all sorts of trappings which, somehow, elevate the average guy (like me) to the true position of "Dom" and make me legit in the eyes of all those people who don't know me personally and aren't invited into my bedroom.

If you are the sort who makes those things work for you, that's really great. I wouldn't want to take that away from you. Nor do I look down on it. But... that's not me. Ceremonies and rules aren't part of what I do with my sweet pet, and I'm completely uninterested in knowing whether or not my style of Domming works for others in the "community". It works for us. My approach and technique succeeds in letting her know that, a) she's loved, b) she's radiantly beautiful c) she belongs completely to me, body mind and heart, to do with as I please.

I consider that mission accomplished. And I did it without your help, thanks.

Fucking Right

2005-04-25T13:31:00.000-07:00

Got my passport. Going to see my baby tomorrow. Taking her some in-bed reading material... a pair of soft, comfy, cotton jammies... and a new leather leash.

Seeya, everyone! Back May 3rd. I'll be sure to blog when I can...

Fool's Errand

2005-04-23T13:26:00.000-07:00

So the last time I went to see my baby, I lost my photo identification. This sucks because I need it to travel. Without it, I can't get on a plane. We all know how it works since 911.

Ok, so here's the thing... I go to get a replacement from my birth certificate and then intend to use that to get a passport ASAP (a driver's license would also be fine, but it takes up to 20 days to replace). You can actually expedite the process by paying extra to have documents couriered from point A to point B and explaining that you are in great need (and paying more to get the documents done same-day). I thought it was going to be simple.

I was supposed to be with her over a 10 days ago. I'm still not there.

The birth certificate people didn't do the document right the first time and had to redo it. They then sent it to the passport office who refused it for some stupid reason they failed to tell me about on the phone. Then I had to get the birth certificate couriered again, but had to send it to a friend in a nearby major city because they couldn't promise overnight delivery to my small town. When that arrived I needed also to get proof of my flight to show the passport people that I had to haul ass, but the cost of the flight was more than I had (because of gas price hikes, all air travel has gone through the roof). So I got some money and got the ticket and got the birth certificate and got a temporary driver's license (also necessary for the passport) and then on Monday I will get the passport and on Tuesday I fly outta here.

Wish me luck. If just one thing goes wrong the whole house of cards comes falling down.

Habit Forming

2005-04-19T23:17:00.000-07:00

"The only problem with that is that sperm can be habit-forming. Studies have shown that women who are exposed to one man's seminal fluids and then is no longer in contact with them often go into withdrawal and experience mild symptoms of depression."

I forget where I read this, but you gotta admit... science is awesome.

For Emphasis

2005-04-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

"...She promised me that every day we are together that she is going to suck my cock and drink everything I give her."

Other posts at OE about her sucking my hard cock and swallowing every drop that I shoot down her throat...

Here
Here
Here
Here
Here
Here
Here
Here
Here

Iris Johnson

2005-04-18T10:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Iris Johnson,

Please contact me at orbitalerotic@yahoo.com to let me know you're ok.

Sincerely,
Orbital

The Promise

2005-04-18T00:22:00.000-07:00

Tonight while talking on the phone she made a promise to me.

She promised me that every day we are together that she is going to suck my cock and drink everything I give her.

Every single day for the rest of my life.

Mush.

2005-04-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

Neither she nor I were very happy about the delay in our plans to see each other. It cast a pallor over the entire day. We got on the phone later on and spent two hours talking. Sometimes we were laughing our guts out. At other times we were commiserating over problems... hers, mine or the ones we share. As the time wore on we ended up talking about our fantasies and, eventually, the plans we had for future lovemaking... the where and when and how. As always, we sunk into our quiet, warm verbal cocoon of affection; confessions of love and adoration... testimonies of warmth and fondness... promises of commitment and devotion. We ended our conversation because she had a headache that started to overtake her and because she was tired. We whispered our tender goodbyes and hung up the phone.

An hour later my phone rang and I picked it up. I knew it was her; she's the only one who calls me at that hour. She meekly confessed that she just wanted to hear my voice again. I spent a few minutes telling her how much I love her. We continued to talk until she was too tired to form words. We shared a few last devotions and hung up the phone.

Sigh

2005-04-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

Turns out I won't be seeing her tomorrow. This is due to a problem on my end, not hers. I'm going to be going in a week's time, but it's cold comfort when I was looking so forward to seeing her. I had to tell her on the phone this morning that it's a no-go, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice, and she was trying to be brave about it (which makes it even more heartbreaking).

Terrible, grinding pain in my heart over it. I miss her so much.

At least when I see her next I'll be able to stay for a nice, long time and, hopefully, bring her back with me.

More later...

The Weight Of Separation

2005-04-11T00:17:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from a text message I sent to her tonight at about 11 PM, Pacific Time.
I miss you too much sometimes. Tonight my heart is crushed under the weight of separation from you...

An excerpt from her reply.
You are so wonderful. I'm crazy about you. Really miss you. Really need you...

Romance is beautiful and tragically painful. On certain nights it's more one than the other.

How I miss her.

The Package

2005-04-07T12:41:00.000-07:00

She's recovering from some laproscopic surgery that took place yesterday. I'll be seeing her in a few days, but in the mean time I decided to send her a "cheer up" package via Fedex to make sure that she knew I was thinking of her and love her. I feel kinda bad for not being there, but I had some things here that I absolutely couldn't get away from.

I sent her a bunch of hand-drawn cartoons, a big bag of Jelly Belly jellybeans (mixed flavors, picked by me), a lovely card and a box of almond florentines (from Crabtree & Evelyn) for her mom and dad (it's important to give pay the ferryman, if you get my drift). I also sent her a book on how to cheer up on shitty days (it's got awesome pics of animals in it, and I told her that if reading the book didn't cheer her up that maybe setting it on fire might), a little tiny book about brides (like twice the size of a postage stamp. It's so thick it's nearly a cube), The Book Of Bunny Suicides (cartoon book of fluffy bunnies offing themselves), a book about american sign language, a notebook that she'll really like, a gorgeous pair of panties and matching bra (this bra and these panties in kind of a mint green color), a Loverboy CD (that isn't a typo), a CD full of different versions of Tetris that I've found (she loves Tetris), three packages of instant miso soup, and seven burned DVDs of movies and TV shows that she loves. Lastly, a catalogue for La Vie En Rose, because she loves catalogues.

Removed the pics

2005-04-05T00:06:00.000-07:00

I was posting pics of her because I thought you would all want to share a bit of what inspires and intoxicates me. I'm getting some bad vibes in the comments section now, so the pics are gone; I don't feel right sharing photos of her with people who are hostile or think poorly of her.

Sorry, folks!

Last in the series...

2005-04-04T19:36:00.000-07:00

Just to continue with the plaid skirt theme... here's yet one more photo from that collection.

Now, seeing as I should make some effort to create an actual post here, let me ask: What would you like me to write about next?

Music And Lovemaking

2005-03-30T00:31:00.000-08:00

I was curious if you could help me.

My love and I were talking recently about music, and she said that she'd like to make love while listening to Enigma with me. She finds their music sexy and sensual. I agree with her.

We decided that we'd both make CDs of music that we could listen to while making love to one another. I'm thinking through some ideas for songs... something by Morcheeba, maybe... perhaps Ennio Morricone... I dunno.

Suggestions?

One Finger, Inside

2005-03-28T20:47:00.000-08:00

She laid on her back, naked, and as we kissed I was already touching her. Sometimes the foreplay is quite short for us - at her behest, no less. It's almost counter-intuitive for me to move so quickly to penetration, but she longs for it and asks for it quickly. She has this amazing way of being slick and wet and open and ready within seconds, and climaxing only seconds later. She's the most multi-orgasmic woman I've ever heard of, much less been with. She tells me that it's all because of me and that I bring her to that point. As a Christmas gift to my ego, I'm going to just let myself believe that's true.

She was on her back, naked, as we kissed and I was already touching her... deep between her legs in the soft, dark patch surrounding her tender slit. Sometimes people will talk about labia as if they are petals of a delicate flower, but hers really are; soft and tiny and tender. Slippery and pink and when she is swollen they open a tiny bit at the bottom near her perineum, where a pearl of moisture will form. Her pubic hair is typically trimmed off, save for a closely cropped thatch on the front.

She was on her back, naked, as we kissed and I was already touching her, whispering into her mouth that I loved her and tasting her breath in return as she confessed the same. Her porcelain fingers were tangled in my hair and she was warmed and ready to be entered. It seemed so soon to me, though, and even as she pleaded for me to mount her and thrust up into her body, I didn't feel ready. I was hard as steel, but wanted to do something to buffer the transition between lying side by side in our pyjamas and being balls-deep inside her as she licked my neck and clawed my back.

She was on her back, naked, as we kissed and I made circles on her moist, warm mound with my fingers. I used my middle finger to sink into her and probe, which drew a heavy gasp of breath and an exhalation of assent. I buried in her all the way up to the last knuckle and curled my palm back to cover her clit with my skin. As I continued to kiss her and tell her that I loved her, I also told her that I was going to make her come this way before I entered her. She might have wanted to protest or even give me a word of approval, but her breath was already vanishing into her lungs, held prisoner by the surge of erotic sensation between her legs. I know her G spot well. When I am fucking her, I angle my hips so that the head of my cock strokes against it with every thrust. My middle finger was now searching out the tiny raised area inside of her... at first coming only close; her moans were warm but I could tell I didn't quite have it yet. A second later I drove my finger a bit deeper and curled it forward more. I instantly felt all ten of her fingers sink into my flesh at once as her mouth fell open and her eyes closed. By the time you could count to fifteen, she was bucking her hips and orgasming against me, twisting and grinding her pussy onto my hand. The only distraction from the quick surging of wetness inside of her was the heavenly sweet expression on her face as she fell, helpless, into orgasm and clamped like iron on my single finger which, inside of her, was stroking and rubbing in smooth, even strokes. It was beautiful. It was angelic. And when it was done, I was ready.

She was on her back, naked, as we kissed and I began to sink the full length of my cock into her body as our eyes remained locked together as our mouths joined and our breathing fell into a united rhythm...

Regularly Scheduled Programming

2005-03-28T18:26:00.000-08:00

I've explained what brought us back together. I'm now going to go back to talking about having sex with my love and giving you all the gorgeous details.

In the mean time, this is for the guy who thinks she has saggy breasts.

Like the collar?

Fell In Love With A Girl

2005-03-25T21:47:00.000-08:00

Said it once before, but it bears repeating now...

I detailed a lot about the unraveling of our relationship in early January and all the things which led up to its dissolving here and in the posts that followed. I did try to paint a complete picture, as I have no desire or need to illustrate her as a bad person or presume to punish her in front of everyone. I just tried to be honest. What I did not explain, of course, was the full scope of what was going on with her. It was not my intention to leave this out in order to draw a more dismal picture of her, but actually the opposite; I didn't want to give anyone who would be insensitive or judgmental more reason to write her off. It's no secret that, through this entire process, I have been full of love for her and whether that made me sad or happy at the time it never abated.

We all know she's done some truly horrible things and has hurt me beyond any amount of hurt I ever expected to feel from her. We all know that. And yet here I am, back with her again. How can it be? Well... now is the part where I explain.

There's no real excusing or glossing over her gigantic mistakes except for one thing: I've done much worse, and yeah, I expected and deserved to be forgiven for it. Why? Because I changed and became a different person. I presumed that she was not only capable of similar changes, but that she wanted to make them.

A little quote from that above-linked selection:
I did what she did, only I did it worse. And when I was finally busted, just as she was, it was the catalyst for me becoming a different person once and for all. I don't think what I did was a good thing, but the pain of it brought me low and made me stop fucking around with what's left of my life.

She's started several very deliberate and decisive steps to changing herself from the ground up. No more playing "can't access me anymore" with me; I talk to her three times a day and visit her whenever possible (she's now planning to visit me in about a week). She's begun alternative medicine treatments that are actually having an effect on her illnesses (whereas conventional medicine has had nothing). She's not only broken off contact with the guy she was with, but has also threatened him with a restraining order if he tries to worm her way into her life again (he over-fed her a lot of pharmaceuticals for her pain to keep her judgment off kilter). She's introduced me to her parents. The list goes on.

I changed. And now she's changing.

There's no way to neatly wrap it all up here. You can't be witness to the decision-making process that went on in my quiet, private moments. You can't feel what I feel. You can't see what I see. All I can do is assure you: This is a good thing. And we are happy.

Yes. We are.

2005-03-11T22:48:00.000-08:00

Back together.

She and I have gotten back together after enormous struggles, great sacrifices, many prayers, much discussion and, finally, a reunion that happened last week. In person. I'll see her again this Thursday.

We are back together.

And it is exactly and precisely the right thing.

And I am very, very happy.

Happy.

2005-03-07T11:12:00.000-08:00

I am.

Soon I will write to tell you all about it.

The Last Time...

2005-02-25T15:52:00.000-08:00

The last time I masturbated went like this:

I thought about you and I together in your bedroom. I thought about the panties I bought for you. I thought about you letting me put them on you and looking at you in the mirror. You were wearing your stockings and your sheer black bra. I would slide them over your naked hips and then we'd look at you, together, in the mirror and comment... turning you to look at the back and then again at the front... my hands roaming over you to feel them hugging your skin, my chest pressed against your back and my face in your neck as I glance up to the mirror to see you all at once. Then they would come off, slowly, by my hands and you would step out of them and my hands would return to your skin... touching and stroking your ass and thighs and between them... probing and opening you... while I kissed and licked and bit the back of your neck while we both continued to look into the mirror. Then, I would slide on another pair and look at you again and turn you to see both sides... and we would steal kisses before I slipped them off of you and repeated the process again.

And wow... did I ever come... thinking of you... saying your name... for a short fraction of a moment feeling you under my fingers.

Over and over...

2005-02-20T18:15:00.000-08:00

Mornings come, they sprawl into the expanse of my day, then they settle into night again.

The telephone rings. The bills get paid. Someone comes to visit for coffee and a chat. I go to visit someone else. A movie gets watched. Mail is read. Computers are turned on and off.

I start my car. I drive. I return. I have moments when I laugh. I have moments when I don't. I sometimes wonder if I know what's going on and other times it's all too clear. I explain things. I have things explained to me.

There are moments when I feel very good about myself. Other times not as much. I have an ocean of questions that haven't been answered and probably never will. At times I am acutely aware of what I've given away of myself, but most days I am still certain that I did what was right and I believe in some ways it made things better, not worse.

Tomorrow I will get up and do the usual routine of showering, brushing teeth, taking vitamins, saying my prayers, the usual. I'll go out and give some money away. I'll get some mail. I may have a coffee. I may not. I will resolve to do 100 things in this one day and I will probably accomplish only enough to count on the fingers of one hand. But that will be enough.

I'll think about her when I wake up first thing in the morning and I will think about her last thing when I go to bed at night. She will come to mind several times a day for me and each time my heart will clench and hold her thought until it's blown away by the intrusions of everything I've mentioned above. When it returns, I'll do it again.

Some things just don't fade.

The Top Ten List

2005-02-14T21:11:00.000-08:00

This is an excerpt from an email I got today. As you will when reading it, it has really fed my Cocky Bastard persona... perhaps a bit too much.
1) He's gorgeous. His eyes are smoldering, his lips are delicious, his smile is sexy and charming and dangerous and disarming.
2) He's brilliant. He is not only intellectually above anyone else I know, but his emotional intelligence is beyond my comprehension.
3) He has the best sense of humor. Nobody has a sense of humor as awesome as Orbital.
4) He makes the best comics I have ever seen in my life. I laugh so hard I choke. I even laugh at them when I'm just thinking about them, like when I'm in a doctor's office and waiting, waiting, waiting, bored, bored, bored -- and I think about one of his characters and start snickering. (note: Ok, so now you know I draw cartoons)
5) Best. Kisses. Ever.
6) He has great shoulders. They're broad and strong and sturdy, perfect for snuggling.
7) I could live on his lap.
8) He's awakened my spirituality. He brings light into my soul, light that I thought I would never see again. He fills me with joy and guides me back to the right paths.
9) His soul is beautiful.
10) He has taught me what love is. He has changed my life and I will never be the same -- for all the right reasons. He has made me a better person.

Yes. It was from Her.

We're still not together. Definitely not... but stuff like this doesn't make it easy to resist thinking about it.

She sure makes me sound good, doesn't she?

More Good News...

2005-02-13T17:19:00.000-08:00

Nice things seem to be happening. This blog may cheer up soon...

Changes

2005-02-12T16:56:00.000-08:00

Changes. Big ones. Everything I thought was going to be forever is no longer. Everything I thought would never happen is coming to pass. Very strange but, in an almost frightening way, so good.

Here's hoping I have something to tell you soon. You'll hear the news as soon as it comes...

If it comes...

One of those nights

2005-02-07T21:28:00.000-08:00

I'm having one of those nights where I'm getting the feeling that I will never love or be loved again. We all get them, right?

Someone say something to cheer me up. Whaddayasay?

That Question

2005-02-06T23:19:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been asked a lot if there's a chance I could ever get back together with her.

It could happen, I suppose.

She's a hundred thousand kinds of perfect sunshine trapped under a hundred thousand rotting blankets of illness and fear.

If the sunlight could ever break out then we might have something to discuss... if she could show me that she's going somewhere, making a change, exerting an effort, then I'd definitely want to hear what she has to say...

...but don't get me wrong. I don't expect that and I'm not waiting for it and I no longer seek it. It's not that she's trapped under those blankets; she chooses to hide under there. I'm not writing this to tell you I have renewed hope.

I'm just answering the question.

For what it's worth...

2005-02-05T17:29:00.000-08:00

I'm not saying this is going to change anything. I'm just telling a story.

Today I spoke with Her on the phone for an hour. She sobbed and cried so hard she gave herself a bloody nose. The full weight of what she'd done was finally unveiled to her. She understood, at last, what she had done to me.

I was not gentle like I usually am. Loving, sure, but clear about how she had abused me so severely and about how I always knew she was lying. I still love her. You all know that. I just finally played my full hand and let her know the entire scope of what I had been through, what she had done and, most of all, what I knew. Then I explained to her why I made the decisions I did; why forgiveness, why mercy, why love. I explained that I don't believe she is a bad person, just someone who is ill and needs to dedicated herself to moving onward. I explained to her that the man she's been with (other than me) isn't good for her, and why that is. I did not pull punches; the hour is too late for that. And, to be honest, this is one of those few, very rare and subtle times when - in perfect calmness - I know I'm right about something.

And I explained to her that I would always be her friend.

She wrote me this note about an hour later. Naturally, it changes little or nothing (for obvious reasons), but I will implore you all to understand: She does not write like this. This is something new. And that's both interesting and beautiful.

It's a day of revelation and purging and pain.

Sweet wonderful Orbital, I was raised on lies. I was raised on lies and I was taught to lie and I never, and I mean never, knew the freedom of truth until you, this day, today... I never knew that truth was good. My mother lied to me my whole life, and she trained me to lie, actively and purposefully trained me to lie -- and you are the first person to see through my deceit. I can't convey how much you have taught me, how much you have stretched and awakened my spirit with what you have done for me. But I want to thank you. You have taught me so much about life and relationships and about myself. You have so much knowledge and understanding of what makes me tick, what makes me go in the wrong direction, that it overwhelms me and blinds me... but blinding in a good way, like when you step from a black cave into brilliant sunlight. You see what I can't see within myself. How can I thank a person adequately for that? How can I thank a man for loving me despite my emotional illness and murkiness? I don't know how to thank you enough.

I do love you. Oh, Sweet God, Orbital, I love you.

You have made me see why I immerse myself in relationships that are wrong, and why I turn away from those who would make me grow. No more. No more of this. I don't need more fathers. I need a partner. How did I not see this before?!

I have so much work. So much work that my sessions with [therapist] seem to last only five minutes because there is so much ground to cover. I have so far to go. How did I get you? How is now the time that you walked out of my dreams are stood before me, tangible and touchable? Is this the way it is supposed to unfold, this destiny? Am I blathering, and I making any sense? You are the man I sought in all those dreams. So confident, so sure, always teaching me, always knowing where to be and when.

I don't know if I'm even making sense anymore.

I just know that I love you and that, for the first time in my entire life, I can tell someone all my truths. I trust you with my life. My life. And I mean that in the deepest and most real sense.

I love you.

What's next?

There is no "what's next". Not at the moment, anyhow.

It was just a beam of sunshine on a day when I needed it.

Kibadache

2005-02-05T16:08:00.000-08:00

I remember this one day in karate, years ago. I was in a tournament. I learned in a style called Tsuroaka. It's a very low stance. Picture your feet aligned right where your shoulders are, and you bend those knees way down. it's basic stance, called Kibadache.

Well, there was this one guy I went against, and his trick - his favorite trick - was to sweep the leg as soon as the whistle blew. Like immediately. Bam. And I had been watching this all day. And he was going to do it to me. I knew it. And I knew that i couldn't move fast enough to dodge. So, I followed my sensei's philosophy about the kibadache. He feels that it's the source of great power. So I dug in like my motherfucking life depended on it and hoped the power of the kibadache would help me somehow.

The whistle blew, and that fucker came in for my leg just like I knew he would. And he hit me right in the fucking shin. And sprained his foot. And couldn't fight any more on that day. It hurt me a lot, but i was standing and he wasn't. And I won. It was over in less than the count of two. The wrecking ball came in and bounced off of me.

Does that seem topical? I think there's an analogy in there.

About my marriage

2005-02-05T07:53:00.000-08:00

I did mention that I was married for a while.

She had DD-cup breasts.

Problem is, I'm a leg/ass man.

I should have seen from the beginning that it wasn't going to work out.

Don't worry about a thing.

2005-02-04T22:37:00.000-08:00

Every little thing's gonna be alright.

Fingers

2005-02-04T17:15:00.000-08:00

A quote from a conversation I had not long ago.

Do you really want me telling everyone about what my fingers do?

Do you want me posting in my webpage about the way I love to caress and stroke and manipulate your body with them? I don't think you would. You especially wouldn't want me to tell everyone about how you react when my fingers finally reach downwards and touch the warmest, sweet, damp place... how I part you softly and stroke back and forth until the moist slickness of you covers your entire slit and soaks the skin of my hand.

Do you want me to write about how you cannot stop yourself from rocking your hips and pouring your tongue into my mouth? Do you want it to be general knowledge that you flood my fingers and press against me until you can't help but speak aloud that you want me inside you?

I don't believe you want me to let everyone know that sometimes you can't wait, and you come right there on my fingers as you sit in my lap, naked.

Finally, when I read about how you couldn't bite my fingers because they were always so good to you... should I reply in kind that I could never bite your soft, coral lips or your perfect, silky tongue? After all... they have been deliciously good to me.

Public Service Announcement

2005-02-01T07:18:00.000-08:00

All women are insane.

A New Month, And I Have Prospects

2005-02-01T07:01:00.000-08:00

January is over and I'm glad. The events that were covered here at OE certainly comprised most of what knocked me off my already ailing game, but a few other things also transpired that didn't help. Funny... under normal circumstances, those "other" things would have been considered crises in and of themselves. At the moment they just seem like footnotes in comparison to the One Big Thing that took me out of commission.

It seems that as soon as I breathed my final sigh and said that I was done with you-know-who, some kind of silent alarm went off and women have been coming out of the woodwork. It's uncanny. And even shocking. You'd think after six months of being functionally single I'd be ready to pile-drive into some sex or some quick-and-easy lovin' from women who are throwing themselves at me. It amuses me. It flatters me. It makes me smirk and reminds me that, once upon a time in a past life, I was a cocky bastard who knew how to line 'em up and knock 'em down.

My whole perspective on what love is and what it's for has changed. I understand that you're all behind me in hoping I move on to find that new "someone special", and I really appreciate it. I have to say this, though: Putting aside all the horrible things she's done to me and all the things she still continues to do, she taught me something about how good it can be. Don't forget that not all my entries at OE are about the way she broke my heart; I started this blog because I wanted to celebrate and announce that, for the first time, I had found a love that felt like I always thought it was supposed to. I will never again settle for less than that.

So even though she and I are finished, I know that my standards are quite high and if someone wants to make the effort to replace her in my life they had better be pretty God-damned good at what they do.

The Last Straw

2005-01-28T19:59:00.000-08:00

For days we've been hovering around each other. Talking through email and text messages rather infrequently, and sort of seeing... is there anything there anymore?

I have to admit that I waver. I go back and forth. On some days I can see clear as day that it's done and that it has to be done. On others I can't. Most of the time I know better and I'm strong, but sometimes... I can't help but think of her and what we were together and a bit part of me can't accept that something so lovely could be done. So yeah, even though I've often said that I'm done with her, I do feel great mercy and pity and compassion for her lovely self.

So tonight I call her up quickly.
Me: "Hi there"
Her: "...Hi. I was just going out the door."
Me: "I just wanted to hear your voice"
Her: "Oh. Thank you. Ok then"
Me: "(pause) ...where are you off to?"
Her: "I'm going out for Chinese food"
Me: "Oh? Who's taking you?
Her: "A***" (name of the guy she was cheating on me with since August. The name of the guy she told me she was broken up with earlier this month)

(pause)

Me: "A***?"
Her: "Yeah"
Me: "So... uh... is this a date?"
Her: (pause) "I don't know"
Me: "You don't know?"
Her: "I don't know"
Me: "So you're dating A***"
Her: "I am going out the door"
Me: "On a date. With A***"
Her: "Bye"
Me: "Bye"

So remember when I said "On some days I can see clear as day that it's done and that it has to be done. On others I can't."? I think as of tonight I'm over that.

I have a lot of patience and generosity, but it's finite. There comes a time when justice has to overtake mercy.

Welcome to that time.

There will be more Orbital Erotic to come. Just as a solo from here on in.

After all. I'm Orbital. The eros contained herein is mine.

I'm a statistic.

2005-01-27T07:18:00.000-08:00

I just read this on the Spanking Blog about how to do a BDSM blog.
Too many BDSM-themed blogs degenerate into angst-ridden personal diaries of emotional pain when the people involved are having relationship problems.

Aw, geez.

Sad Weather

2005-01-25T01:23:00.000-08:00

I watch your eyes go off into a corner of the room
Two years are suddenly just yesterday
You ask me if I mind you bringing up her name again so soon
I will shake my head and let you speak
No, I will let you say what you need to say.

Never before have I seen so close to me the workings of this wheel
Turning and tearing up the ground.
The soil where grows the heart of someone I've known so well.
The furrowing has left you weak, crying
"Why did all this rain come down?"

But you won't wake up tomorrow with the spring
Busting down your door.
It's cold again today and we may be in for more
Sad weather.

Looking at the trees flying naked at the sky
And somehow through the winter there forms another ring.
Violent as it seems, confused and aching, rising,
Tumbling on this ferris wheel
Sometimes we're forced motionless and still
To remind us of the changeless things.

But you won't wake up tomorrow with the spring
Busting down your door.
It's cold again today and we may be in for more
Sad weather.
Sad weather.

Hearing your voice I see you clearly in my mind
And you're dancing and saying you're no longer scared.
The sorrow and joy like rose and thorn
Are married close on the same vine
And you wrap yourself in all its leaves
Till I can no longer see you there.

I'm longing to wake up to the spring busting down my door.
We're all feeling so cold in this lack of something more.
In this sad weather.

Sad weather.

Don't worry. I'll get tired of posting song lyrics eventually.

Bottom Lines And Things I'm Sure Of

2005-01-24T17:39:00.000-08:00

This blog has been great for me in a lot of ways. Therapeutic for sure. I swing all the way in one direction and then all the way in the other. I sort of laugh at myself and can only imagine that some of you must shake your head whenever a new post arrives. For almost a month I've talked about nothing except my pain and my broken heart. It's a truly complex situation, that's for sure, and what makes it worse is that I'm in a very addled position. Trying to understand my Love is like trying to balance a marble on a 2X4... but trying to understand her while I'm in this state of emotional storminess is like trying to balance a marble on a 2X4 while riding a skateboard.

Sometimes all we can do is triangulate what we know and average out the things we're sure of and the things we're not. It's a long list of things that I don't understand and can't reconcile; she's placed a truly messy array of questions in front of me... and few answers (and the answers I have only raise more questions). I have, however, managed to ascertain a few things that I'm sure of now.

I believe that she does love me. I believe that she loves me from behind many veils of gauze that obscure her sight and often make her blind to me completely. Some of this is because of choices she makes. Some of this is for reasons she can't help.

I know that I love her and I know, no matter what she has done, that my feelings are real and always have been. I trust that.

I think that she is a beautiful human being and has the heart of an angel. I think that she is layered shrouded many times over in thick, rotting blankets of pain, mental illness, confusion and fear. So thick is that covering, in fact, that there are times when the light underneath can barely make its way out.

I think right now she's incapable of really being part of a functional relationship. This has more to do with the things she's afraid of and the ways in which she deceives herself than than her mental illnesses.

I believe she could be capable of being part of a relationship that is healthy if she changed a few of her habits, removed herself from certain psychological environments and looked her fear in the face and conquered it (or at least confronted it).

I know the stage is set for us to have a great future together; brighter, more fulfilling, more healthy and more rewarding than she or I can picture from where we are right now.

I also believe that we can destroy each other. Actually, to be more specific, I believe she could destroy herself and me as well.

I believe the locus of control for the last two points rests with her and I have zero influence on her decision-making process.

I believe that I am not done dealing with my feelings about being betrayed so venomously, but I know that I don't have to take some sort of "revenge" on her in order to go through that process. I do, however, need to talk through it more with her if it's going to be resolved with me trusting and respecting her in the end.

I believe she is scared of this process and is going to avoid it at any cost.

What I think will happen is that she will hide from me and pull back from me until I'm forced to give up. If I was a betting man, I think that's where I'd put my money. I think she's capable of something else, but it scares her to do anything other than hide... so much so, in fact, that she can barely stop herself from acting out of terror.

I know that I can forgive and love and be compassionate and kind and gentle for a very, very long time... but this can definitely end, and she can definitely make that happen; if not through purposely severing the ties then by waiting for it to slowly die through neglect. The latter is more likely.

I know that I still want her and that I still believe in her very much.

I know that I have nothing but love for her, and it gives me the power to see through all the poison and pain and see the shining glow that is her real self... even when she can't.

And these are the things I am sure of.

Hurts To Love You

2005-01-24T09:53:00.000-08:00

Little bits of lyrics grab me. It's little things like poetry and music that remind you of your heart, and when your heart is wounded and hurting... well, that can sometimes be worse than not feeling it at all.

Or maybe not.

Regardless... when it comes to describing the universe of confusion and pain that is my life, this song seems like the best one so far. I burned a CD of this and some other songs for her last year and, laughingly, told her this song was for her... not about her.

Amusing how it worked out to be the other way around.

every love song
on every TV
and Hollywood told me
it should be beautiful and sweet
like watching soul train
with Marvin Gaye on

but baby it hurts to love you
baby it hurts to need you too

you're so lovely
you come in armies
packing punches
and swinging wildly at me
Lord there must be
something worse in your whole universe

but baby it hurts to love you
baby it hurts to need you too

then you're there in my door
in the middle of the night
you're so beautiful when you're high
you're face red with blood and wine
you tell me you're dying inside

baby it hurts to love you
baby it hurts to need you too

in my mind's eye
we're kissing madly
watching "All In The Family"
taking it easy
getting drunk on torch songs
and fast food
and me and you

baby it hurts
baby it hurts to love you
baby it hurts to love you

There were nights that we would lie naked in her room, watching movies, eating tasty things, laughing, playing. Some of the best memories of my life.

It hurts to love her. There's little from her now except strands of love that echo what we used to have. I'm waiting for the pain of the memories to dull down. When, by the way, does that happen?

Desperate and Ravenous

2005-01-23T11:43:00.000-08:00

Little angel go away
Come again some other day
The devil has my ear today
I'll never hear a word you say
He promised I would find a little solace
And some piece of mind
Whatever just as long as I don't feel so

Desperate and Ravenous
I'm so weak and powerless over you

This Month

2005-01-22T01:24:00.000-08:00

I've had to divest myself of that girl one sinewy bond at a time. Unhooking has meant going back through all our memories and reframing the context of them; remembering the promises and changing my perspective so I can understand that they were, in fact, lies... remembering the intimate things which I thought were mine and changing my vantage point so I can realize that the only one who was truly giving in those private moments was me... remembering her face when she would swear the truth to me and re-orienting my memory to somehow incorporate the fact that her beautiful eyes and tender lips were actually issuing forth betrayal, and I was a victimized by an ability to to swindle that can only be described as pure, unadulterated genius. Folks, you can easily glean from what you know of me to understand that I am not a stupid or naive man. I was just bested by someone whose mind for deceit was more cunning than my ability to fully perceive (though I certainly always knew something was wrong).

I have to re-align my thinking to digest the fact that she was never mine and that she probably was never in love with me.

A friend pointed out something one of her previous exes had said about how she is like "crack cocaine"; addictive and so hard to quit. This is most certainly the truth. If you had ever looked into that sweet face, heard her angellic voice and been exposed to the seeming sincerity of her confessions of love, had filled her with seed while locking your mouth on hers... you would understand how delicious she is. You would understand how every man in the world wants what she was giving to me (or seemed to be giving to me). No woman ever made me feel so loved or wanted. Something in me... is it ego or pride or greed or addiction? Something in me wants to believe it was real. Something in me wants to believe that there are things that she couldn't fake. I am fighting, always fighting inside myself... trying to find that one anchor from which I can secure an understanding that yes, she did love me; despite all she did, she loved me for real. I don't exactly want to say that I need to believe it... but I will definitely admit that I just don't want to face all those beautiful memories knowing that it was all play-acting on her part and true love on mine. It's too horrible to imagine and I don't want to face that. If she only made a few efforts right now to comfort or console me, I could believe that it wasn't all diseased and vile. I could even see my way to loving her like I once did. She mostly stays silent, however, and so I am staring into a black hole realizing that my worst fears are likely true and my most cherished hopes are ashes. Worst of all... she thinks that if we just don't talk to each other any more and if she's out of my life that, somehow, I will magically heal and "get over her"... not realizing the role she plays in me picking up the shattered pieces of my brain and trying to heal something. It's as if she thinks that my heart will somehow fix itself if she covers her eyes and plugs her ears and doesn't have to look at it.

This has been the worst month of my life.

I know she doesn't read this anymore

2005-01-20T17:29:00.000-08:00

She used to read this blog regularly. She doesn't anymore. I could write anything I wanted to here and she'd never know. She forgets easily. By now she's likely forgotten any of this exists.

So... why not just let her go?

All my life I had this idea of what love is supposed to feel like. I could spend the whole night describing it; the languid mingling of personalities and spirits, the easy and familiar magic spell of affection and attraction, the gentle and restorative fuel of it filling you and making you into a better person. I've never had this before. There's no arguing that I was involved with many women in the past, and that I was always seeking this state of bliss and grace. Well into my marriage (which is quite over now), I sublimated the desire for this kind of love into a file folder on a shelf and convinced myself that kind of love wasn't a real love; it was a fantasy and that I should focus instead on the real love that the world offers... a love of sweat and labor and sacrifice and compromise that is robbed of romance for the sake of some kind of practicality which is supposed to somehow be "better" in some way.

When I met my Love and we started to connect, there was ease. There was comfort. The more I did what came naturally to me, the smoother things would go. The more she was herself, the more I would fall in love with her. Romance just happened, and was infinitely fueled by the chemistry between us. She loved me and loved me for what I was, not what I could be or not what she told herself I was. I know this. I loved her the same way; shortcomings and weaknesses and all. I wish I could really flesh out for you what she is at her core... a beautiful, sweet, refreshing, graceful woman with infinite capacity for kindness and love. At times it's blocked by her mental illnesses like a car windshield covered in mud... but there are some things you can't fake or impersonate. I know that she is angellic at the core.

I'm scared to part with her because I don't know if I'll ever find this again. People tell me that I should because there's other fish in the sea. I don't know, though... I met her shortly after I turned 35. In those 35 years I only met one woman who embodied the feelings of love that I described above. If I lose her, would I ever find that again? I don't assume it's a given. And I don't want to live without that feeling.

See what my problem is?

Catch

2005-01-19T20:29:00.000-08:00

Yeah I know who you remind me of
A girl I think I used to know
Yeah I'd see her when the days got colder
On those days when it felt like snow

You know I even think that she stared like you
She used to just stand there and stare
And roll her eyes right up to heaven
And make like I just wasn't there

And she used to fall down a lot
That girl was always falling
Again and again
And I used to sometimes try to catch her
But never even caught her name

And sometimes we would spend the night
Just rolling about on the floor
And I remember even though it felt soft at the time
I always used to wake up sore...

You know I even think that she smiled like you
She used to just stand there and smile
And her eyes would go all sort of far away
And stay like that for quite a while

And I remember she used to fall down a lot
That girl was always falling
Again and again
And I used to sometimes try to catch her
But never even caught her name

Yeah I sometimes even tried to catch her
But never even caught her name

Here's To The Ridiculous Ninnies Who Can Only Talk About Their Stupid Relationships

2005-01-19T13:33:00.000-08:00

I've always hated people who go on and on about relationship issues. All through my life people have brought the questions of "Should I stay with him/her? Should I dump him/her? Do I love him/her? Do I not?" etc. etc.

It's always made me want to saw my own head off with a grapefruit spoon. I've had so little patience for people like that. From the outside looking in it's always so simple, and my frustration grows every time I have to explain again something I perceive as being obvious. Then, as the sobbing sap who has trusted me as a confidante leaves my home, I close the door behind them thinking "Thank God that's not me".

At present that's what I feel like I'm subjecting all of you to. I have a whole different perspective on what it is to be on the other side of the glass now, and I just want to thank you and apologize for turning Orbital Erotic into a soapbox for something it was never meant to be about. I'm saddened that it's gone this way; I was enjoying the old OE as much as you were.

It's no secret that I've gone back and forth repeatedly on what's happened between me and my Love. You've seen my words on the days when I have no hope. You've seen my words on the days when hope is effusive.

This is the most complicated, difficult thing that's ever happened to me... and this is in light of my marriage falling apart, several childhood traumas and other difficult strains that have fallen on my shoulders in my days. This is the most complcated difficult thing.

It's complicated for obvious reasons, I think. On the one hand the ingredients for peace and happiness and perfection are all present. If one can espouse the spiritually potent power of love and forgiveness, then doors open and wounds heal. Forgiveness can bring the best out of people, and often does. Love makes you like a lit candle; warm, flexible, giving off light and heat. Without it, you are cold, inflexible and unillumined. I believe in this. It's a philosophy that has saved me from utter doom in the days of my life and it's the philosophy I've used to protect the most important things in my life. It works. I believe in it absolutely and completely because I've seen it work.

And the complicated part; a person who lies can't be treated too kindly, or all they will learn is that there is no consequence for what they do. All they think is that you are tricked by their deceptions when, in fact, you understand them all too well. I showed an extra measure of kindness to my Love when all of this erupted for two reasons. First, I knew that in some measure mental illness played a part in the choices she made and I understand firmly that she could only control some of the things she did. Second, I could not help but see echoes of what I, myself, have done to others... and I felt like it was evil of me to judge her too harshly when I was once guilty of almost the exact same sins. When the time is desperate and the situation is treacherous, hubris is your worst enemy.

I have summoned all my powers of understanding, love and forgiveness to open the doors, support her and comfort her. I believe this was the right thing to do. I can't be sure, of course, but I know that I'm the only one who could possibly have a hope of knowing what my path was. I made the decision and I still stick to it.

So, in short, I know what I chose to do was the most "right" thing I was capable of. We don't always know that for sure, but this time I did.

When we spoke about what she was planning to do for the next few months about her life - a period where we were going to keep our distance from each other a bit - and how she intends to heal the things that brought her to this point. She's flippant, vague and dismissive. She talks a bit about some of the physical healing she wants to undertake (she has several injuries that require ongoing care), but only passingly acknowledges that she might do something about her mental health. It dawned on me that she isn't going to put much effort into "us". She's just starting anew because she got off scott free and is now pushing forward into the next phase of her life with impunity... as if the past is a clean slate and none of this never happened. As if her debt is repaid.

It's all starting again; avoiding me, telling me half truths, finding reasons for why she "can't listen just now", being vague when I ask her questions, dodging certain important questions all together, coming across as irritated and pestered when I contact her.

I'm watching her wander off. I'm letting her go. There's the possibility that she could come back. I hope that it works out in such a way that she does. That having been said, I'm praying that I'm wrong... just as I have prayed so often that I'm wrong about her. My love, however, is not so cheap that it is bestowed where it is not wanted.

If, during her journey, she decides that I'm the one she wants and she's ready to do the work, then she knows where I am. And I will be here in case that happens. But not forever. Maybe not for long.

It's a shame because, to be honest, this was the purest love I've ever felt for or from another person. I do hold out a hope that a miracle will happen. But it's a dim one now. It's all up to her.

The Complicated Machinery Of Love And Sadness

2005-01-18T10:58:00.000-08:00

I love her. I haven't let her go. I'd love to explain it all here; she's a very sick girl. I'm a very-much-in-love man. This story isn't quite over, but I can't explain everything here. This may not end happily, and I know that... but I'm not really done yet. Neither is she.

I do take back what I said, however; I'm going to keep posting here when I have the inclination. If you stick around to read it, you might just find a happy ending after a while.

Decision

2005-01-13T20:30:00.000-08:00

Tonight we spoke briefly and she told me that she feels nothing for me right now. She has before. She might later. But not now.

I know when to quit. And this is when to quit.

We're done.

Tomorrow

2005-01-13T15:47:00.000-08:00

I'm going to see her tomorrow. Roughly 25 hours from now.

Strange. It's been so long. Almost half a year. I've envisioned what it would be like to lay eyes on her again in my mind during the dark months of being by myself. Now, because of what's come to pass, my perfect imaginings of her and rejoining her have been shattered. This reunion will be difficult. Uncomfortable. Painful. Even at its best, even if we fall into each others' arms and stay there, this is no longer my dream.

Can I imagine a new dream? Yes, of course. But I'm mourning the old one. Moments like this bring to mind just how much it is that I've lost.

The Deciding Voice

2005-01-12T20:38:00.000-08:00

You would think that my decision right now is about whether or not I'll keep her. She wants me to keep her. You would think that's the decision right now. Interestingly enough, it isn't. Before a workman builds a house he has to decide which tools to use, and why. Most importantly, he has to know that his tools are reliable. This situation is a bit like that.

Before I do anything, I need to be sure that I'm deciding from a good place for good reasons. As you can imagine, deciding from a perspective of fear -- fear that I'll be hurt, fear that I can't trust her, fear that nothing will change, fear that I'll be a sucker -- is a faulty way to make a decision about anything. You can't make life decisions based on what the worst outcome might be. I don't have the time or impulse to preach this point here. I can only say that through my life no decision based on fear has ever empowered me or cleared my eyes to see the truth.

I do have a lot to be afraid of. If I keep this woman she could hurt me very badly again. If she doesn't work extremely hard on her problems and illnesses, if she doesn't adopt a steel resolve, if she doesn't make deep sacrifices... she will repeat what she's done in the past. It will all happen again. And I will be much less likely to recover from a repeat of this.

There's another thing I have trouble finding the word for; I'd like to say "hope", but it's not hope. It has something to do with the inability to let go of what you want and letting yourself be consumed by imagining it could happen. It's an attachment to your dreams to the extent that you fall into self-deception and, for lack of a better way of saying it, rose-colored glasses. This is a surer way to arrive at a painful conclusion than being afraid is, because if you blind yourself to reality in order to chase what exists only in your imagination you will only have to deal with the same problems later.

I am reticent to accept the fact that, no matter how I look at this situation, I cannot say for sure that it will end badly if I keep her. I cannot say for certain that we wouldn't build a life that is worth the work, the patience, the sacrifice. I do know that she is a very unusual person and I also know that if she is given a bit of a foothold that she will accomplish great things. If I turn my back on that then I will always have to wonder whether or not I walked away from something that I should have kept. I will always wonder if I should have dug deeper, found more strength inside myself or given her a second chance. All this time I've told her that true love forgives and is patient. Is now the time for me to give up, when I know that she is trying to change just as I once did?

I've decided that the only way I can make this decision is to remember what love is and what love does. I was raised to believe that love matters. I was raised to believe that it's the only thing you can look to as a dependable source is the spiritual force of love. Culture doesn't matter. Pain doesn't matter. Come-uppance doesn't matter. Promises don't matter. Wishing doesn't matter.

Justice with love works. Commitment with love works. Even breaking a tie with love works, because you're doing it with care for what's best for everyone; not for what you're afraid of or what you wish would happen. It's the only thing I can say I believe in and be certain that I mean it.

I love her. I love myself. I want us both to have what we need and what will make us happy and will heal whatever wounds need healing. Any decision based on that will work. I trust that.

And please... don't tell me that you already know what my decision is going to be. You don't.

More to come.

The Turning of A Wheel

2005-01-11T08:13:00.000-08:00

You've been following this love affair from the outset and have heard everything I have to say about my feelings for her, what i've done for her, what I've sacrificed. Along with me, you registered the shock and pain of finding out what was going on behind the scenes... what I didn't know.

I'm going to invite you along further as the tale deepens and becomes more complex.

I was married unhappily for thirteen years, and during that time I cheated on my wife. For a period of many months lies were told, evidence falsified, evil, terrible betrayals instigated and trust broken. All by me.

Me.

When the opportunity arose for me, I did not hesitate, I did not slow down, I did not pause. I just dove headlong into it. Sure, my heart was scrambling with fear and self-hatred, but the part that scares me most is how I just went right ahead and did it as if it's exactly what I wanted, exactly what I believed in... as if I thought it was right, when the exact opposite was true. I felt like a soulless sociopath, but my outer self showed the sign of calm, of determination, of confidence.

I pretended with each of them. I was able to tell each in a convincing, calm way... with complete certainty in my words that they were the one I wanted and would stay with forever - just what every woman wants to hear. Inside myself I knew I was saying it only for their benefit, not because I totally felt it. Did I feel obligated? Did I need to be sure to make them stay deeply in love with me so they would never leave? I have no idea. I liked watching their eyes light up when I said it, but inside somewhere I knew that I couldn't really mean it... not the way I made it sound, anyhow.

After a while I found that while I was with one of them, the other didn't exist. I wouldn't forget, but reality would go to such a remote place in my head that it was as good as forgetting. In each circumstance I was remarkably present and able to fake and fake and fake until there was virtually nothing real left in anything I said. At times I really couldn't remember what the truth actually was. This scared me... but who could I talk to about it? No one, obviously.

And the stress. Trying to keep the two streams from bumping into each other. Having to hide email, having to make sure I had a good story for one of them to cover when I was with the other. Every time the phone would ring my heart would clamp down like a vice. Every time my back was turned I was worried that some little shred of evidence I'd forgotten would be discovered when I wasn't looking. Every morning I woke up terrified that today would be the day that my lies were revealed.

My health suffered badly for it. Skin, stomach, eyes, digestion, you name it. I no longer had time to do anything for myself except cover my tracks. I was always tired. I was always nervous. My wife started to tease me about how I would leap out of my chair every time the phone rang.

And then there were the close calls. The terrifying moments when I came too close to being busted for comfort. A surprise phone call or an email/IM arriving while the other was looking at the screen. These incidents made me into a wreck. Thinking on my feet for a good story, trying to keep my voice steady, wondering if they really believed me or if they were just letting me think they did so they could do something about it later when I didn't expect it. Always I was watching by back. I could never rest. And, of course, more lies.

What happened with my memory terrified me. I would forget entire chunks of my life because my conscious mind couldn't bear the emotional strain of it. I did things which went right against my beliefs and, later, my brain would "hide" it because the co-existence of the two realities in my mind at once was too much for me to bear. I couldn't bear it. My brain just systematically erased things to I could manage to get out of bed, put on clothes, and do a pantomime of normalcy.

And the regret. God, the regret. I would wake up next to one of them and, before opening my eyes, feel a painful wash of remorse. It was at those moments that I would get glimpses of the reality of what I was doing, and my heart froze like ice with terror and self-disgust. When I'm in a sad place, the mornings are always the worst for me. I don't know why. I would sometimes lie in bed and look at the ceiling and hope that God would kill me, just to end the suffering. I even asked for it.

I was not complete with either of them. Whatever thrill I got from the initial "honeymoon" phase faded fast. I kept asking myself "Why am I here? I don't even like this person". Getting time for me to actually be myself and relax was nearly impossible. If one of them wasn't demanding something, the other one was. Each frustrated. Each unsatisfied. And why would they be? They both sensed the remoteness and incompleteness of me over time and in both cases their senses would kick into overdrive, thus forcing me to work harder to cover my lies.

By the end I was only staying with either of them for their sake, not mine. I lost all hope. I lost all faith in myself. I lost all ability to believe my life could be good again. I just resigned myself to thinking that some people are just put on this earth to be in pain and give pain to others... of course, that I was that sort of person.

When my wife found out from reading my email she didn't get the whole story, but she knew enough. And when that happened, I had to make a decision. The mind can trap itself into a hamster-wheel of self-deception and lies to yourself, and when the doors are thrown open by another person forcing you to look at what it is you've done then you have to make a decision. I could not erase what I'd done. I could not pretend I hadn't done it. No matter how I felt, how sorry I was or how bad things were, I couldn't somehow make it gone. When my head cleared and I realized just what the real-world impact of my behavior was I understood that it was time to make a choice. the choice was: Who do I want to be?

Thanks to the "outing" I was subjected to, the rose-colored glasses had been lifted from my eyes and I realized what it was that I'd become. Untrustworthy. Unreliable. Rotted and empty. I was feeling it within myself and I was shedding it like a foul stench through my home. It was up to me to determine if that was what I wanted. Would I continue to take the easy route, the path of least resistance and the direction which best suits whatever animal instinct I am feeling when I feel it? it was all possible, but I could also decide to become something else, to recreate myself and to do what I know was right. It was all about conquering the self, and the time had come for me to decide if I was going to do it or not.

I knew that i had many years left in my life and I know that I could sabotage them by being the man who did what I described above. I had already destroyed so much of what meant something to me, and I could just as easily destroy everything that meant something to me for the rest of my life. The threat was real and present. I did not want that. I did not want to be a man who said one thing and did another. I did not want to be a man who would turn his back on what was right if he wanted something badly enough. I wanted to be someone my children could look up to and admire. I wasn't that. i wanted to be that.

3.5 years later we split up, and I believe that was for the best. As you can tell from what I wrote above, she and I were never really happy together. She made a lot of excuses and twisted the truth around to make it look like she was a hero for leaving me and, well... so be it. Her misrepresentation of the situation is of no real consequence to me at this point. I don't miss her or want her back.

Years followed of self-discipline. Professional aid from counselors, psychiatrists, therapists, medication, practice, sacrifice, self-denial, delaying of satisfaction, resisting my urges and turning to the spiritual world for help. It was not easy and I was not perfect as I did it. Be that as it may, I changed. I did. By the time I met my love, the woman you have met and gotten to know here, I had changed. I was able to be strong and focused and committed to her. I was able to understand what was needed from me and how my own decisions would shape what we were together. I knew that, as always, i was my greatest enemy when it came to my happiness, and I was not only going to believe that I deserved happiness, but I also made it a discipline not to sabotage it.

The final irony is that I was delivered to a place where I could underestand how it felt to have these things done to you. You all saw it unfold. You all saw what I went through.

I did what she did, only I did it worse. And when I was finally busted, just as she was, it was the catalyst for me becoming a different person once and for all. I don't think what I did was a good thing, but the pain of it brought me low and made me stop fucking around with what's left of my life.

And now you might assume that I am going to finish this post with an epiphany about how I have decided to stay with her because I know she loves me and because I know she'll get better and it'll all never happen again. I wish it were all that simple. I know what I want in my life and I know that I love her and I can even forgive her (and, in fact, I have). I know that she loves me and I know that she intends to become the person she wants to be.

But will I keep her?

I'm scarred pretty deeply. It's not just a matter of choking down what I feel at the moment so that I can get through seeing her and being with her. No, it's a matter of worrying about my future. In a year. in two. in ten. These kind of scars heal slowly and they don't get better by having the jagged knife that made them close by.

On the other hand, I told her I would stay with her through anything. And I cannot deny that I know people are able to change, and that despite what has gone on she can change. It's the foundation of human existence on both a psychological and spiritual level: People can leave the past behind and become something new if they want to.

Will we be back the way we were? Never. Will we stay together? It doesn't look good... but I don't know yet. You know I'd love to, but I can't throw my life away. On the other hand, I want to wash my hands of a difficult situation, but I might be throwing away something I should be keeping.

Her promises mean little or nothing to me now. She can't convince me that she's sincere, even if she is. On the other hand I just can't pretend I don't know what I know; that the worst breaking down of your little sand castles can be the impetus for rebirth and re-making of yourself. I will, for the rest of my life, boast that the day I was caught by my wife was the day my old life ended and my new one began. Do I have the moral courage to presume that my love is incapable of that? Do I break my promise to stay by her now?

I need a little more time.

Aftermath

2005-01-06T10:08:00.000-08:00

"Right now, I am just small and terrified. Very small, very scared."
"I am sorry I failed you. With every ounce of my being, I am sorry for being this way and doing what I did."
"I am sorry with all my heart for hurting you, and I will regret it forever. No, your love is not cheap. No, I do not deserve your love. Yes, I was very very wrong. Yes, I am so very sorry, and beyond ashamed."
"I am very unwell. I'm sorry for all of this, and I'm very sick, and I need help."
"I'm sorry with all my heart and I do know that I've done something seriously beyond wrong."

Be gentle in your comments, fair reader. She's paying the price for her mistakes and, though I had to make some hard decisions, I still love her very deeply. I don't like to see her in pain like this; she's harder on herself than anyone else could ever be.

I'm not really sure how I'm going to live without her yet.

Endgame

2005-01-04T16:00:00.000-08:00

"Since here's no help, come, let us kiss and part,
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes.
--Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
--From death to life thou might'st him yet recover."
- Michael Drayton

Apparently she wasn't quite as sick as I thought. Neither was she quite as in love with me as I thought. It's not the first time I've had someone break my heart, but never like this. It's not the first time I've lost something beautiful, but nothing so lovely as this. It's not the first time I've had to convince myself that I can move on, but never with such a weight keeping me in place. It's not the first time I've lost something that I prayed I'd never lose, but it's the first time I've been so destroyed by that loss. Over the years I have had to gird my strength and keep my eye clear when my world is falling apart, but this is the supreme summoning of those powers. I have had to face the sore tragedy when something inconceivably bad happens. In fact, it seems to be the defining aspect of my life's story. Still... this is more loss than I can digest. Today I am paralyzed.

I am not bitter, nor angry. We know how this cycle works; a nose-first crash into the dirt followed by blinding pain and then, over time, the recovery... at that point -- hopefully -- learning and new knowledge. I know that, without her, it's what lies ahead of me. Without her sweet voice. Without her warm eyes. Without her beautiful words that I once believed without hesitation. If that's what life has given to me then I can't question or refuse. It was only my hope that she felt the way I did and that she wanted what I wanted. Knowing now that she does not, I am better off this way.

Make no mistake, however; I did not want this. I would have stayed by her till the end. I wonder now if I will ever again find something worth that kind of devotion.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
W. H. Auden

She lied to me. And it's done.

The Perfect Ass

2004-12-30T19:00:00.000-08:00

Yes. That really is a photo of her ass. It's that perfect. This is for Doogooder, who asked for some talk about my love's incredible ass.

I have licked it. I have held her hips in my hands tightly while she bent forward on her knees. While her slender, porcelain fingers rubbed furious circles on her hard, slippery clit, I surprised her with my tongue licking right up the center. Even among the sexually adventurous there are a lot of people who can't do what I was doing... but it was soft and warm and clean and the skin tasted like her in the sweetest, loveliest way. As I soaked the tight entry to her ass with the tip of my tongue while flicking and drilling it, she came in huge, sobbing waves and her face fell into the pillow-- all her strength having drained out of her.

I have fucked it. I laid on her with the full length of my body as she was face-down in the sheets. This was the most furious fucking I'd ever given her; I knew it hurt her and I knew she was scared that I'd hurt her more, but even has I ulnoaded a throbbing, warm torrent of semen into her delicate, very snug ass, she begged me to take her and do as I pleased... gasping and heaving with every stroke. And take her is what I did. Afterwards we giggled and kissed in the shower together as we recalled the delicious intensity of the fucking that had finished only minutes earlier.

I have fingered it. As I licked her and ran my tongue along the fullness of her slit, I would soak my finger in her slickness and insinuate it into her one tiny bit at a time. It's not the feeling of the pistoning that she likes, but rather the sensation of small, circular motion; if you put a wet fingertip in her ass about a half-inch and make small, firm circles, she might even cum without having to touch her anywhere else.

I have spanked it with my hand. As she laid over my knee, naked while watching herself in the mirror, squirming and clenching her teeth, I brought my hand down on her bare ass with great strength and a loud noise. She jolted with every stroke and writhed; holding herself up with her fingertips on the floor while trying to press backwards against my erection, which was nestled high up between her thighs feeling the slick dew of her increasing by the second.

I have spanked it with a bamboo stick. It's a double-crop that cracks like a shotgun with every stroke. This is the one that bruises her worst. I would tell her to go to the bedroom and prepare for it. She knew what to do; she would pad wordlessly to the bed, lie face down on it with her ass jutting upwards, and lift her skirt up over the cool, soft flesh. As she stood on her tip-toes to keep her ass upturned (a demand I made of her; otherwise there would be more and fiercer whippings), I would bring the stick down on her and make her count. She would hurriedly run to the mirror once I was down like an excited little girl to admire her welts. "That's awesome", she would say.

I have spanked it with a riding crop. This is the implement that hurts worst but, ironically, leaves the fewest marks. I would fuck her hard and deeply while she was on her back, and as her orgasm built and she grabbed me and looked into my face with those pleading soft eyes, I would not give her permission to explode all over my cock. Instead, I would tell her to make a deal: I'd let her cum if she would take strokes from the crop. "How many?" I would ask. "Five?" she would reply... hesitatingly and hoping I would let her off easily. "No" I replied. And I would continue fucking her wordlessly while her pussy begged to be released. She would get so close to cumming (and knowing that having an orgasm without permission is a ticket to being whipped severely until sun-up), and would then beg... "Ten?" and I would reply "No", and drive myself deeper. Finally she would hit the magic number as she bit her lip and clawed my back, her whole body rising to meet every stroke. "Twenty?" she would whimper, and I would say "Yes. You can cum now" and she would fall apart all over my cock, head rolling back, toes clenching. Quickly after I would flip her onto her back and, with one hand reached between her legs stroking her sopping cunt, I would bring twenty hard strokes down... making her count every one of them through tears and post-orgasmic tremors, climaxing several times as I did it, turning her smooth, round ass up for more as I demanded her to. When it was over, I would then enter her again and the whole bartering of orgasms for whipping would repeat...

I have spread oil on it. She laid naked on several warm, fluffy towels as we watched a movie on my laptop (on the floor so she could see). I would take the full two hours to massage her from her sweet toes all the way to her earlobes and temples and scalp and back again. Oiled and smooth I worked my warm hands along her entire front and, after flipping her over, would do the same from top to bottom... massaging and smoothing and kneading her perfect, oiled ass with both hands, letting the smooth flesh glide under my palms. This wasn't a massage that turned into sex, despite my having an erection the entire time. This was meant to relax her and soothe her. There was much sex later, but this was for making her feel cared for and pampered. Even as my cock leaked pre-cum like a faucet as I smoothed my hands over its full, perfect shape, I resisted the urge to slip a finger into her and begin the first steps of passionate fucking. It wasn't the night for that.

I have clawed it. As she rode me like a cowgirl in the semi-dark of her bedroom I would pull her ass up and down onto my erect cock, guiding her in tempo and depth. With each stroke that my strong hands insisted upon her, she would groan and throw her head back. When it was time for me to unload the blast of semen up into her, I would pull her ass tightly down and hold her still while I throbbed and pulsed inside. She would then lock eyes with me, gasp and shriek and she, herself, would cum as well.

I have photographed it. As we are at play, camera flashing and clothes strewn about carelessly, she vamps and poses for the camera, holding her breasts for me, smiling, laughing. We both giggle. We both act like children. She rolls onto her belly to fetch something from the bedside table and I tell her to freeze. She coquettishly looks back over her shoulder; she's quite aware why I've told her to stay put. She tips her ass up, revealing the soft, female cleft that begins at the base of her spine and ends in the soft, warm, succulent folds of her pussy... tender, beautiful asshole exposed to the light. I look through the view finder as she stays still and silent. *click*click*click*...

I have had it slowly, erotically swayed in front of me as a lure. She, wearing her loose-fitting white top and short black skirt, hips rocking to and fro as she reveals a little of her smooth, flawless skin to the beat of the music. Then covers it. Then reveals it again. She turns, back to me, looking over her shoulder to catch my glance. She knows that I'm hard as a rock and she knows I won't touch until she decides she wants to be. She lifts the skirt... up... up... and as she sways and churns in little circles over my aching erection, the smooth, silky flesh of her ass comes into view, thighs spread, light covering of dark hair over her swollen mound. And then circles... circles... and her deep brown eyes are heavy-lidded as she lowers herself onto my lap... and grinds.

I have felt it nuzzled against my stomach as we spoon up and cuddle before sleep. The air is thick with lovemaking and summer humidity, the curtains drawn and the apartment silent. We say our final good nights because we cannot stay awake any longer. Reluctant to leave each other in the conscious world, we pull close... naked and smooth under the sheets. I envelope her in my arms and pull her back against my warm chest as she wriggles to nestle her ass perfectly into my belly. We adjust, we move a little, we laugh a bit, we check to make sure the other is comfortable, then we double-check, we say our goodnight promises and testamonials... and with her pressed against me with nothing between our bodies to ruin the sensation of coupling, we drift into sleep.

Fifteen Days

2004-12-30T16:45:00.000-08:00

Now that we are going to be together again, and that I have a date and a time, I have been fighting the urge to become a compulsive clock-watcher. It's not like I have nothing else to do until we see each other, either; I have a lot of work to prepare for the coming two weeks. I have paperwork to do, traveling for business and the usual things like laundry, meals and all the things that go into living a normal life.

Still, it's an echo of when we first started seeing each other in earnest; how the days would crawl by until finally the sand had eased its way through the hourglass and after what seemed like interminable waiting, we were together. When I would see her again it felt as though it was almost too soon, that I was unprepared... all the things I'd meant to do or say left my head as if I had been caught by surprise.

Now, tonight, as I tidy up some of the day's work and prepare to go out and do a few short errands, I am not thinking forward to the lovemaking or the kink or the look of her naked body. I can only think of the moment when I see her in person and my heart leaps and I forget everything I meant to say as I gaze into those infinite eyes and feel her soft, china-like fingers snake around my neck. That is my personal definition of heaven.

And in 15 days I will die and go there.

Hot White Cum

2004-12-30T01:29:00.000-08:00

Give it to me, don't give it away
Don't think about what the others say
My skins getting clear, my hairs so bright
All you do is fuck me every day and night

You're my secret beauty routine
Na, na, na, na, what my body has seen
I am lookin' good and I'm feeling nice
Baby you're the best magazine advice

Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum

I'm gonna pull you back down between the sheets
Everything is fresher when the day is sweet
In the morning light when you're already on the phone

Face it, one of these days
Without you I'm just another Dorian Gray
It's the fountain of youth
It's the meaning of life
So hot, so sweet, so wet my appetite

Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum

Face it, one of these days
Without you I'm just another Dorian Gray
It's the fountain of youth
It's the meaning of life
Baby you're the best magazine advice

Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Gimme your hot white cum
Your hot white cum
- Liz Phair

I'm going to see her again in 15 days.

Breakthrough

2004-12-28T22:08:00.000-08:00

I didn't want to bore you all with a lot of small, insignificant details, so updates here have been few and far between. And I'm sorry for that. Under normal circumstances things would be moving like lightning and I'd be writing smut upon smut without interruption, but the forces of the universe put some mighty speed bumps in our way.

You have already gathered that I am not going to disclose all of the details of my love's illness and what's gone on there. I'm sorry for that as well. What I can say is that she was extremely sick for a long time and certain circumstances made it impossible for me to see her in person and, for a period of six weeks, I couldn't be with or speak to her at all.

If I had one word to sum up how my last week has gone, it would be this: Finally. Here's why...

She recently came out of the worst of it. After many complex problems, her health is taking a strong upturn. She is back at home again. She is beginning to get back into her life again. She is returning to her old self. And that old life includes me, thank God... and we have reconnected once more to realize something very relieving: The fire that burned for us still burns every bit as hotly as it ever has. Hotter, in some ways. She isn't out of the woods yet in many ways, but it's time now for us to return to being what we are together. It's time for us to reunite.

Tonight we shared a loving, sweet phone call during which we confessed how much we miss each other, how much we love each other, how we can't wait to be in one another's arms again. We wiped little tears of happiness and found that nothing has changed since we were separated four months ago. Yes... four months.

I have a plane ticket now. It will take me to her on the 14th of January. No more uncertainty. No more crossing our fingers. By the time most of you are curling up in bed on that night, I will be kissing her and crawling under the covers with her.

And I will write it all up right here. Promise.

p.s. I haven't forgotten about making those other posts based on your requests. I'm working on them. Honest.

Happy

2004-12-13T11:23:00.000-08:00

Last night I finally got the connection with her that I needed. After a long, horrible road she is finally getting better. Not out of the woods yet, but finally things are improving. Last night we reconnected after a long time of not talking and flooded one another with messages of love and hope and wanting.

It bodes well for this blog, which may see new entries soon... and not just the "I wish" variety.

The Way The Stranger Sees Me

2004-12-05T01:41:00.000-08:00

I don't know you particularly well, but we met once at a store, or a friend's house or through mutual contacts. Maybe we bumped into each other while out conducting errands in this small town, or you happened to be at my buddy's apartment when I got there, or we had business at the same spot at the same time. Maybe I've known you for a while or we might have just met. Maybe you realize what it is that you're doing or perhaps you just think this is all an innocent accident of fate where something that's "meant to be" is trying to take place.

Maybe you are trying to divine what interests me so that you can ask me about it and feign interest, stoking my ego and inflating my narcissism. You might flash your eyes at me and laugh at every joke I casually toss out into the conversation. Perhaps you are giving me your special "come take what you want" expressions and invitational hip-swaying, hoping I'll catch a glance and assume you meant it spontaneously. You might scan me for reaction to your breasts, your ass, your legs, waiting to catch me trying to steal a glance. Maybe you've unlocked the keys to so many other men that you probe at my mind like you're trying to crack a safe, searching for the vulnerability, listening for the drop of tumblers. Maybe you simply can't face the possibility, however slight, that a man might not be willing... because every man you've ever known was.

You know about my girlfriend. But it doesn't seem to stop you.

Maybe you believe that a man with the right carrot dangled in front of his nose will be pursuaded to turn back on any promise he's made to himself or anyone else. Maybe you think that the time and distance between me and the one I call My Love has been stretched to the point where its integrity is weakened and it could snap with only a little more pressure. Perhaps you believe that we live in a universe where it just doesn't matter if you cheat on someone; what they don't know can't hurt them. Whatever the rationale is, you've just decided that I'm on your wish list. You want me to notice you in such a way that you'll challenge the bond between her and I in such a way that a bit of attention, affection or plain-old fucking will be doled out to you once you've worked your spell. You want to know that you can accomplish this. You need to know it.

What you don't understand is that not everyone is willing to gather up everything that's worth having and burn it away in a pathetic gesture of self-hatred. What makes your intentions utterly and completely impossible is the simple fact that I can't be lured into giving my treasures away. What you don't realize is that I am tethered to the heart of a small, beautiful girl who occupies my every thought and waking imagination. What you don't know is that she can give me what you never can or will.

What you haven't let yourself believe yet is that I've forgotten you already, even now as we engage in the boring puppetry of small talk. My mind is elsewhere. My mind is with her. You have yet to make a scratch in my resolve to be with her, to love her, to win her love in return.

You've wasted your time.

Airplane Ticket

2004-12-03T13:19:00.000-08:00

When I read John Steinbeck's "The Pearl" years ago, there was one particular scene that left a lasting impression on me: A Mexican couple had a baby that was stung by a scorpion, and as a result was in danger of dying. The haughty gringo doctor in the village demanded a giant sum of money to treat the baby. The only real option these parents had to get that kind of money was in the form of a legendary huge, priceless pearl that was rumored to exist somewhere off the coast, lying serenely in some oyster's jaw. They would have to venture out onto the water, dive in and see if that legendary pearl could be found, retrieved and sold to pay for the treatment of the baby's illness. The scene I remember was when the parents took the boat with great haste out onto the water and the father dove while the mother waited in the boat. What I recall was her trying not to want it too much. She reflected, as she waited tensely for him to surface again, that it was dangerous to want something too much. Even at the young age when I read this story I understood what that meant without needing it to be explained to me.

Right now I am looking at getting a plane ticket to be reunited with my Baby in a couple weeks. She is still sick, so it wouldn't be a wild sexual romp, but rather a tender reunion where I held her hand and stroked her head so she knew that I considered her worth the travel, worth the effort. I don't know if this is a good idea yet. I don't know if it will effectively meet with all the complex and addled circumstances of our lives. I'll be investigating that this weekend. It's so likely to not work out; our situations are so complicated. I am going to try, though... because not having her is more than I can take.

Here I sit in the boat, waiting. It is dangerous to want something too much.

Even Without Translation

2004-11-24T22:51:00.000-08:00

I laugh sometimes at how easily we're swayed by popular media; when the Karate Kid was released back in the eighties, people signing up for karate lessons increased a hundred-fold. When CSI really hit big on the television, the number of students wanting to go into crime-lab investigation/science exploded. Apparently when some movie featuring Kevin Costner and Sean Young having sex in the back of a limo hit theatres, limo rentals went through the roof. We're so easily suggested-to, but I don't think that's a bad thing in a lot of ways. I think it's ok to have your heart and mind open to be influenced by what you see, and as far removed as television and movies are from art these days there are still grains of what makes the dramatic art form so powerful. It's a little silly at times (like when, during the 90's, women everywhere were asking for the Jennifer Aniston haircut), but I still believe that people are influenced by what they see is a good thing at its core.

Tonight I watched Lost In Translation, starring Bill Murray and Scarlet Johanssen. For those of you who haven't seen it, it's a very gentle, soft-handed movie about two good-hearted but somewhat lost people alone in Japan who meet and form a bond. One is an aging actor who is there on an endorsement contract, the other is the young, somewhat left-behind wife of a busy photographer. It is a subtle and thoughtful watercolor story of how people connect and how beautiful it is when they do. The two fall in love; not in the Richard Gere/Julia Roberts "Pretty Woman" way, but rather like the falling of a gentle rain -- no perceptible beginning or end, but it's so very real once it arrives.

So real was this story to me, in fact, that in my mind I could replace the woman and man with my sweet love and me. Having not seen her for so long now, the movie stirred a resonant chamber in my heart that reminded me in vivid detail how very beautiful she is and how much I miss her. At times I feel very much like Bill Murray's character; sharp-witted and strong in himself, but the soul-level fatigue of age and complacency beginning to settle in his heart. The way in which the girl stirs youthful hope and enthusiasm in him, again, echoes my own experience. I remember when we were falling in love with each other early on how I felt like a plant being revived from the dead with water and sunshine. It is the first time I had felt genuinely young in a very long time (and I'm still in my thirties, so that's sort of a tragedy in its own right). When I finally had her for long enough that I could consider in earnest what we'd become together, I thought "Yes, this is what I want to be. This is the 'me' that I believe I really am". I was and still am so grateful to her for awakening that because I was certain it was gone forever.

The reminder was sweet, in itself, but tonight I go to bed with an ache in my heart which only comes from a freshly sore wound. It's the wound of separation from the object of my desire. It's the ache of missing my best friend and lover.

Beautiful, Painful Correspondence

2004-11-22T05:21:00.000-08:00

As you can see, I managed to find one more picture I could post here... but it took a lot of work. :)

We've written over 3000 emails back and forth in the last six months. Yeah, three thousand. It's a lot. This is a little snippet from the correspondence that occurred just before we met for the first time:
Me: I love the soft, silky look of your beautiful dark hair.

Her: I'd better stop frying it with my flat-iron!

Me: Why? Are you naturally curly?

Her: Naturally wavy.

Me: No pics of that? Incidentally, I love your hair... even though you torture it mercilessly with a flat iron I still think it's so very sexy. In fact, your hair was one of the first things that made me fall for you. Either way, we're not going to have a problem in that category.

Her: I have pics, but not on the computer. You'll see it when I get out of the shower. :)

Me: *Unnngh...*

Her: Especially when I press myself against you, still slightly damp, very warm... and we end up back in bed... and after the tangling and thrusting my hair will be nearly dry... and wavy.

Me: Ok. That hurt.

Her: I'm sorry! Let me kiss it better...

Me: Still hurting... Nope. Still hurting. Wait a second. (thinking) Yeah. Still hurting. Don't stop with the kisses. In fact, you may need to intensify somewhat...

Her: I'd better give you a tongue massage.

Me: Yes. Maybe the tongue massage will help...

Her: When I read that I actually let this exhalation out that you would definitely have recognized :)

Me: I started about four different replies to this and I can't come up with something that really describes exactly how much I want to fuck your mouth... and come down your throat... I can barely breathe... Nice long languid tongue massage... lips massage... throat massage... I'll use it ALL on you.

Her: oh my god... Honey... I just realized I subconsciously opened my throat when I read that...

Me: We really need to stop this kind of talk... at least for about five days... I really can't take it... I just want you more than I even know words for... But I do know how to show you... (*thinking about your throat*) Wow...

We exchanged literally hundreds of emails in this tone. Actually, thousands. What I love about her (among other things) is that the lust never faded. Not one iota. It still hasn't.

So In Love

2004-11-17T10:30:00.000-08:00

Strange dear, but true dear,
When I'm close to you, dear,
The stars fill the sky,
So in love with you am I.
Even without you,
My arms fold about you,
You know darling why,
So in love with you am I.
In love with the night mysterious,
The night when you first were there,
In love with my joy delirious,
When I knew that you could care,
So taunt me, and hurt me,
Deceive me, desert me,
I'm yours, till I die.....
So in love.... So in love....
So in love with you, my love... am I....
- Cole Porter

Found another picture I can use. Hope you enjoy it.

She's got very serious health problems. I can't go into details. I just have to say that she's really suffering right now, and I am as well from want of her.

Keep praying and thinking good thoughts.

I've also come up with some extremely dirty fantasies. If I manage to work up the energy, I'll post them. I haven't forgotten the "requests", either... I'm just waiting to see if any more appear than just the two from Bev and Doogooder (and thanks, you two).

...And I'm Spent

2004-11-10T09:31:00.000-08:00

I'm out of photos of her.

Well, that's not entirely true. What I mean to say is that this the last photo I can use here. See, I have certain criteria for posting pics of her here, and I've used all the ones that qualify. Observe:

1. No photo will be used if it could identify her or me. Naturally there's always a chance that some nurse that saw her in a hospital in 1996 will say "I recognize that mole on the knee... OMG I KNOW THAT GIRL!" and then call everyone in town, but that's unlikely. What I do is I try to avoid posting distinguishing feautres of hers that could identify her (she has some), clothes that people could recognize or places that people would recognize. I'm out of photos that fit into this category without violating the second category.
2. No hardcore photos. A little muff is good. Ass, sure. Breasts, yes. But no hardcore porn. I have photos of my cock ramming into her, taken close up. Swollen, slick, engorged, flushed and very, very dirty. Appealing, sure, but I'm not running an XXX pic site. It would detract from the elegance of her beauty to take it to that level. I do have several pictures of my cock here, I know, but I guess I'm less squeamish about that than I am of crossing the line with her. Go figure.

With these two criteria in mind, I can say I have used every photo I can.

Next time I see her I will take so many photos of her that we'll never run out again. Promise.

Jealousy

2004-11-08T10:05:00.000-08:00

There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.
George Eliot
A competent and self-confident person is incapable of jealousy in anything. Jealousy is invariably a symptom of neurotic insecurity.
Robert Heinlein
Jealousy contains more of self-love than of love.
François de La Rochefoucauld
Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the pretence of keeping it alive.
Havelock Ellis
Jealousy is indeed a poor medium to secure love, but it is a secure medium to destroy one's self-respect. For jealous people, like dope-fiends, stoop to the lowest level and in the end inspire only disgust and loathing.
Emma Goldman

We're both jealous people, she and I. We both know we're crazy to be, and it nearly consumes us at times... but we're both carrying a heavy load from past hurts that make drinking the poison only too easy.

Because I love her the way I do, I will fiercely fight to my death the instinct that tells me to be jealous. Here's hoping that karma and fate judge me on the basis of my efforts, not my results.

Requests

2004-11-06T23:38:00.000-08:00

I was just thinking and came up with an idea: How about you drop me a note in the comments section with any questions or curiosities you might have, i.e. things you'd like me to write about or tell the story of. I will gather up some of your questions and, if I can, answer them in my next entry.

Or not. Let's just see what you come up with.

BTW, that is her ass and yes... it's a bruise. I almost posted this one in color because her ass is red. I'd been working on it for almost an hour.

White Knuckles And Gritting Teeth

2004-11-03T09:03:00.000-08:00

Before I get started, allow me an aside: Isn't she just gorgeous? Look at that photo. My heart literally stops and my mouth goes dry just from the sight of her.

Where was I? Oh yes. I think I'm going to go insane.

I can't see her because of circumstances beyond my control. I can barely communicate with her for the same reasons (it's all health-related). I live too far to go for just an afternoon visit. I send gift packages. I send letters. I send presents of all kinds. Unfortunately (for her and me) fate is just making this into a "learning experience" and an "exercise in patience". What I'm looking for, however, is a "Night in bed with my slave", a "Wild, free exercise of lust and carnal urges" or "the opportunity to have several orgasms using her sweet, smooth body".

I'm exaggerating, of course. I want all that, but... the truth is what I really want is just to be with her again. I am craving her spirit and her love more than I crave sex. I want to hold her hand. I want to ask her questions, face-to-face. I want to tell her I love her without phones, without email, without text messages, without any intermediary. I work very hard on establishing my devotion, my affection, my love, my faithfulness through remote means, but I'm ready to take her beautiful face in my hands, look into her eyes and tell her "I love you and will do so forever".

Honey, I doubt you're reading this given what is going on with you right now, but I have to let it out or I'll explode: I am more in love with you than even the first time I ever confessed it. You are worth every hour of waiting, but you should know that I would sacrifice more than you know just to see you right now.

As for the rest of you who are reading; I wish I could give you more of the erotic and deeply sensual fare that I started this blog off with. Unfortunately, the charm of this journal (I think) is its realism, and right now the reality is that I am not thinking of her physical reality. I am only thinking of my best friend and missing her profoundly.

Going to go bay at the moon now. Pardon me.

Echo

2004-11-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

I got a nice email today from this guy who reads OE. Here's what he had to say:
Because I find your site so beautiful I simply had to ask. The pictures you select for each one of your entries - Is that pictures you found or you and your girl?

I know you mention throughout privacy is a must as you don't want true identity revealed, and respect that, but because I find them so breathe taking I simply had to ask. Also, if they were you and your girl I would refrain from borrowing (ok it would be stealing and I don't do that anyway just my feeble attempt at humor)

Thanks for the wonderful writing of your journey.

Sincerely
j

Nice fella. The answer, of course, is that yes; it's us. Well, mostly her of course (I don't think most of you are that interested in looking at me :) ). It's an interesting question that touches on a kinda-complicated subject about the photos. I don't have an interest in sharing partners or swapping or anything of that sort. Neither does she. I think I said this before (if I did then forgive the repetition). I don't get off on the idea of other men turning her into an object. As a matter of fact, it makes me tired and sad because I see so many men pass in and out of her life who want nothing more than to get her into bed. She'll probably tell you that I'm very, very protective of her. Thankfully, she likes that about me.

Yet here I am putting these sultry, gorgeous photos of her in the blog for you guys to see, some of which reveal her body in ways that strangers should have no right to enjoy (and my erect cock as well, while we're on the subject). It seems like something of a contradiction, doesn't it?

Well, before I say anything else I'll start by saying that staying anonymous takes care of a lot of the problems which would come up from revealing this side of who she is to the world. The minute we lose that, well... let's just say I'd pull up all my stakes and close the doors. There are enough small-minded people in her life who see her for no more than her looks without something like this fueling their nasty fantasies.

I think the reason I add these photos is probably because I, myself, find her to be the very heart of any poetry my words are infused with. To put it differently, what I write is only a reflection of what she is. Sometimes I get mail telling me that my words are beautiful and inspired, but they really only echo her. She is where the real beauty is. It's not just that she has great breasts or legs or whatever, but rather that her very poise in and of itself is poetry. Her essence is poetry. The words are like the after-image of her spirit in the same way a picture casts its appearance onto photographic film.

I show her the way I do (with her consent, incidentally) because it's my hope that the marriage of the words and the images can recreate something which resembles the experience I have with her; an experience of love and sensuality that has changed my life, an experience of sensuality to which any other experience will be compared, an experience of sensuality that has erased my desire for any other experiences of sensuality. I don't want to share her, but I want to share the pure happiness of what she has been to me.

You get photos because she is something of beauty, not because she is an object.

(BTW, I later realized that J was a girl... sorry!)

Pornography And Erotica

2004-11-02T08:42:00.000-08:00

I have, in my life, had a complicated relationship with pornography. I used to use it a lot for the purpose which it was intended. I think that loneliness, frustration, self-deception and lethargy were the main culprits for the problem. I would be remiss if I didn't cite the sad reality of a previous relationship as a possibly catalyst as well; criticism, mistrust, emotional abuse and just plain bad blood between us made pornography seem ok in the way that a vegetarian on a desert island will eat meat if they can get it once they start starving.

That's a "me" I no longer recognize. Or, to be more exact, the "me" I am now is the me that I do recognize.

Today I was referred to someone's "Sex Blog" (a blog not unlike this one, though more geared to fantasy than stories, as mine is). Really well-written. Great content. Creative, clever, sensual, all the checkbox items that a good sex blog needs. I think it would make a fine entry in the gigantic continuum of sex blogs out there in the world.

As I read it, however, I felt nothing. No stirring. No urges. No stimulation. I was invited by the words to slip into a world of fantasy and free eroticism. Instead, I felt an emptiness in myself defined in black marker; the experience simply faded into nothing when the memory of my love came to mind (which it did instantly). The sharp edge of the erotic prose was dulled when my heart started to bemoan that all sensuality is wasted on me if I'm not with her. I closed the blog page. Its words were like dead cinders in my mind. If it weren't for the fulfillment of my sex life with my lover, I would have felt profoundly disappointed.

The cynics among you are no doubt reciting to yourselves that given a few years, I'll become one of those bored husbands. In other words, when the sex isn't new and I've had time to "get to know her", I'll jump right back into the porn thing, just as every man in a long-term relationship seems doomed to. It's a sad outlook on the future. All I can offer in response is to say that I have been in long-term relationships before. I know how they work. I know what changes you go through and on what schedule.

Everything about this relationship is different from the ones that have come before it. Every pre-destined, carved-in-stone rule has been broken. Every relationship trap, to date, has been evaded. I have found an undeniable resolve to be faithful, honest and present for her. I have found energy where I have never felt it before. I have a never-ending desire for her that burns like fire in me. The better I get to know her, the more attracted to her I am. This is the most "myself" I have ever felt.

So. Fuck your cynicism.

Her

2004-10-31T01:23:00.000-08:00

The time presses on. She and I move through the hard resistance of our respective lives like ice-breaker ships through Antarctica. As I keep saying, we haven't been together in a long time. As you will also know, netiher of us thought it would take this long for us to reunite. I have a projected idea of when we'll finally be together again, but I don't even dare speak it because so many expectations of reunion have already been disappointed.

I actually had a conversation with her mother today. That was weird.

All this aside, I am going to go to bed shortly. You would think that with each of us being worlds apart that gradually and without intent our bond would start to slip. In fact, it is growing in its own odd way. We're often overcome by the strange sensation that we're imprisoned apart from one another and, to some extent, that's true... but we are also talking in a more committed way; marriage and forever and ever. I know that, for me, there is a grinding of gritty reality against what we are to each other that rubs it raw. Instead of eroding, it seems to be polishing us. No, I don't understand the mechanics of what's happening between us on a spiritual level, but I know that I am more interested and enchanted by her now than I have ever been.

Tonight I go to bed with her on my mind. I have spent the day thinking about her future and where she will be in a day, a week, a month and ten years. I have examined the blueprint of her (as best I know it) with great attention, looking for ways that I can insert myself and act as a support for her and a buttress to her well-being. That has been my day. Tonight, however, I am about to lie in the soft, fresh sheets and say goodnight to her in the darkness as I close the bedside light and put my head to the pillow. Most nights I imagine the scent of her soft breasts against my face as we roll over each other and make love. I picture the taste of her mouth... the way the warm breath seeps from it into mine as the lock of a kiss is shaken by the shocks of orgasm. I imagine the mewing of her as I hold her pressed to my chest but reach my hand behind her to penetrate her ass with my fingertip while licking her soft lips and speaking hissing, whispered promises and intentions to her. I will imagine the subtle but very tangible difference between the orgasm I enjoy when controlling my own rhythm while fucking her and the orgasm I enjoy while she controls that same rhythm by sucking me or laying me on my back and grinding fiercely against me like a jackhammer. I remember the night that I told her she could not stop fucking me with all her might until I came; I laid still while she twisted and jackhammered her beautiful cunt down onto me like an anvil over and over until my balls tightened and I came so much that it was running out of her and down my cock, balls and the crack of my ass.

I am going to go lie in bed, picture my true love, and masturbate myself to sleep. When I shoot off and soak my belly and chest, I will say her name.

Indian Serenade

2004-10-26T13:16:00.000-07:00

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep or night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me- who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart-
As I must die on thine,
Oh, beloved as thou art!

Oh, lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast-
Oh! press it close to thine own again,
Where it will break at last!
- Percy Bysshe Shelley

Still haven't seen her. Forces beyond our control.

People sometimes talk about dying from a broken heart. I used to think that was just a figure of speech.

Red Light, Yellow Light, Green Light

2004-10-25T07:58:00.000-07:00

Her pussy is tight. It's so tight, in fact, that getting me into her is usually a struggle for us. We always have to use a lubricant of some kind (usually Astroglide, but sometimes saliva is enough). She is small all over, and her sweet pink slit is no exception. Her pubic hair is black and brown and is trimmed very short most of the time. She keeps the underneath cleanly shaven, and for that reason it is easy to give her labia intimate attention with my tongue. It also makes things easier when I want to reach under her skirt or down the front of her jeans and finger her. We've done that before, most notably in the kitchen, where I touch and probe and then, using all my four fingers like a paint brush, stroke her clit in circles. Usually we end up naked shortly after that.

Her cunt is mostly pink, especially the sweet, small inner labia and what lies between them. When she is excited, she swells and lubricates profusely, and it generally leaks out of her low down from her slit, just before her perinneum. She smells delicate... not a strong or musky smell at all. In fact, the smell at taste of her is quite mild and very seductive. None of the usual cliches about the distasteful manner of a woman's cunt apply to her; she is sweet and fresh and clean and so very delicious.

Anyhow, back to the subject of the sensation: I have found it hard to get all the way into her. This does not mean I do not; I am merely saying that it takes some patience and attention. When we have not been fucking regularly and I am entering her for the first time in 24 hours or more, I will go slowly. I will watch her face, which is like the traffic signal. She clenches her teeth and furrows her brow when I am pushing a little harder or deeper than she's ready for (red light). She locks her eyes on mine and gives me a worried expression or bites her lip when she feels me getting close to the limit of what she can handle (yellow light). Her eyes drunkenly close and she richly moans a long vowel of assent while exhaling all in one breath when my cock has settled into her comfortably and she is ready to begin fucking in earnest (green light).

She has often told me that she has trouble getting used to the size of me. I'd love to flatter myself and say that I am porn-star-large, but that's not the case. I do know, however, that I am longer and somewhat thicker than the average man and, what's more, larger than any of her vibrators or dildos. Therefore, I completely understand that she may have to do some adjusting and relaxing when I am entering her. When I have her on her back, I will push only until I feel resistance. The first stroke rarely goes more than an inch beyond the head of my cock before she gives me her Yellow Light expression. I then pull back all the way and slowly re-enter her, again stopping where I feel resistance. The second stroke usually takes me about a third of the way down my shaft. At this point she is quickly relaxing and her cunt is warming and lengthening for me. The expression at this point is often a Yellow Light mixed with a touch of Green Light. Unfortunately I must admit that sometimes I am extremely eager to thrust all the way into her in one stroke, and I will push a little further than she can handle. She'll get a combination of Yellow Light and Red Light at this point... the pain will be very real but she will also want to devour my cock in her pussy, so she'll be reluctant to tell me to stop. I have to read her face most of the time.

After the third or fourth stroke I am usually able to enter her about 4/5ths of the way down my cock, which is length I actually fuck her with. Bottoming out to where my cock is completely inside her and my balls are pressed against her warm, pink ass is reserved for the occasional stroke in between the rhythm of fucking her. When I get to 4/5ths, this is when she melts into the inviting bliss of Green Light, and will then start to push her hips up into me so that she is fucking me back... or she will wrap her feet around the back of my calves to pull me closer or, perhaps, just to hold me in place.

Of all of her expressions, the Yellow Light is the most complex. She is intoxicated on desire and wanting while at the same time being reprimanded by her body for taking too much at once. She savors the pain but also fears it. She feels closest to being split in two at this point. It's so very sensual, as it is the creating point where I overtake her and melt her into the Green Light phase.

On a different subject, I know the photos don't match the topic of the stories they accompany. Sorry.

Further txt msgs

2004-10-25T07:30:00.000-07:00

My love is still very sick. In fact, she is sicker than she was when I last wrote here. Keep those good wishes coming for her, ok?

At the moment, these are the txt msgs which are on my cell phone. All from her. I could give a little note of explanation for the context of each, but... nahhh. Use your imagination.

One of my favorite pics is of my breasts glistening in ur cum.

I will do that. Snort. How bout i just tell u i love u instead. I do.

Im glad we talked. It was heaven 2 hear ur voice...even tho the phone eats leperous phalluses. Vomit.

Yes! Such a good point! Im dreamng of holng u rite now. Miss ur kisses n ur scent n ur hands n ur eyes. All ur bits really. Sigh.

Honey u r wonderful. I realize now that my hurt feelings happened bcuz i needed more than texts. I needed ur voice n reassurance that i wasnt losing u. I love u

Im staying on the path.Im holdng ur hand the entire time.

Im going 2 be the best wife as i possibly can. Will never take it 4 granted.

I love ur huge cock.Even more i love the fact that u kno how 2 use it!

I cant wait 2 feel u filling me again

Im not small in ur heart.Im spreadeagled so nobody else can get in.Im going 2 tatoo ur name around my left ring finger.

Yes. Is that okay?The ring will cover it but well know itz there. It will mark me as urs no matter what.I love u.

Im the luckiest woman.Crazy in love with u forever.Need 2 sleep now n dream of u. Gnite baby. I love u.

Omg!B4 i read that i was going 2 say u should have my initials on it. When erect it would show my full name.

I am my most vibrant with u. U bring me 2 life n fill my soul with joy n love. Gnite darling. I love u 4ever.

Best boyfriend ever. I am completely in love with you.Gnite.

Woke with stupid cold. Lungs filled with fluid. Wtf.Where does it all end?!Love U. Thotz of u make me smile thru all this.

I love how people smile at us as we walk with our arms round each other.

U make dork shirts hot.

Wishes

2004-10-18T17:10:00.000-07:00

My love is still very sick. If you read this and you'd like to leave her get well wishes in the comments area, please do. I will make sure she sees them. Even though you don't know her and she doesn't know you, I am certain that it'll make her feel better.

txt msgs

2004-10-06T09:47:00.000-07:00

One of the ways we communicate on the cheap is to send cell phone text messages back and forth. It's sort of limiting; every message has to be 150 characters or less, and the typing method is difficult. Instead of a regular keyboard, the cell phone's numeric keypad has three or four letters assigned to each key. You hit the same key a few times until it cycles to the letter that you want. Then you move on to the next one. Needless to say it doesn't communicate the warmest, deepest feelings of lust and desire very elegantly, but we manage to get our points across most of the time.
I miss being in your arms.

She's the one who got me into sending txt msgs in the first place, actually. Before her, I didn't know my phone could even do that. Now it's part of our daily ritual; we tell each other we love one another, we share practical details about what we're up to and what we're doing, and we play around... like when I asked her what the first thing was that she'd do when we saw each other next.
Faint. Wake in ur arms. Faint. Wake 2 ur kiss. Faint. Then get my bearings n pounce. Smother u in kisses.

Mostly it's a collection of short love notes, often in comment/response form. For instance, I told her once that I was going to curl her up like a sleeping cat on my lap and stroke her...
Purr. Miss your lap.

Another time I told her that when she writes "Purr" that it makes my cock hard.
Really? Wow! Nice! I sooo want to suck you.

At other times it's not call/response, but just random thoughts that she has running through her mind.
I miss fucking you. Miss feeling your power deep inside me.

...or...
I miss showering with U.
I miss being in ur arms.
Nobody compares 2 u.

Though the medium is coarse and difficult to convey subtleties through, these little electronic post-it notes have become a big part of our lifeline to each other.
Aching for you love. So much!

At this point, when I miss her so much, any way where we can connect with one another is a gift... so I bought myself a plan where all my txt msgs are free and every day we remind one another in yet another electronic medium how in love we are.
I love only u 4ever

How I Die

2004-10-04T09:52:00.000-07:00

How do I die?

I always think that when I leave you in your bed
And I close the door behind me
That the sick, rotted feeling in my belly
Will explode and kill me

My estimation is wrong. It doesn't happen like that.
Instead, the world loses its vitality
As the dark cab moved through the black streets
Taking me to the airport
There was no sound of wheels or rushing air
There was no color in the pavement or buildings
Lit by streetlights and the moon

Forefinger rubbed against thumb
There's no pressure, no sensation
I don't notice
My head leans against the window
And as I try to somehow magically see through miles of concrete
Into your bedroom while you sleep, already 10 miles away
There's no cold glass against my forehead

I cannot smell the cab or its dangling, banal air freshener
There's no chemical, musky scent of pine
No odor of age and wear in the vinyl seats
Something in my brain says that the cab driver had a cigarette
before he picked me up
I don't know how I know this. I can't smell it.

I don't remember what I'm wearing.
I can't remember if I gave any attention to my hair.
I can't taste the residue of toothpaste.

All color is gone. All scent or taste. No music, no luster.
No inspiration. No poetry. No adrenaline or muse.
Nothing echoes. Nothing irritates.
Without your voice in my ear,
I'm just a package to deliver from point A to B
Stamped and sorted
No earthly attachment to its trip or destination
Without your hand in mine
I'm a marionette imitating someone going somewhere
Though in my head nothing moves and the scenery never changes
And I don't care if it does

I remember tiny murmurs
Wet kisses in the dark
Secrets and intimacy whispered into one anothers' mouths
Tears. Laughter. Incredulity.
Touching with perfect, pure love
Did I dream all of it?

When morning came today
There was no dawn; just sunlight.
This is how I die without you.

I am dying without you.

Sleep

2004-10-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

Here's a story I wrote for her one day when I decided I wanted to torment her at work by sending her stuff that I knew would turn her on until she went out of her mind. Hope you enjoy it. I think she did. All the erotic stories echo what we are like together, but this one is pure fiction.

She can't sleep.

He sleeps fine, laying comfortably on his back in the blue moonlight while one arm is stretched over his head and the other is at his side. The fullness of his chest is uncovered but the sheets and blankets tangle below his waist and somewhere in the dark the shape of his legs and feet can be seen.

She can't sleep.

She has tried laying on one side and then the other. She has been on her back and on her front. She has been up to pee twice and has had a warm cup of chamomile tea. She has curled up close to him, feeling his arm wrapped around her and pulling her close. She has stretched out far from him, covering an expanse of cool, unused bed. She has lain awake in the dark staring at the ceiling, remembering something about her bedroom as a child and what the light fixture looked like, whether or not she wants to grind her own coffee beans at home and, of course, how she thought she would die someday.

She was not asleep. She thought it might be the caffeine from the day, the fact she slept in a little too long or something else she couldn't identify. She was not sore, neither was she upset. She just could not engage the sleep center of her brain. And it was driving her nuts. She knew she had to work crisp and early the next morning, nylons on right, hair done, eyes wide open and mind fully engaged. She also knew that if she didn't get to sleep soon that she wouldn't be able to accomplish any of that, and the eight hours she had to spend in that office would be waking hell where minutes crawled and everything was wrapped in a fog.

She decided that she would masturbate. The endorphins seemed a great drug to let loose for this condition and she knew that in the past she slept so much more easily once she'd had a huge orgasm. She knew she did not want to get up and go to another room to do it; something about that idea seemed lonely and, for some reason she couldn't put her finger on, pathetic. Of course, the real problem was that she didn't want to disturb her sleeping partner. Something about the idea embarrassed her; that he would wake and catch her trying to get off. Something about that made her feel shy. Something. Who knows? For some reason she just didn't want to be noticed. And yet she did not want to leave the bed.

This wasn't Mission Impossible, however; she would just have to be very, very quiet and - for the love of God - not move too much.

This was going to be a very clinical, very utilitarian orgasm. It was an orgasm she needed, not wanted. She was using it instead of medicine. She was using it to save her day tomorrow. It was all going to be by the numbers.

She laid flat on her back and positioned her buttocks carefully on the sheets below. She let herself pause there, hands at her sides, not touching the sleeping mass beside her whose breath was deep and slow. She let herself fall into a thought. At first she raced to the raunchiest, filthiest thing she could think of; something involving a whipping and bondage and semen spraying all over the place while cameras flashed and- ... no, no. This was totally not the way to do it. If she pushed herself as hard as that then she'd be even more tense and even this attempt to bring sleep would fail. She had to let her mind seduce itself in incremental steps.

She raised her fingertips enough to drag the sheet slowly from her body, and as each inch of cotton slid over her motionless form she felt the cool air meet her flesh. She felt, at that moment, that she was slowly waking herself up so that she could take that journey and, gradually, she felt herself exposed to the open room; to some unspecified eye which stared at her in her mind. As each of her nipples popped out from under the hem of the sheet, she began to feel the stirring of arousal and her imagination somehow let her think that it might be another hand exposing her, revealing her, hungering for her. There were no names, faces or identities yet. She was only preparing herself for meeting the other players in her head. With a slow, deliberate motion of her foot the sheets shrunk to her knees and she found herself exposed and naked enough to feel ready and able for the task she had set before herself.

She let her hand slide over her stomach and cup her breast. There was no sound in the dark except for the near-silent whispering of her dry fingers against her skin. She closed her eyes so that she could try to shake off the sense of time and place, forget that it was her own hand squeezing and kneading her and, instead, visualize him -- the sleeping man -- taking what he wanted and touching her as he would; insistent and strong. She made some effort to mimic the way he would squeeze her breasts; the way he would take her nipple in his fingers and make her wait for the pressure of the squeeze, the way he would bring her to the very precipice of too much force and then let off before her mouth could form protest. She did not feel what she remembered from him, though; no matter how she threw herself into the scene she could only see herself in third person from over the bed, screwing her eyes shut and trying to make herself aroused. It wasn't really going the way she was hoping it would and, frankly, she felt a stir of frustration because the tension of wanting to accomplish this simple task and being her own worst enemy as she did would definitely not help her get to sleep any sooner.

She stopped for another full minute, holding her hands still on both tits and remaining motionless, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, mind wandering again to coffee beans.

She closed her eyes again, softly this time, and began the slow, sensual motion of fondling herself. She purposely opened her mouth with a small puff of warm breath and whispered in the voice of a mouse.

"...fuck me"

She drew a long slow breath as her hands continued to slowly work on her nipples.

"...fuck me now"

And she slowly, carefully, gradually opened her thighs; partly to avoid waking her lover, but also to purposely move at a relaxed pace, hoping her mind and heart would slow down enough to engage the arousal.

"...fuck me with your thick, hard cock..."

Her words for so slight that even she could barely hear herself; only a motion of breath and an imperceptible click of her tongue told her that she had, in fact, said anything at all. Knowing what she said, however, was the key... hearing enough of her own voice articulating what she knew were dirty, sexy words moved her blood in her veins and set the stage.

One hand left a breast and moved with purpose in a torturously slow path to her belly and she continued, eyes closed, to feel him around her, letting her mind place him beside, behind, beside again, under and all around, moving like a ghost from wherever he was to wherever she needed him. Her vision of this fantasy place was a dark grey fog where tendrils of hands and fingers moved quietly. Just when her middle finger met the dark patch of her trimmed pubic hair, she felt something move next to her. Her heart froze solid, her eyes snapped open and she tried her best to move silently and yet with the speed of slight to cover up, remove her hands, lie on one side, appear to be doing anything... anything except what she was doing.

When she realized that he wasn't awake, she felt a little ridiculous. He had only moved one arm less than half a foot. She was a little angry at herself because now she was wider awake than ever, the entire illusion of imaginary seduction shattered by his sleepy movement. She was wondering if she should start again from scratch or if she should try to think of a different way to do this or if she should simply lie on her back in clenched frustration and consider whether she'd like to own a French Press or if she should go all out and buy herself an actual cappuccino maker.

It was right then and there that she noticed something beside her as the shapeless forms in the darkness hardened into things her eyes could pick out. She noticed something that was going to completely change her approach to this problem. Her heart started to quicken a few metronome markings as she let her mind consider it; his hand was laying between them.

She realized that on her own in this current condition that she'd have such trouble getting into the space that she was seeking to find. She stared at the dark shape of his fingers next to her and knew that if she were to feel flesh on flesh, even to the slightest amount, that she would be so much more successful. The sense of danger in possibly waking him up rang like an alarm in her head, but she knew that the warming, moistening sensation between her thighs told her how much closer she would be to that climax she was waiting for.

In the dark her eyes were riveted to his sleeping, dormant face and even in the low light she could see that he was dreaming deeply. She slowly, gradually, soundlessly slid her ass against the sheets with the stealth of a burglar and pressed his fingers so very carefully against her hip. This little contact, like stroking the tail of a sleeping tiger with a single finger, electrified her. This was her missing ingredient; she let her hand slip smoothly down between her thighs and began to make little circles over her soft, yielding flesh. She pressed a little harder and found the tiny center of her sex deep in the folds of her skin, already swamped with moisture and heat, and slowed her circular stroke to bring it alive and make it insistent and alert.

It was hard for her to position herself so that her thighs could be luxuriously open and she could assail herself, full on, but there was a certain energy in trying to stay motionless and static while her middle finger wildly thrashed her slick pussy. She slid the knee that wasn't attached to the hip that was attached to his fingers away just enough to unfold herself a touch more, and she knew then that the thrill of his fingers to her hip was already beginning to wane. The surge of arousal from playing with the tiger's tail was already subsiding. She checked his face again to see how close she was to waking him and, when she was satisfied that he was not close to the surface of consciousness, she slowly turned on her side facing away from him, inch by torturous inch, listening to his breathing and trying to measure if he would stir. Then she let her head fall to her pillow and closed her eyes, exhaling soft, hissing words through her parted lips;

"...fuck me, honey.. "

...and she pushed her ass towards him, arching her back and falling into the imaginary world where he balanced on the precipice before taking her roughly and greedily

"...fuck me... deeply... right here... "

With one hand on her breast and the other buried between her legs, she let her breath accelerate and intensify. In mimicking the motions of sex, the motion of fucking and, most of all, the offering of herself to be fucked, even in the dark with her partner unconscious and docile, she could feel the sweet intoxication of arousal and curled her toes under the cotton sheets.

"...fuck me... any... way... you... want... "

Her ass finally met with his hand and her entire body lit up. There was a psychological no man's land for her between the imagination of his fingertips on her smooth ass while she played with herself for his pleasure and the strange, erotic game of using him in her masturbation without him knowing it. She pressed back harder and found herself beginning to worry; her escalating motions against her erect clit were causing some sympathetic vibration in the mattress and she knew that if her labored breathing wasn't a risk to his steady sleep then the heat her body was throwing off would be. It worried her, but she was well into the phase of sexual hunger and bad judgment and continued to grind her fingers against her cunt without remittance and in the blink of an eye talked herself into accepting that everything was going to be fine and the he wouldn't wake up.

She might have hit her climax there within seconds, but to her horror he stirred quickly and shuffled under the covers for the count of two, but it was long enough to make her heart and fingers stop right where they were. She knew that if she stayed stalk still that, from the back, she could possibly pass for innocently sleeping on her side and she was entirely prepared to fake the sleepy voice of having just woken up if he should ask those four dreaded words: "What are you doing?"

They were never uttered. She froze like a frightened deer, but fate lent her its grace once again and the room fell still and motionless and in a few short moments she realized that all was as it had been.

She reached back behind herself again and felt for his hand, but instead her cool, long fingers met the firmness of his erect penis. She stifled a gasp in her throat, worried that this would instantly wake him, but quickly realized that might not have to happen. When her tension defrosted and she let her mind wander in the dark, her fingertips wandered and began to explore it, tentatively at first... drifting almost without touching on the warm, brown skin. Like most men, he spent a lot of his sleeping hours erect. It's involuntary and simply a matter of physiology and not arousal. She knew this, and for some reason was emboldened by it; not so concerned that he had somehow psychically tuned into what she was doing and begun to exploit it for his own thrill.

She didn't know enough about what it felt like to have a penis and how much stimulation it would need before it would wake the owner, but there was something in her stirring as she was able to claim and touch it without him intruding on her moment with his own desires and voice and ministrations. Her hand circled it and stroked once down to the base in a long, easy motion, and as it did she slid her ass just far enough back to let the very tip touch the base of her spine. He had turned or somehow moved when he stirred, and his orphaned hand was now missing; there was only this hard, warm maleness that she played with like dynamite; she was still vaguely terrified that he would wake and notice her, but she was beginning to get too far into her own heavy fog of lust to care if she ignited the fuse or not. All her fingers and thumb were wrapped at the base now, except for the index finger, which she stealthily twisted under his balls to rest there where it felt the radiating heat and softness of the nest of hair and warm flesh. Her pussy was oozing now and she tilted up her ass towards it where, in her mind's eye, she could imagine that he was nearly about to impale her roughly. She tipped his erection so slightly down towards her slit and let her mind roam, imagining that he might wordlessly press against her and full penetration would occur without challenge or prelude. Her other hand was now between her legs yet once more and was gyrating like a furious machine against her clit while she saw herself from above, locked in a pose of mid-thrust towards the slumbering man beside her. How dirty she felt, and how aroused at the thought of taking something she was not invited to take, enjoying something that she did not share, holding something that was not hers. She was not aware, however, that her hand had begun to stroke him lightly, but steadily... up and down in long, gliding motions with her fingers twisting deftly around the thick shaft, clasping on the rise, releasing as they fell. Clear droplets of semen were being milked from him as she pulled and released, but they fell to the bed sheet without her knowing or seeing them. She was busy, regardless, with her own pleasure; feeling her warm, erect nipples hardening like steel in the cool air while she rolled her tongue in her mouth and, of course, probed at her tiny engorged clitoris. Had she watched herself in third person she would be paralyzed with fear, as most of her trepidation about being silent or still had left her; the fury of orgasm had almost overtaken her body at this point and she was stupidly intoxicated by the scenario, the context and, of course, the feral, visceral feeling of a thick warm cock to hold and stroke.

As she reached the pinnacle and pushed back further, she felt the very tip of him against the opening of her cunt. "Oh, God..." she thought/whispered to herself "...he's going to do it he's going to fuck me oh God...". She did not think that he was awake, but her imagination let her indulge in the delight of wondering. She felt her own orgasm build quickly and powerfully in her and wondered if she should try to push back onto his dry shaft, trying to determine in her foggy, dizzy haze of arousal if it would wake him. Though she knew it would, she tried in desperate hysteria to talk herself into thinking that it wouldn't.

And then it happened; she froze stalk still as something quite unexpected took place. Her hand felt it first; powerful, thick streams of ejaculate spurting out of him up her wrist and through her delicate fingers. Then, less than a full second and one orgasmic convulsion later, her vagina was covered in heavy, dripping semen. The sensation of the spraying fluid all over her pussy that mixed with her own fluids and flowed instantly into the fingers of the hand that manipulated her clit. She gasped loudly and though there was no light, her eyes snapped open. Her jaw dropped and her breath came in short, quick drawings. He was still spraying her when she came; it was a sharp, intense, toe-curling orgasm that made her whole body lock like a vice. Her pussy exploded in a mess of self-lubrication and sticky ejaculate and hammered her entire body with contractions. "No..." she thought hazily "he wasn't... supposed to.. he wasn't supposed to know.."

And she came again instantly for a very, very long time.

When the torrent had passed, they lay together there, not moving. She was not at all sure what had happened or what to say next. Her fingers slowly, hesitantly released their grip on his cock as it folded in her palm and drooled all over it. Her entire back side was painted with semen, but he said nothing. In fact, she could not tell if he had even woken up, and she stayed still in the dark for a very long time trying to decide if it were humanly possible for him to sleep through it all. Yet, he had said nothing and given no indication; he never once thrust into her palm or reached around her to feel her in order to amplify his own orgasm. Motionless as if in a coma, he came without so much as an iota of indication that he was conscious. She wondered and, even as she later drifted to sleep, she still did not know.

They never spoke of it. Not the next day, nor ever. She did sleep well in what was left of her night, however.

The Sad Theme Of Longing

2004-10-03T20:23:00.000-07:00

Something very unusual has happened to my love and I; we have not seen each other in almost two months. I would love to tell you all the details of why this is but, as I have said before, I don't want to give any information which might lead people to figure out our identities. Though the chances of that are slim, it's something we simply can't afford to have happen (I'd have to remove this entire blog if that ever came about). Anyhow, we are still very much in love, very much committed and very much intending to stay together until our last breaths leave our bodies... but right now we just haven't been able to be together, and it's really breaking my heart. I long for her so dearly that it's taking all the strength I have to not completely lose my mind. In fact, it's because I want to be a source of strength, positivity and encouragement to her that I don't completely fall into a pit of despair over our extended separation. The thing that makes it hard isn't that it hurts; it's that you don't want the hurting to stop. This relationship is far, far from over (in fact, just typing the word "over" feels wrong), so I don't want to learn how to not miss her. I don't want the pain to go away, you see; I want the vulnerability to stay fresh and raw, lest I do the unthinkable and forget her place in my heart. It isn't just the wound... I want to keep the wound open, to be healed only by reunion with her.

Also, there's a little voice inside me that says "It's only two months. You'll manage". And I suppose I will.

I fantasize a lot about her. She and I share a sexual perspective - I almost want to call it an "alertness" - which feels wide awake and vibrant. This is likely why, in my mind, I am always turning over sexual scenarios about her. Unlike some relationships where one or the other partner have secret thoughts (often revealing their most cherished wishes and sexual desires) but they don't share them with their partner, either because the partner isn't receptive to their cravings or they themself aren't able to find the courage to embrace them. I don't have that problem with her; when a stroke of inspiration comes to mind, I discuss it with her and invite her to share the excitement with me. If we weren't so closely in sync as far as our sexual tastes go then this might not work so well, but usually the things I want to do or have are things that she, herself, will also want (if she doesn't already). This is probably the best way to define my "fantasy life" in the context of my relationship with her: Always it is about her and always it is centered on things which might, in fact, actually happen.

I will now share three fantasies I've had which she was very, very receptive to.

Lollipop.
Photo shoot of her, naked. She has a common lollipop in her mouth. Red and round, in and out between her soft lips. Her tongue rolls around it, and I take close, tight shots of her. She knows what to do with it, how to lick it... how to suck it... how to play it against her tongue and her mouth... when to close her lips around the stem and when to open so that it can leave from her tongue, glistening. Then, a short break while we reposition and get necessarily "aids". The photoshoot resumes once more as she kneels on the ground, leaning towards the floor, and sliding the lollipop in and out of her ass while she rubs her clit with her other hand.

Gas station.
In the car, her silent. We stop at a gas station somewhere along the highway. I lead her by the wrist to the bathroom, key-attached-to-giant-fob in hand. We enter together and before the door is even closed, her dress is lifted from her, leaving her only in her sandals. On her knees on the bathroom floor she sucks me. Then, later, she takes the sink with both hands to steady herself as I position behind her. She watches in the mirror as I take her forcibly there, holding her hips steady so that I don't knock her from her feet with every hard, furious stroke. I will enter her ass and fuck her in the dirtiest possible way while she sees herself in the mirror being taken and owned in the filthy environ. I will ejaculate all over her back and ass.

Change Room.
My digital camera takes movies of about 10 minutes' length. We will be shopping together and I will have a bag with me. Once in a lingerie store, I will hand her the bag. She will take lingerie to the change room and she will put it on. Once she's done so, she'll remove my camera from the bag along with a small vibrator and will record herself in the mirror while she masturbates and orgasms. She will leave the change room demurely once she's done, return the bag to me, and I will watch the gift she's made for me at my convenience.

Why did I choose these three fantasies when I have so many? Because these are three that stopped her heart and made her soaking wet. In fact, we hope to try these at our earliest opportunity. At the moment it looks like next week is a distinct possibility, but with how things have been going I've stopped getting my hopes up until the plans are set in stone. Wish us luck.

I yearn for her so powerfully. It hurts. There is a ragged, yawning hole in my heart, in my time, in my life where she should be, and right now she isn't. Naturally, I am heartened by the solidity of our devotion to each other, but I hunger for her every second of the day to the point of distraction. The main reason, I feel, that my posting here has slowed isn't just because I have covered so much and need to see her again to have more stories (though that's partially the case). It's more a matter of how my arousal reminds me of her and, to be more specific, the lack of her. If you've never felt like stopping to cry while you're masturbating then you've never really been in love.

Taste

2004-09-30T16:33:00.000-07:00

One thing that I really enjoy is this: After my love has been on her knees sucking my cock, stroking the shaft and making the delicious, hungry sounds that she makes and I have ejaculated into her mouth with great force and energy. She swallows every drop and sucks at me until the last of it has been drained. When I recover from the drunken haze of orgasm, she then slithers up my naked body, dragging her breasts over my skin and sliding her smooth legs against mine, and we kiss. I can taste myself and my semen in her mouth. Though she has swallowed it, I can taste the aura of it and feel the warm, worn, tender flesh of her lips and tongue that are engorged with blood from the frantic activity. Tasting her mouth like this is an incredible turn-on for me. I often reach down and, as our tongues are lazily mingling, I can feel that her pussy is positively sopping. The echo of wetness from one of her openings to the other hypnotizes me.

Still Here

2004-09-21T23:41:00.000-07:00

Not much to write lately. Yet more delays in us being together, which is infuriating. Anyhow, I haven't gone anywhere and neither has she. There will be more posts before long. Hang in there.

The Simplicity Of It

2004-09-16T01:09:00.000-07:00

We've finally settled on a date when we can see one another, and it's roughly two weeks from the time of this posting. I'm amazed at how our personal lives have been in such frenzied upheaval that we can't even squeeze out a week to lie in each others' arms and be together. I'm nearly at the limit of my patience with the situation. I do, however, have this to look forward to and once we're back together we'll be staying together for a rather long time, so I'm grateful for that.

It's interesting how breasts are such a sexual focal point for men (and a lot of women). I've never been what you'd call a "Breast Man" in the sense that I don't have that obsessive interest in them that some men do. I've never had a direct correlation between my interest in the woman and the size of her tits. In fact, I find men who go in for the DDD, super-inflated mammaries of volume to be rather primitive; I cannot help but think of them as baboons who are aroused by the sight of another baboon's big red ass. They're lacking in artistic appreciation of the female body as a symphony of shapes, curves and subtle surfaces - some acute, some gentle.

This is where my love enters the conversation; I have easily realized that I've never seen nor felt such an astonishingly sublime pair of breasts. The skin is velvety and smooth, warm and perfect. She is devoid of veins, stretch-marks, translucent skin or any of the other common breast characteristics. Instead, her breasts are very, very soft and perfectly curved. They are neither too large nor too small; they are not obscene but, rather, female and demure... but still heavy, luscious, and each larger than my hand can hold. I find the way that her breasts are so incredibly firm (I've never in my life seen a woman lie on her back while her tits stay firmly round and jutting the way hers do). They remind me of overripe, swollen fruit... so sexual and sensual at once while being irresistable to the touch or taste.

One thing we often joke about is how her nipples seem to always be erect; I've never reached under her clothes and touched them without them being hard as little stones. As I described in an earlier entry, the first time I felt her naked breasts under my palms, I took particular notice of her nipples. To this day I often think about the silky, erotic sensation of turning and pinching and pulling them under my thumb and forefinger while pressing my erect cock against her ass. She tells me that she's never really been very stimulated from her breasts until I began touching them (is she exaggerating for my ego? I'm going to pretend no). I do remember bringing her very close to orgasm by licking and sucking them... without even touching her pussy. I do think I'm going to return to her again and try to make her cum this way... just to see if we can.

I've laid my cock between them more than a few times but haven't yet followed through to orgasm. She's aroused greatly by having her breasts fucked (one of the things she said to me that I'll never forget was "I love how your cock makes my breasts look so small"). She thrusts her chest up to me and presses them tightly together with her sweet, slender hands. She's always been very eager to have me cum on her; something about the sweet, fresh, simply beautiful aura of her mingled with the raw sensual eroticism of having me spurt jets of warm, streaming cum on her beautiful face and neck has always made me so grateful to have her as a lover... she adores the sensation. Licking the sticky, warm semen as it splatters over her mouth, rubbing the rest into her skin and licking her fingers... a woman's eagerness for cum is a fetish of mine and she's made me so incredibly aroused (and satisfied) by it. I intend to return to her and fuck her breasts until I cum this time... because I want a photo of the results that I can post here for you to see.

I want you to know how beautiful and perfect she truly is when her soft, firm, heavy tits are smeared with semen and her little tongue is licking the sticky strings of it from her coral lips.

The Hallowe'en Thing

2004-09-11T14:53:00.000-07:00

I changed the basic style of the page to one of Blogspot's other templates because I like this one better, particularly because there are borders around the images now (which I prefer). You should, of course, let me know if you have suggestions.

We've been talking about possibly doing up a very serious Hallowe'en thing. Hallowe'en is a holiday that I can really get into and I want to spend it being crazy and dressed up with my honey. We had this little conversation about it, actually:

Me: What do you want to be this Hallowe'en?
Her: Your kitten
Me: Mmm... nice. What kind of costume are we going to need for that?
Her: A collar and leash, of course.
Me: I was just thinking about buying myself a leash for you today, in fact. Anything else in mind?
Her: Something slinky.
Me (some time later): Did you know that this has been fueling my fantasies since you said it last week?
Her: Puuuuuuurrrrrrrrr

So at the moment we're loosely considering doing an actual "Fetish Ball" thing for Hallowe'en where we really get dressed to the nines and go out together. We're currently looking into a few events that might just do the trick.

As for what we'll wear... I've been thinking about having her in the collar (of which I've already spoken) and the leash I mentioned above. I am not sure about the rest of her... I like the idea of her in a slinky black evening gown with slits, black stockings and heels... and nothing else. I like the idea of her in a short black skirt and white cotton top (like the outfit she stripped off for me the second night after the Scrabble game... not sure if I described that one). Whatever she wore it would have to be something that would be comfortable as she sat by my feet or on my lap like a pet all night. I'd also have to be able to undress or reveal her easily, so I think the latter outfit might be better; it would be easy to simply slip her wrap-around skirt off of her and have her sit, naked from the waist down, by my feet rather than having to deal with an entire dress. I also think it's sexier if she's partly clothed, and the dress makes it all-or-nothing. Also, the white shirt with black skirt gives it a bit of a schoolgirl look which, while usually not my type, is making me pretty hard just from typing about it... picturing her in that outfit...

For me, if I were going to go full-on "Dom" I would probably eschew the typical look and instead make an effort to have a more civilized, fashionable style... like Morpheus (but without the guns). As you can tell from how I've described both my and her possible outfits for going out, I'm not a fan of the leathery, studded get-ups which, frankly, violate every fashion law in the book. Basically it comes down to this: If I want to LARP, then that's what I'll do. It's not that I don't want my pet and I to look dramatic and sexy, but if I'm going to a Fetish Ball or BDSM party I don't want to look like I had to roll for Strength, Intelligence and Dexterity.

She has an interest in being shown off... stripped, dominated, controlled, punished and even fucked in public, but only by me ... and neither of us have the slightest interest in getting into any group scenes or swapping one another. The thought just makes us ill. It's not what we want at all. We may be sick perverts with BDSM fantasies, but we are utterly and entirely interested only in one another.

How "crazy" would our night out as Master and kitten be? I don't intend to decide what will happen ahead of time; when you're doing stuff like this - especially if it's new to you - then it's good not to get too many pre-conceived ideas in your head of how it should go. We may arrive at a particular party and get incredibly turned on and have one of the most erotic nights of our lives. We may also arrive, take a look and then turn on our heels and leave. I want to be flexible because it's more important that it feels right than it fits in with some kind of script I have in my head. Obviously I'm taking the lead in this venture (choosing her clothing, choosing the venue), so I want to make sure I stay realistic. Too many people get wrapped up in the fantasy and end up ruining the reality.

If things go well I will put her at my feet as I sit, holding her leash and stroking her hair as she leans against me. I will likely take her into my lap at some point as well, as I will no doubt want to kiss and touch her. If things feel right then I will undress her partly, or even fully and have her lay on the floor next to me. We have discussed the possibility of public whipping... and it seems somewhat severe. That being said, I described to her over the phone once the idea of a giant rack that she could be tied to and stripped to the skin... and that I would alternately whip her and finger her before a crowd of aroused onlookers while her long naked body (save maybe for the stockings) was completely exposed, legs tied so they are forced apart, arms over her head as her gorgeous tits are bare and free, while her cunt drips and her ass is painted with flaming welts. Was she receptive? As I described it to her she masturbated and came... three times.

Trick or treat?

To My One True Love

2004-09-08T13:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Sweetheart,

I have spent several nights without you, thinking about your beautiful heart, your sweet soul. I remember how we mingle while we're together and how we intertwine like rattlesnakes... and the memory alone is enough to bouy me when I am lonely for you. I can make myself smile merely by imagining the sound of your laughter and the way that you make me sigh with satisfaction and pleasure simply by looking into my eyes. Your love is the lodestone of my sanity, the anchor of my heart.

Though I love you very deeply I'm not only thinking of the mystical, spiritual connection between us; recently I've been madly dreaming about how it feels to fuck you. I can't stop playing the visions of the sensory banquet of you in my head; at once I am closing my eyes and visualizing the expression in your face when I push into you for the first time - your eyes lighting up and your mouth drawing a deep, wild breath... I am savoring the smell of you in my imagination - the delicate, female smell of your slippery cunt as I am leaning in to suck the folds of your softest, silkiest flesh into my mouth to lick and devour... the sound of your tortured, panting voice as you feel me spurt jets of warm semen against your cervix - the way you tilt your head back and groan with your pleading, sweet voice... the taste of your tongue against my own as it twists and snakes in my mouth - lapping and stroking me like a hungry animal... the feel of your skin as it transforms from the whisper-dry, smooth heaven which is fresh from your clothing to the sweat-soaked, sticky silk which is hot and worn raw from crazed fucking...

I am hungry for you now in a way that I have never been hungry for a woman before. I am craving the rush of adrenaline that comes from sinking my full length into you, whether it's your slick cunt, your hungry mouth or your tight, tender ass.

I want to take you fiercely; I want to rise over you and cover you with my body, warming you and overtaking you, engulfing you and making you feel small and impaled. I am driven to sink my fingers into you while I cover your warm mouth with my own, probing and invading your softness, finding your wetness and opening you. Speaking deep, hushed words into your ear that are only for you to hear... making your breath catch in your throat with raging excitement and desire tempered with a touch of fear... the cocktail of emotion you savor most.

You will drink my cum from my cock while on your knees with my fingers tangled in your hair.

You will arrive at orgasm slowly, torturously, every degree of heat being added by me... one at a time until you lose yourself and fall apart in my arms.

You will feel the after-effects of being fucked so deeply... from the pain in your bottom lip where you were bitten while I came to the sore muscles on the inside of your thighs to the raw skin where my stubbled face rubbed and stroked and devoured you.

I've been hungry for you now for a very long time. I am hungrier for you now than ever and I will be only too ready to overtake you like a hurricane and drown you in my lust.

Be well-rested when your lover comes home, Darling. Trim your cunt and paint your nails. Wear your makeup and do your hair for me. Prepare your physical self for me, for I will eat you like candy; once you have completely melted on my tongue I will lick you off of my chin.

All my love,
Your Master

The Ring

2004-09-08T01:15:00.000-07:00

I got a note today that Orbital Erotic has been linked as part of the Canadian Sex Blogger's Web Ring. If you're like me, you may wonder just how big of a cartel that would actually be. What's more, I'm not totally sure what sets Canadian sex blogs apart from others except perhaps that there are more of them (prolonged winter months are scientifically proven to increase sex drive and my guess, therefore, is that there are more Canadian sex blogs for that reason).

What I'm hoping is that this tiny bit of acceptance into a larger community will bring more eyes onto this blog and encourage those who read it to make comments if they're inspired to. If people just want to read and get hot, I'm ok with that as well (and so is she).

I think it's also an excellent opportunity for me to show you this mouth-watering picture of my love taking her jeans off of her slender, sexy legs.

God, her legs are delicious. Pardon me while I go look at the uncropped, color version of this photo and masturbate...

Story

2004-09-05T23:53:00.000-07:00

This is a story I wrote for her about a month ago. It's pure fiction except for the fact that it's based on how we act together and it takes place in a setting very much like her apartment.

On this particular day she has decided that she's going to play with him. As she turned the thought of it over in her head, she realized it wasn't unlike teasing a tiger through the bars at the zoo and the paralyzing horror when one realizes that the cage door is open. What it is that makes a person want to do that is always a bit of a mystery, though years of psychoanalysis have attempted to pry their way under the phenomenon, but what we do know is that people want to play with fire, even though they know they will - not just might - get burned.

Naturally she wouldn't do something so bad that it would actually endanger the relationship. She just wanted to get his attention. She just wanted to give him a reason to attack her. It was a game she loved, getting him just angry enough to let the rage out but always in a way which saved her a place in his arms after the storm had passed.

On the first morning, she hid his shoes.

Simple and even childish, but she took his shoes from where they usually sat at the entrance to their home and put them in the cupboard under the sink. She watched him as he was pulling his jacket on, preparing to leave for the day, and going out of his mind trying to find them. He asked her twice if she'd seen them, and she said she hadn't, and stood stalk still suppressing a smirk while he strode from one room to the next. Once she'd had enough of his bafflement, she said "Why not take a look under the sink?"

"I wouldn't have put them there, honey" he replied.

"I might have. And forgot." she told him.

He paused for a moment and looked at her, trying to figure out the complex puzzle of her last statement. His eyes searched hers for some understanding, and though he gave up before he had any he found that his shoes were, in fact, under the sink.

His face wasn't angry. He had the look of concern that he gets. He was giving her the benefit of the doubt at that point. He laced his shoes up quickly while still holding her gaze. She continued to stand in that same spot, shifting her weight on and off one tipping foot. "I'm running late now," he started "maybe later tonight you can explain to me how it is that shoes come to live under the sink?"

She shrugged and glued her lips shut. He pecked her mouth before he went out the door, obviously still trying to decode what had just happened. This was the part where she felt some control over him, though it was short-lived and was only hers by benefit of catching him by surprise. She knew this would change. She knew that as she continued on this path that things would definitely change.

When he got home that night she had already been home from work for a couple hours. She was curled up on the couch in front of the television, purposely watching something banal. He was always irritated by the television and didn't enjoy having it on while he was in the same room. She hoped that in some way he would feel a tiny surge of jealousy that she did not leap from the couch to meet him and that he would feel a desire to remind her that she was worth paying attention to as well. His attention, however, was distracted from that by the way that she had shed all her clothes from the office right in front of the door and left them there. A pile of nylons, shoes, underwear, tops and bottoms were spread from the entrance to the five foot mark beyond it. Neither of them were particularly strict about keeping the place clean, but it did enjoy a certain sense of order and the discarding of her clothing was definitely in direct violation of it. She knew that the entire apartment could be clean, but that her clothes on the floor right there would greet him immediately with disarray when he arrived home tired and spent, and that would have an affect on him. She was curled up on the couch now and she wore only one of his shirts and was wrapped in it there; a clean shirt he was fond of that she had seen him iron the night before, and was now wrinkled and folded around and under her curves. She knew that he wouldn't want to iron his shirt a second time, but now he had to if he wanted to wear it. What's more, she knew he loved seeing her in his shirts; so small and delicate under the long folds of cotton, and so he would be aroused to the same extent he was irritated. This is what she wanted; to do him harmless injuries and transient insults that would immediately fade once they were over. She just wanted to poke a stick through the bars and watch the animal stirring.

He stood still for a moment. She did not turn her head to look at him and pretended instead to be riveted to the television, though she did blurt out a calculated, monosyllabic, spiritless greeting. She had to choke back a laugh as she saw him out of the corner of her eye standing stalk still, trying to push down a wave of anger in order to be a caring partner and consider her point of view before he spoke. It took him thirty full seconds to compose something in his head that would answer his questions without being accusatory or cruel.

"Did you have a tiring day?" he asked her. She knew what he was doing; he traced the scene before him backwards on a timeline and assumed that she was too tired or spent from work to be courteous. He was trying to be understanding. She was touched with a warm feeling when she remembered that their relationship was based on understanding and courtesy. Unfortunately, at this juncture, it suited her purposes better to take a different tactic.

"No. I actually came home from work early" she told him. It wasn't true, but she knew that her disregard for their shared space and his personal property would make it so much harder for him to be understanding. She was holding the gaze of the television's giant, glowing square eye so as to not destroy the illusion of ambivalence, but in her mind's eye she was searching his face and tuning into his breathing. She could tell that he was going to let it all slide, but that he was not really in the mood to do her any favors right at that moment. This is how she wanted him; the bond of love unthreatened, but his mind asking a thousand questions about her inconsiderate acts. She knew he wouldn't snap tonight, but that it wasn't far off.

They spoke rather little the next morning, as he had to be up a lot earlier than she did. Her clothes from the day before still lay where they were left, and though he left her a little note saying that he hoped her day was great, she could tell that he was burdened with a mix of emotion; needing to assert his place in their home, being attracted to her and yet also being unsure if he was giving her enough understanding. He never fell into the role of master from a poison storm of selfish rage; he was slow and always kept complete control over himself so that she would be handled and controlled from a place of power, not a place of need. It meant that he was not a person who could be easily forced into a rash outburst of rage, and it also meant that he was always truly in control and that was very exciting to her.

He called that afternoon (knowing that day was her day off) he explained that two of his friends were going to drop by that night around seven and could she please tidy a little because he wasn't sure if he'd have time when he got home. She felt as if she'd been handed an engraved invitation to push his last buttons: By four PM there were dirty dishes in the sink, an overflowing laundry hamper blocking the door to the bedroom and not one but two empty ice cream tubs on the dining room table. Her work clothes from the day before still lay where she left them. She put on one of her favorite sundresses and laid out on the long couch. It was a dress she knew he was turned on by and it delighted her to consider exacerbating his already heightened condition of arousal and frustration. Though it was not particularly revealing, it hugged her body closely and she was sure to wear nothing under it, in case this was the night when he decided to put his foot down. She let herself sleep on the couch that afternoon, strategically laying in plain view amongst the detrius of the apartment in a lazy slumber so he could see that she not only wasn't going to do him this favor as she said she would, but that she would do nothing whatsoever. She knew her naked legs and long, bare arms would catch his attention immediately, but she also knew that he could not say nothing about the state of their home. As she drifted to sleep she was trying to decide whether she should try to convince him that she forgot or if she'd try getting away with telling him that she just didn't feel like it.

While hatching this plan, she was certain that she would hear him come in the door and that she would lie still, feigning sleep while he surveyed her display of self-indulgence, but she did not. She did not wake at all when he came in the door and she did not wake even as he stood in the room with her and watched he sleeping peacefully. In fact, she did not wake until she felt his warm hands snaking around her back (which was bare from the shifting of the dress) and, in the short moment she came to consciousness, she purred and forgot all about her strategy to raise his frustration and desire. She rolled her shoulders into him as she usually would, because they were so affectionate with one another and it was second nature for her to do so. Her mind quickly snapped back to waking life and the memory of her plot when she felt him deftly, quickly fasten a band of thick leather around her neck. She knew what it was; a thick black collar covered in ornaments of metal, an accessory she only wore when he was adopting the role of master. It was a symbol of her giving herself to him completely and a symbol of her letting him be her will and her animus. She knew what it meant and she was immediately flushed with a tidal wave of excitement and terror, as he had caught her prone there; she did not have time to mentally prepare herself for him, as she thought she would. His strong hand on her back kept her pressed down and the collar pulled her neck back so that she was straining slightly. Her hands instinctively clamped down on the material of the couch cushions and her breath stopped in her chest. It was something he liked to do to get her complete attention.

At first she thought he'd say so much to her, but he said nothing. She realized that they both knew what was going on and why and then understood that there was nothing to say. Was he going to tell her that she had been misbehaving for two days? They both knew that already. Was he going to tell her that she promised to clean the apartment and did not? That was obvious from simply glancing around them. She realized that there was no statement worth making. She realized that the punishment she'd been trying to coax out of him was now upon her. She realized that the tiger had burst from his cage.

She immediately started saying "I'm sorry, master...". It was involuntary. Her mind was scrambling and her words were coming from a deeper, more instinctive place.

"I'm so sorry"

She felt the slight whisper of fabric that covered her ass pushed away and she realized how quickly she was exposed to him. Her thighs involuntarily tried to clamp together, but she stopped herself. She knew full well that if he had to tell her to open them that it would come at great pain. She knew what was expected of her.

Her face was still low in the couch cushions and she could only see a blur of tan fabric and a bit of sky blue from the window as her eyes glossed over with tears. He had taken his belt from his pants and had begun bringing it down on her soft, pale buttocks in a slow hail of blows. She could feel the welts rising on her immediately after the first stroke and her entire body locked in tension as she waited for each stroke to follow. She was only dimly aware that both her wrists were gathered in his hand at the small of her back. Her breathing was maniacal and she was quickly covered in a thin gloss of perspiration, as she always was when he punished her. Her mind was short circuiting on the excitement of being taken so quickly and overcome as if by a storm wind; she luxuriated in the emotional warmth of knowing that he had not forgotten her. On the contrary; she knew that every move she made caught his full attention and that even her punishment was an expression of his love for her, his desire for her, his mastery over her. Tears were flowing from her eyes now as the white fire on her upturned ass was sinking into her skin and making her twist and pull under him. She keenly felt the leather of his belt and could hear his deep, slow, fiery breathing as he increased the weight of the strokes one to the next. She was aware that she flung her feet up and down as her spine tried to twist away, but he had her there and, as if the collar gave him some mysterious special strength, she could not fight off the shackle of his single hand that clamped her wrists and pushed into the small of her back.

Her mind centered enough to realize that her pussy was open to his eyes and that the smooth, soft flesh of it was swelling wildly. She tried to imagine what he saw and felt even more exposed than she already did; ass spread and flaming red with vulgar stripes of crimson across it while her slit fell open to his gaze and oozed so much that there was no way she could lie and pretend that she didn't feel the hot surge of lust for him now. She wondered if her slit glistened. She wondered if he was staring at it.

"I'm sorry," she repeated "Please master, I'm sorry I'm so sorry..." Her voice was low and hoarse and she realized that her throat was now raw from howling and sobbing.

"Say it again" he told her in a low, rock steady voice.

"I..." she drew a breath" am so sorry that I displeased you and that I have been bad"

She paused

"I should know not to toy with you and I am so sorry. I am so sorry." She felt a brief sense of embarrassment at what she thought was a rather ineloquent blurb of words.

She was still apologizing when he somehow used one hand under her pelvis and one in the small of her back to flip her over onto her back, her searing hot ass objecting to the friction of the cushions, her hemline up to her waist and her thighs split open to accommodate where he knelt between them on the couch.

"I don't think you're sorry" he said.

"I am!" she strained to emphasize the fact to him. "I am so so so sorry. I knew it was wrong and I am so sorry for doing what I've done to you."

Her entire body was trying to mimic the words to him, as her foot raised and stroked his back with such softness, such tenderness. She rolled her stomach and tipped her hips, offering her open cunt to him now as a gift of love and apology. She hesitatingly lifted both her hands to his face, frightened that she might not be allowed to touch him as she did not have permission from him to do so. Still, she stroked his jaw with such a deep loving tenderness and he could see that she was being absolutely sincere; she was as sorry for this as she had been for anything in her life and ever iota of her being was trying to repay him tenfold.

He was opening the buttons of her dress with one hand, and she hoped this was an indication that she would be allowed to make it up to him with her soft female body. As the folds of fabric fell from her naked breasts, she pushed herself down towards him so her aching vagina was pressed to the thick, warm bulge in his pants. She wanted him to take her completely and she was bursting with torrents of love and affection. She knew not to meet his gaze directly when he was in this state of mind, but she saw him open his pants and take his erect cock from the material of his underwear. She wasn't trying to stare, but the straining, powerful, steely hardness of it captured her attention utterly. As he lowered it and pointed it over the length of her body, she lifted her hips enough to nuzzle his balls with the slick wetness of her pussy. She was silently begging him now to take her by opening and pressing against him. Her heart beat so hard and fast that she thought her ribs might break.

"Lie down" he told her, and she knew this meant to lower her hips and stay still. She continued to look at the shaft of his cock, wrapped in his hand and pointed downwards at her chin as she lay on her back.

He began to stroke it slowly.

"You don't move", he told her, and she knew that this meant she was going to repay her debt by being little more than his plaything; that he would devour the sight of her while she lie prone and open to him. She knew that he was telling her here and now that he would take what he wanted from her without thought of returning a single favor if it pleased him. This excited her; not so much that he wasn't fucking her as she had hoped, because she was suffering horribly from a swollen clit and a sloppy, sticky cunt that had to stay still, as per his orders. She was excited that he could take what he wanted from her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Her eyes luxuriously closed and she drew a slow, languid breath into the full of her chest so as to show the full shape of her to him; her rib cage, her erect nipples, her vulnerable throat...

Over the next few minutes she would glance slowly down and see the flow of pre-cum trickling from the end of his cock while he stiffly jacked himself off. When he finally came, her eyes were closed and she felt thick spoonfuls of ejaculate splattering her smooth skin; her belly, her breasts, her neck, her face, her hair... she snaked the tip of her tongue from her mouth to taste a dollop that had landed on her upper lip. His ejaculations were steady and long... and well after she thought he would be done, it continued to fire on her. She was basking in his full attention now... she knew that she was utterly and unmistakably gorgeous to him at that moment and she was delighted in knowing that she could bring him to orgasm by simply lying back and letting him look.

When he lowered himself down onto her, his shirt was already off and they began to kiss feverishly. The wet semen spread warmly between their pressed skin and he slid so smoothly against her because of it. Their tongues were stroking one another as she let her raised hands fall around his shoulders and her slim legs wrap around his waist. She could feel the still-firm, but slick-with-semen shaft of his cock pressing against her inner thigh as she sucked his mouth and roamed his naked skin with her palms.

She felt a duty to ask him, "Shouldn't we be cleaning? It's almost seven"

"Pardon?" he replied, and she knew what he meant instantly.

"I meant should we be cleaning, Master? I could clean. I could clean by myself to make up for what I did. I would do that right now, naked and covered in your come if you want me to, sir. Anything you want"

He continued kissing her and whispered into her mouth.

"Nobody is coming tonight, honey" he said. "I only said that so you would have a way to finish what you started yesterday morning. We have the entire evening to ourselves"

She laughed.

My Dreams

2004-09-05T22:48:00.000-07:00

This entry isn't going to be the same sort of raw, sexual expression that most of the others are. This is where I take a moment to think and express about my one true love... the woman around whom this entire journal is centered.

We have a difficult relationship. Our connection is buffeted by endless challenges. We are away from each other too much, and too far. We both have difficult, troubled, and not-very-distant pasts that haunt us now and, even as we are together we are still cleaning up the broken pieces of previous tragedies and traumas. We each have our own inner battles that are being fought (and mostly won), but we struggle... it often feels as if there are hurricanes of circumstance that want to pull us apart from one other.

They never will.

I will never give up the fight to keep her because the very core of our bond is strong and solid. Based on love, affection, respect, friendship and the desire to give to one another, there is no better basis upon which to build. This is too rare to ignore, too unique to give up on, too precious to walk away from. If we were not bonded on that level it would be different; nothing could keep us together, nothing would make the challenges worth the trouble. As it is, when I look at her, I see my future... I see my dreams being realized... and that is not so cheap that one should hesitate to fight for it. In fact, this is the very sort of bond between a man and a woman for which vows are made, wars fought and lives given up.

In these modern times we have forgotten the sacredness of this gift and temper our decisions not by what is right but rather by what is easy. I suppose I could look at my life and see how much easier it would be without her... how much simpler... how much less complicated. There is no allure for me in that, however; all I would do after parting from her is go back to searching for her again. Comfort or ease would be no factor. I would never really be at peace knowing that I let the jewel slip from my hand. What kind of empty heart could possibly trade what I have for simplicity and spoon-fed complacency? Aren't we supposed to be spending our lives looking for something worth suffering for? Worth working at? Worth working towards? What are we here for if not to find that one true love that distinguishes itself from all others and turns us into heroes, poets and even martyrs as we pursue it?

The difficult, tumultuous days of having this woman in my life are far more precious than any other day in my entire history. They are sweeter than my first kiss, more dear to me than my first crush, more precious than my own life. She is worth any challenge, any hardship. I cannot be shaken from this bond by mere trials and tribulations.

My dreams are good dreams in that they are only of things that I either already have or are inevitably coming to me. What we both know and we both dream is that this will never end... and we have already promised each other that it will not.

To Seduce Her

2004-09-05T19:46:00.000-07:00

If you cannot touch her mind you will get nothing from her of any value. She is intelligent and appreciates the artistry of love and thought, passion and creativity. While sweet words and gifts can soften her heart to you, she cannot truly give herself until you have met her in her mind, her heart. If she cannot respect and admire you then you will never seduce this mystical, secretive woman... so beautiful in her physicality, but also in her thought and feeling. She is a mine of gems, but she is not free for the taking. If you regard her as simple and easily won you will be left with nothing.

Be strong and certain; wrap your arms around her and pull her closely to you. She does not want you to be afraid of her and she does not want you to be tentative. She wants to fall into the warmth of you and feel protected, surrounded, safe. She will lean into you and wants you to stay straight, your back strong and your arms able to hold her steady. When you kiss her, she will feel the measure of your passion and desire for her, but this has to be communicated through sensuality and affection; she will not interpret you forcing your mouth against her or trying to put your tongue down her throat as passion, but rather as over-eagerness that speaks an immaturity and lack of control. This doesn't appeal to her. Press, but don't crush her... softly steal the breath from her mouth... hold her beautiful face with your hands as you do this... if you are genuine then she will feel it.

You must be entirely present for her; do not let your hands and body idle while your mouth is busy. Engage her from every part of yourself. As you kiss and lick her soft, pale neck you have to be alive within yourself enough to keep your hands pressed to her back or tangled in her soft hair. You must be close enough to her that she can feel your chest open and close with your breathing. You must be kissing her with your entire body. If you can do this, take the front of her throat into your mouth and lick, suck, bite, push against her... and she will be opening to you as you do. If she can feel you right through her core then she will unfold, unravel, and your key will open all of her locks in succession. Lick and suck on her soft, delicate collar bone while pressing yourself into her and listen to her breathing change; her heart will be quickening and her sex will be moist and tingling in preparation for you. If you move to just under her jawline by her ear and kiss her, suck her there she will become as helpless as a kitten picked up by the back of the neck. She will let you lay her back now, onto the bed, the couch, the floor... she is already yours now.

She will now let your tongue into her mouth and will stroke it with her own. Her breathing will be heavy and thick and she will be twisting and squirming under your weight. You must kiss her as you undress her... you cannot forget to give affection and adoration to her as she lets you into her secret places. She will help you open her clothes and will now be eager to serve herself to you as a gift of submission and love. Handle her with power, but not with force... take her entire breast in your hand and be strong with her; she does not want you to be cautious or indecisive. You have already won her at this point and she wants you to take what's yours. Part her knees with your own hands and lie between them; she will likely have pulled your pants off your ass by this point... not in a forceful way, but rather as a kindness or a gesture of her willingness to be your little slave and do the labor on your behalf. This is her way; once you have her, she will kneel at your feet and do whatever you want her to. You must never, ever take this gift for granted because it's something that almost every man would pay any price to enjoy. Honor her giving of herself to you with respect and care; otherwise, you don't deserve it.

Love-making begins here. You may spend hours with her... touching, licking, tasting, pressing against each other... even binding, whipping or forcing her to her hands and knees... but you now control the concert of sex between you. When she is aroused, she is powerfully passionate and oh so very willing to do anything. Every fantasy you have, every desire you harbor... she will curl around you like a vine and utterly commit to the satiating every hunger you could ever suffer from. She is the essence of perfect lustful satisfaction and gives so much that you may even forget to give in return... which would be a terrible mistake if you want to earn this gift.

When you enter her tender pink cunt you will have to make the first few strokes gentle and shallow; she is small and must become accustomed to the width and girth of you. Watch her eyes and you can see clearly where her limit is and when she cannot take more of you. Rest assured, however, that the fever of desiring your hard cock as far in her as you can push it will overtake her mind, and her soft, silky hole will flood and open to accommodate you fully... she will push back on you and soak the full length of your shaft with her own dewy, slippery lubrication. She will climax madly, wildly over and over on you... three, four, five or more times... her nails will claw your back and her mouth will lock on yours as she gasps and cries into your lips... and when she breaks from you she will whisper urgently, madly that she loves you... over and over again... "I love you I love you I love you..." until she clenches her entire body and climaxes yet one more time. When you finally shoot into her, spurting everything that has been swelling in the base of your cock, she will feel every throb and will climax with you as she stares, wide-eyed and crazed, into your face and gasps, cries and shrieks. When you are spent and the two of you are scented with perspiration and the mingling of your sexual aroma, she will stroke and kiss you and blow softly on your hot face to cool you. She will tell you how she loves you and will hold you closely for as long as she can. You will have won her at this point. She will be yours.

It's a little cruel of me at this point to reflect on the fact that this has been my passionate exchange with her. I have just written a "how to" of seducing my one true love, and that may seem peculiar in the sense that I appear to be giving away the secret to having her... but no, you will never get that chance. How do I know this? It's because of something she said to me once when I was asking her about her passionate, wild surrender and submission - how she so willingly fell into my arms and became totally owned. I asked her about her opening, her receptivity, how she let down her defenses and revealed herself without hesitation. I asked her if this was her way, if this was her character as a lover, if this the definition of what having her was. Her response?

"Only for you. Nobody else. Ever".

Something Of Beauty

2004-09-03T16:47:00.000-07:00

It's hard not to be repetitive in a journal like this one. When my mind is trained on her and our love life together it circles a lot of the same points over and over, and I try to serve them up as freshly as I can but I will, from time to time, cover ground that's already been covered. It's even harder to create a fresh, unique post when I don't want to indicate too much about our personal lives (as you gentle readers know, we need to stay anonymous); where we work, where we live, who we know, where we're from... those things have to be off-limits (though I wish they didn't). Harder still to come up with something new when I haven't seen her in over three weeks and won't see her for at least another two (well, just short of two). If I end up boring any of you with some circuitous rambling, I hope you'll forgive me.

I've spent a little time lately trying to get good images to accompany the stories; cropped and suggestive but hinting at her full beauty. This is amazingly easy to do; as you can see there is an abundance of angles and perspectives from which she looks mouth-wateringly gorgeous, and because she's equally as beautiful from every angle (front, back, feet, hair, reclining, standing, whatever) I can come up with a good diversity of images that illustrate and depict her in such a way that you might get a decent understanding of why I absolutely cannot resist her.

The thing that I would love to show you but I can't is her sweet face. That's a shame, too, because as succulent as her curved ass is, as delicate as her alabster neck is, as sensuously smooth as her naked belly is, there is no part of her more lovely or captivating than her sweet, perfect face. No doubt those of you who read this are probably wondering if she's a woman with an amazing body but... er... let's say "unfortunate" looks (you don't have to feel guilty; I would wonder the same), but I can assure you that is not the case. Her cheeks are smooth and flawless, and her smile is radiant - gorgeous white teeth in a perfect coral-colored cupid's bow. In the visage of this perfect face there is nothing more captivating than her eyes... they are soft and clear, warm and sensual. When she is excited she opens them wide so as to reveal the top of her irises. When she is melting into passion or affection, they become heavy and luxurious. Her brow, too, works with her eyes to convey oceans of expression; mischief, amusement, humor, love, vulnerability, desire, and even sorrow... the most heart-rendingly deep sorrow you've ever seen in your life. When she is making love her eyes are heavy and move between iron-like focus and hunger and a trance-like simmering of embers. When she climaxes, tears roll from her eyes as she furrows her brow and screws her lids shut, crying and moaning... or they spread wide like lights and rivet into mine, locking on with the sort of furious combination of astonishment and surrender that cumming like a freight train can sometimes instill in you.

I've ruined her face several times through intense, fierce sex. I've left her mouth raw and throbbing from the licking, kissing and biting of her soft lips while I push harder and harder into her. She sheds so many tears from a never-ending stream of orgasms that her dark eye makeup circles her eyes with black rings and often runs in streaks down her face and ruins a pillowcase or bedsheet right along with it. I've ejaculated on her face as well, cumming on her neck and cheeks as she languidly cups her own breasts in her soft hands, lets her heavy lids close and parts her tender, moist lips to catch what she can on her tongue.

I would say that not a day goes by where I don't think about that lovely face, her smile, her sighing eyes, her lovely expressions of adoration and love... but it wouldn't be quite correct. I have to say that lately barely a minute goes by without me thinking about it.

You'll never see her face here, I'm sorry to tell you... but when your mind begins to wonder if her face can be as incomparably delicious and erotic as her perfect, slender, womanly body, the answer is: More than I can even describe.

Cock Sucking By Email

2004-09-02T17:12:00.000-07:00

We were exchanging some email today and she kept hinting at how she wanted to attack my cock in the way that a cat would attack its prey. We make a lot of stupid jokes through the day (she's the only woman I've ever met who can really make me laugh), but we had a change in tone at one point; the email-by-email conversation was drifting to the subject of her wanting to suck my cock in earnest. See, at first she was pretending to be a cat stalking my erection (don't ask), but then a few emails later I got this:

((taking you all the way into my throat))
Okay, okay, I shouldn't even start.

I told her, of course, that it was a turn-on for me to hear her talk that way, but I was also trying not to pressure her to feel like we had to hit full-on "cybersex" or anything like that. Sometimes it's just as sweet to touch on the erotic and then let yourself drift back from it as well. We often play at that; back and forth a little. I have no problem with it and, because she was at work, I definitely didn't intend to push her into ministering to my fantasies just then and there (though I have done that; at times I'll call her at work and, while she sits at her desk with people passing by, I will tell her that I'm masturbating while thinking about fucking her slick, silky cunt... and then I make her listen to my orgasm. Then I hang up). She was busy, and I knew that. I was busy as well, so... anyhow, you get the idea. I was just savoring the thought with a smile on my face while replying to her other email and basically just doing my thing as I always do.

Then I got this from her in her next letter:
I can feel you in my mouth... the hard smoothness of your thick cock, the heat from your body... feeling you on my tongue, against my throat... my hands exploring... feeling your balls pulled up tight, ready to explode... my hand going back to your ass.... my finger pressing as my sucking intensifies and my other hand works with my mouth... touching you with my tongue, my hands, my lips, my throat, everything touching you... tasting your pre-cum and moaning at how good you are, how hungry I am, so fucking hungry for you to cum in my mouth, so fucking starved to drink every drop of you... sucking harder, faster, deeper... sighing, moaning, working furiously.... thinking 'cum for me, cum for me, god, please cum for me' and then you tense up, and you start to growl....

I forgot to mention that she likes the way I growl while I'm having an orgasm.

By the time I got to the end of the paragraph I was already so hard I was leaking out the tip.

Free Porn

2004-09-01T10:25:00.000-07:00

I have about 900 MB of photos and movies of my lover on my hard drive. I look at them every single day without exception. Some of them are dirty, filthy shots of her. Given what I've written already you can imagine what I am talking about; lying on her face or back with her smooth limbs spread... me inside her or kneeling over her... sometimes semen splattered all over her skin, sometimes not... bruises, welts, restraints... vignettes of the moment or orgasm for both her and I. I'm sure this comes as no surprise to any of you. I also have many, many photos of her not being portrayed in a particularly sexual way, and I gaze longingly at those even more than I do at the others; her beautiful, radiant face... her luminous smile... moments where she's caught laughing or languidly looking over at me with an expression of contentment and peace. It's no mystery how much I lust for her, but it would be a mistake to forget just how looking into her eyes can make me tear up for sheer appreciation of her loveliness. Primitive minds might think otherwise, but it's my belief that there is a ceiling to how passionate you can be about someone without truly loving them. The passion I feel for her is fueled not by her perfect body and not by her sexuality (well, ok... it's not totally fueled by the perfect body and sexuality), but rather by the spirit I see behind her eyes, in the way she moves, in her voice and even in how she chooses to be silent. She photographs so well (have you noticed?) that it's a crime not to capture her on camera. In fact, the last time I was there I barely took six photos of her and right now during this long spell without her I am kicking myself for it. Grrr.

It's because I have so many photos of her that I really can't make any kind of protest when she asks me on the phone to send her photos of myself. I have to laugh a bit at her, though; she never asks for photos of my face or my smile or even where I am all day. The girl just wants photos of my cock. This really charms me for some sick reason.

Last night was one of those nights when she was asking for porn from me (it's even more amusing when you consider that she doesn't have internet access at home at the moment and can only view my photos at work). I keep asking her "What do you want? Tell me what you want me to photograph", but that's silly of me because I know what she's looking for: Pictures of me masturbating, stroking, ejaculating... raw and focused completely on the hard cock. Oh, she'd tolerate my face if it were in the photo, but she definitely is looking for something very specific, and my face isn't it.

So last night while we were talking I found myself becoming aroused again and again, with the feeling fadiing each time (we often forgo phone sex in favor of a friendly, loving conversation, but I rarely get through an entire chat with her without getting erect many times). I was casually snapping off pics as we meandered through a couple hours of chatting, and sent them this morning to her so they'd be waiting at work.

As I already said, it wasn't my face she wanted to see... so I also took several photos of my straining erection for her... straight-on, unapologetically asking for her to wrap her mouth around it, unabashedly begging for the warm wrap of her silky cunt, oozing a small pearl of clear semen as I stroked and squeezed it for the camera. Finally, I wrapped the phone cable itself around the length of the shaft and pulled, clicking away with the cam as I did. I wanted her to see the aching in it... there's no point in taking the photo if it's not a thick, powerful, hungry erection; a semi-soft, kinda-there erection isn't much of an attraction. I listened to her voice... I let myself think about the feeling of her pussy; smooth and snug and only barely able to accomodate all of me at once. I let myself think of her eagerness as she drinks the cum right out of me as I'm shooting to the back of her throat, crazed and desperate in her swallowing. I let myself think about the look of her in her stockings, stripping for me, finishing by pulling my cock free from my jeans and straddling me, lowering herself just enough to engulf the tip and then rocking back and forth until the warm wetness is clinging to me and I'm dizzy with wanting. My cock was easily, effortlessly engorged to the point of aching.

Click. Click. Click.

I didn't intend to derail our friendly, loving, but not-sexual conversation so I didn't let myself fall off into fantasy-world (nor did I need to... I was very in the moment with her and enjoying it thoroughly). After we hung up, however, I masturbated immediately (phone cord still in place) and came so hard I hit myself in the throat.

The message I got from her on AIM this morning? "I'm insanely jealous of your phone cord now."

Mission accomplished.

Missing Her, II

2004-08-31T01:17:00.000-07:00

If all goes right (and there's no guarantee that it will), I will see her in 16 days. That's the absolute earliest it can possibly happen.

Being apart is hard on us. It wears us down. It makes us crazy. We bite and snap at each other like wounded animals, but only because we miss each other so much (if you've never been in love then you won't understand how that works). The feeling of being apart from her ruins everything else for me... like carrying a seeping bag of poison in my chest where my heart used to be. I can't find the right words to tell her what I feel in a way which will penetrate and stay with her; she still thinks that I'm going to get sick of her soon and will wander off for greener pastures. That's often what hurts most: That she thinks I'm getting tired of the pain of missing her to the extent that I'd give up and move on.

I am now realizing that some things can't be done remotely; that some expressions must be made while in each others' arms, wordlessly and with your eyes closed. She reaches out to me, I reach out to her, but we still find ourselves wanting more, even when we pour out all that we have for one another. I am now realizing that I have things to tell her that I have no words for... only my body pressed against her. Only my life opening up and letting her in.

I have written very personal things here. I have written things which are so personal and vulnerable about us that I have to stay anonymous. I have written about the things we do in bed together. I have written about how I fuck her so fiercely, and how she swallows me with lust and hunger. I have told you the ways in which I have whipped and possessed her, and I have told you about how she has stripped for my entertainment, reached between her legs, opened herself up with her fingers and invited me in. Even now, if you glance up, you are looking at my own semen all over the smooth surface of her perfect porcelain breast and rib cage.

If you want the most intimate, secret, private view on what goes on between us, however, you will need to see us talking on the phone... how little tears well in our eyes and how we can't hang up and break the conduit that joins us, like by a fragile thread. Those are the real secrets of our love life. Those are the real intimate things that no one ever sees. That is the real nudity.

The First Good Blowjob I Ever Had

2004-08-29T19:39:00.000-07:00

I've spoken a bit about how she is when it comes to oral sex. Now, I'm going to speak about it at length.

In the past I've never really had very much enjoyment of oral sex. For a man to say that may sound like blasphemy; many maintain to the present day that there's no such thing as a "bad" blowjob. I'm not of that particular mind. In fact my previous experiences have led me to think that something must be wrong with me, because time and time again I'd have such trouble trying to understand why it is that this is what men are so insane to acquire. I'm going to be really blunt with you here: I've always found it really boring, and I resented having to explain my flagging erection on "Just being tired, baby. Honest." To be frank, I've always preferred to skip it.

Before we actually met, she had told me many times how much she wanted to suck me... to nurse my cock until I spilled into her mouth... how she wanted to drink me and empty me. She is that kind of woman; she completely consumes and lets herself be consumed by her passions and is incredibly sensory and tactile. Just amazing. Truth be told, however, I did have some anxiety about it; she already meant so much to me and I didn't want to spoil the energy between us by getting to that point and then feeling the same wave of boredom, of non-inspiration that I always felt about oral sex. In my mind it didn't seem possible that she could be boring in any way, but remember at this point I thought the problem was me. She was always the kind of woman, however, who never made me feel as if any problem would interrupt the soul-level connection and that no matter how things worked we'd just absorb it into the emotion of the moment. This made me feel a lot better.

Even so, for days after we finally met I avoided letting her try on me. I don't know if even she knows this yet.

About half an hour after we'd had sex we were lounging around, as we do, and she rolled onto me and began to suck. Now just before I continue with this story, I should talk briefly about my own sexual physiology: There's good and bad. The good is that my refractory period is extremely short. When I'm with her, I can have sex about four times a day, and sometimes no more than ten minutes between orgasms. I'm not the youngest guy in the world anymore, but something about her makes me constantly hard. I actually believe I could have sex five times a day... we just haven't tried yet. With her having three to ten orgasms or more every time we make love, the day would probably be quite long for her, indeed. The down side for me is that I can be rendered unable to perform by a few specific things, though they usually have to be combined: a) If I'm hungry, b) If I'm tired and/or stressed out, c) If I'm too warm. She knows this, which is why we always have the air conditioning on, snacks in bed and we always sleep in.

So at that moment she had me in her mout, but I knew that this wasn't going to result in an orgasm. This was after maybe the third time we'd had sex that day, I was tired, I was hungry and I was too warm. I remember this specifically. Believe it or not, that was actually something of a relief for me because I would have something tangible to blame my waning interest on. Sad that it came to something as childish as trying to think up excuses before we even start, but you have to appreciate that this was an anxious thing for me, and it threatened the first real glitch in our otherwise perfect experience together as lovers.

Something completely unexpected happened for me at that moment; she made me feeling fucking incredible. This was the one thing I didn't forsee as a possibility.

She began by savoring the erection in her hand and, with her beautiful eyes closed, leaned her face down between my legs and stroked it all over her cheeks... over her white throat... under her jawline... and became trance-like and engrossed. I watched as she brought the shaft against her mouth and pressed it so that she could feel my flesh from her chin to just under her eye as her lips kissed with affection and tenderness and rapture. When her beautiful mouth finally fell open and she sank my length into it, I could not believe what I was feeling. I don't know how to explain what it was about her mouth that was so right, as the penis isn't exactly a sensitive instrument (well, it's sensitive... just not in the "reading braille" kind of way). What I do know is that every stroke of her mouth, everything she did with her tongue sent waves of warm electricity through me. Men will know what this feels like; a dull but warm buildup of energy that gradually gathers strength through the erection, like an ember that gets hotter and hotter. She worked her silky hand up and down while twisting it to create more friction, trading off the motions between fist and mouth, up and down. She was greedy and eager and made the sweetest cooing, moaning sounds as if she, herself, were going to cum right then and there. Her long, brown hair was falling on my belly, obscuring the sight of her soft, warm, naked breasts pressed against my thighs as she poured all her enthusiasm and passion into consuming me... eyes closed, mouth desperately eager. This was the first time I'd ever felt anything like this and I was feeling a sense of surprise and excitement from it that, frankly, I can't put into words.

I'd love to tell you that this ended with me ejaculating into her mouth, but I wasn't lying when I said the time wasn't right. I would have, but I simply couldn't. I pulled her off of me and kissed her and tried to tell her in some meaningful way about how it felt to have my cock sucked well for the first time, but I held back a bit. I realized for me to tell her how incredible it was and then not cum in her mouth would have seemed a bit strange, especially with my erection disappearing so quickly. Instead, we kissed and held each other and it was heaven, as it always is when I am wrapped up with her.

The next day, however, was a different story. We were on her couch and she was in her collar and heels (and nothing else) and she had slipped between my legs and was opening my jeans. Though I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, I had thought of little else except cumming in her sweet mouth since the night before; knowing that it could actually happen kept my heart pounding without interruption. I didn't want to say too much about it because I still didn't know if I would be able to orgasm, and then all my flattery and adulation would have rung somewhat hollow for her. To say "You're the best, baby!"... but still no climax? It would seem like I was just saying it to be kind, and I never wanted her to think I was anything but sincere with her.

That night she performed on me much as she had the night before; trance-like, absorbed, completely enraptured and focused. Her mouth plunged down onto me, licking and sucking on both the down and up strokes. Her tiny fist was clenching my shaft and following her mouth, up and down and turning back and forth against the wet skin. Her other hand was alternating between caressing my heavy balls and reaching up to play with my nipples. She was relentless and hungry, and the orgasm built slowly, like that ember heating and heating until it glowed. When I'm not in control of my own orgasm it's a very different experience; I cannot set the pace, I can neither amplify or subdue the rhythm. When the climax builds, it's not me who fans the flames, it's her. It's not me that engages my own physiology and flips all the switches, it's her. I hung on the precipice of orgasm for quite some time, dizzy and literally feeling like I might faint. She moaned and panted and sucked me deep into her warm mouth and down her throat... and when I came, it was one of the biggest orgasms I can remember. I made a scratchy gasp and growl (my mouth was very dry) as I turned my hips up to her. I felt as though I might black out. She eagerly, greedily swallowed everything I spurt in her throat (and I make a copious amount of semen, as she will tell you) and as I gathered myself together in my dizzy haze, she was still using her lips to milk the last drops out of me, gripping me with her thumb and forefinger and stroking the remnants into her clutching pink mouth. It's very much a man's primitive fantasy that his partner will swallow all of his cum, and I'm sure it's been the source of many an argument between simple men and their confused girlfriends. It shouldn't matter, and I'm almost surprised that it matters so much to me, but watching her drink every drop completely down without hesitation or anything except rapt ecstacy, was one of the most satisfying, erotic sights I've ever enjoyed in my life.

When we were done and she climbed up into my lap and into my waiting arms, she thanked me.

Anniversary

2004-08-27T16:09:00.000-07:00

Today is our anniversary. I don't want to say which one because when I say it out loud it sounds so short. I don't like the notion that we're such a "young" couple... the chronology of it is no comparison to what we've done, the distance we've gone together, the things we've covered. It's been extremely intense and we've put a lot more into our time than most people do at this point. So... no divulging.

I mark the anniversary from the first time I ever saw her in person which, incidentally, is the first time we ever made love. I kissed her first in the elevator; the first chance we'd had to be alone since I arrived. I could not stop myself. I literally could not. The doors slide shut and I fell upon her like a hungry animal. We somehow made it to her apartment from there. I'm not sure how we got to her apartment (because I was in a stunned haze of desire for her at that point), but we did... and made love soon after.

I recall it vividly... it was mid-afternoon. We had been kissing for what seems (in my mind) for about an hour before we began making love in earnest... the undressing, the touching, the heat. I remember beginning to open her clothing as I stood behind her, reaching under her top to release her breasts (I knew there was a front-opening clasp on her bra, but I can't remember why. Maybe I'm psychic about bras). There is that threshhold you pass when you move from kissing to something more intense; it may have its origins in high school demarcation of what's permissible and what isn't (who knows how those rules get made? I don't), but it's a very real transition. As I slid my hands up her rib cage and cupped her firm, smooth, young breasts as I kissed her neck, the essence of us deepened into each other. I remember feeling that spiritual mingling as my arousal began to envelope my mind and heart. I caressed her under her shirt and took all the time I wanted to... I made her nipples erect slowly first with light touches and then began to fondle her strongly, pushing against her.

We were naked in a blur and the kissing never stopped... the caressing.. the outpouring of emotion. I remember being inside her for the first time, our faces looking into each other, and the warm sliding into the woman I had already decided was the woman I wanted to keep, to stay with, to make my own. I remember the fitting together of us, legs and arms, chest against chest and it's passed through my mind several times since what a perfect metaphor for everything else we've been to each other since. I remember her smell, her sound, and the way we softly nestled into the covers and made love in the fading light of the afternoon and into the evening, and have not stopped since.

How do you describe that perfect first moment when the rhythm, the sensation, the pace, the heartbeat is in sync and intense? I looked close into her beautiful eyes and saw my future, and when I arrived at the powerful, spiritually naked moment of orgasm I wanted her wrapped around my erection - the beautiful, silken, safe haven to be open and vulnerable. She was the perfect lover for me, even then. It was natural and loving and there was such a strong sense of familiarity, of union... like I'd known her body forever, but was still opening a new treasure.

And, of course, there was her silky body. Creamy skin, long, slender legs, smooth, flat tummy and firm breasts. Her back is a soft, feminine topography of muscles and yet gentle curves as well. Her dark hair falls on the pillow and in her face in such a way that can only be described as poetry... as music. This is perhaps the thing that beguiles me the most... her soft, silky lengths of gorgeous hair. Her tongue is soft like velvet and sometimes shy, as she is sometimes tentative about thrusting it into my mouth (though often she gives way and snakes it all over my own), and her lips are wet and sweet. Her beautiful, tiny, satiny pussy is yielding and delicate and grips me like a vice all the way from the base of my cock to the tip of it which brushes against her cervix. As her entire form undulates, constricts, yields, twists and pushes back with every stroke, the entire lovemaking process becomes alive and erotic; she matches me in the tango, the give and take, the ebb and flow. When I cum in her, she locks her eyes with mine and, mouth agape, draws a violent gasp of breath and cums with me. We are matched and designed to the very core to lock together in this way.

Always with her it is like the first time... passionate, warm and something so much deeper than physical. Honey, if you're reading this now... you should know that I am thinking of you and only you, and that this is only the very, very beginning.

I don't care what else happens around us; nothing can change the way I feel about you.

A Very Small Taste

2004-08-25T05:59:00.000-07:00

Obviously it would be imprudent in the extreme to start posting full photos of my baby and what we do together on the web. This, however, is just a small taste of a larger series of photos I took of her while she was bound and waiting to be whipped, holding the crop in her teeth like a good girl. All I can tell you is; yes, she is every bit as stunningly beautiful as this very small window on her hints.

This was one of only a very, very small handful of photos I took of her the last time we were together (and only one of two erotic photos). Now that we're separated for this short period and missing her so terribly, I regret not having taking more. I don't know why I didn't. Stupid of me.

If you're nice, I may post more anonymous but gorgeous photos like this one.

Thinking Of You

2004-08-20T20:58:00.000-07:00

Lying all alone and restless.
unable to lose this image.
sleepless, unable to focus on anything but your surrender.
tugging a rhythm to the vision that's in my head.
tugging a beat to the sight of you lying
so delighted with your new understanding.
there's something about a little evil that makes that unmistakable noise I
was hearing,
that unmistakable sound I know so well.
spent and sighing with that look in your eye.
spent and sweating with a look on your face like...
sweet revelation.
sweet surrender.
thinking of you.
thinking of you.
sweet revelation.
sweet surrendering.

- A Perfect Circle

Love Letter

2004-08-20T06:42:00.000-07:00

I miss the feeling of my cock in you, honey.

I miss the exquisite, sweet stimulation of your pretty mouth all over me. I miss the rhythmic pushing of me into your warm throat while your soft hand strokes my thick shaft with every thrust. I miss the sound of you moaning and purring as the pace increases and you bring me in gradual, torturous steps closer to the brink. I miss the feeling of explosion when you finally work me all the way to orgasm and the knowledge that as fast as I am pouring cum into your mouth you are hastily sucking and swallowing it.

I miss the feeling of my cock sliding in and out of your pussy. I miss the warm, gripping, wet feeling of your silky inner flesh squeezing and holding me as I penetrate and impale you. The way that you become so wet and so yielding as my strokes increase in depth and strength, the way it feels to utterly bottom out inside your pretty, soft hole, the sensation of you enveloping my entire length while I press into you and release a torrent of semen against the bottom of your cervix.

I miss the feeling of fucking your ass... the fevered, dirty sex that brings me off so quickly. I miss the way you take me so deep as you are face down, moaning, begging and clawing the sheets. I miss the feeling of gradually escalating sensation in my cock while your soft, pink hole grips me like a vice. I miss the filthy, dirty things we say as I penetrate you in the way that underlines your submission to me... the way you plead for me to violate you deeper, more completely. I miss holding your arms to the mattress and using my weight to still your body while I plunge to my balls and spurt into you, ejaculating into your most private, secret place.

I miss the connection of being inside you; the deep love and insane passion that is mingled with the strains of trust and intimate yielding. I miss how, while my erection is pushing and pushing that our hands, feet, legs and bodies echo our union by stroking and touching and pulling, as if to say "yes... come closer... ". I miss the way that you convince every atom of my being that there is no other woman in the entire world whom I would like to share this with... this joining that, so often, I crave direly to share only with you.

More to come...

2004-08-19T06:20:00.000-07:00

I have not forgotten this blog at all. I'm just into other things, and so is she. We're still going to be apart for a bit ($#*&!!) so it won't really heat up until we're together again... but I will definitely share everything with you when I can.

TXT MSGS

2004-08-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

The two of us conduct a lot of romance over text messages on our cell phones.

I miss u. I can still feel your perfect kisses. I love u eternally.

I thought that her writing in text message shorthand would somehow undo the spell. I'm very sensitive to cheesy internet abbreviations; I use them, but I don't express my love with them.

Sleeping and dreaming of u. Miss u. Love u so much. Always.

As it happens, I never actually notice her shorthand. My heart always just leaps in my chest when I get a text message. It's as if I've received it, hand-written, on scented parchment.

Be safe. I love u always. Miss u so much i ache. U r everything. U make sense of my life.

There, in the little black and white LED window of my phone, I am finding this pure joy... like Christmas or my birthday. My eyes practically eat the message off the screen. I have to read it two or three times before I can actually make sense of it.

I miss u. Nothing makes sense without u. I will love u forever. Im yours. There is no other way to live.

Odd and a little sweet that many of the best love letters I've ever received were text messages on my cell phone.

Looking Back...

2004-08-15T05:56:00.000-07:00

I thought "Looking Back" was a bit premature as a title for a post, but I've been doing this blog for less than a week and we're already up to 13 posts and almost exactly 10,000 words. Things are going to slow down a bit while we're apart, of course, but I guess I'm just stopping here to say: I'm a very lucky man to have so much to write about.

More to come.