Tuesday, May 30, 2006

A Kiss of Rosé Part One

To me, a woman is a work of art, a delicate flower and hot and sexy tigress, just waiting to be pounced on and licked.

Though I'll always fall to men as my default and most longed for lover, women have also had their place in the various folds of my sexual adventures.

When I sketch, draw or paint - my favorite form and shape is that of a woman. I sketch out the curves of the hips, the bottom, the thighs, I even love to sketch out the delicate sole of the feet and the arch at the back of the ankle. Softly drooping breasts, heavy on the chest and a sight for the eyes. I delicately draw in and rub soft the nipples, the fingertips and toes.

Women are beauty, they are art and Ive definitely have had my fun with them in the past.

Ellie was French like me and very willowy in form. Lacking my Irish and German blood, her form was solely French with delicate bends, sways and curves - just subtle enough to make you glance softly on her body, trying to see a passion radiating from her core, her curves. Our bodies near one another were such a sight. Her soft and sometimes girlish body next to my voluptuous hips, my strong shoulders and large breasts seemed to just make her ever-more soft and delicate. Our small hands always ended up catching together, latching and testing the warmth within the embrace.

Before any of our physical romance began, we were already passionate about each other's minds. After my Sociology class early in the winter semester of classes, Ellie and I were sitting in one of the tree shaded courtyard sitting at a picnic type table and drinking the obligatory cup of coffee. We were arguing about our ancestry, she was very passionate and goading,

You are simply not French enough! her almost eradicated accent flowed softly over the word "French".

What would prove to you that Im French? Im already full of rampant sexuality, look at my sexual habits! And I eat like a bird and always drink coffee...and tea. Stop being stereotypical.

She giggled and pressed a fingertip to her lips. Her smile was wicked behind her fingers and hen her eyes flashed up to mine, I knew what she was thinking. Her expression oozed sex.

Would you give in to any primal sexual need? Like what if...you wanted to kiss a woman? Would you kiss me if the need pressed you?

I bit my lip and nodded slowly at her, my eyes lowering yet lingering on her arms, her shoulders exposed to the sun in the campus courtyard. When at last our eyes met again, her gaze was passionate and I watched in wonder as she came round the small picnic table and sat next to me. My flesh seared when her hand touched my thigh, my skin feeling the heat, it seemed, even through a layer of denim.

Our faces neared as we looked at one another, testing the moment, the heat. When our lips touched, something felt like it broke inside of me, letting a well of pent up lust and emotion in one moment. Though it wasn't my first kiss with a girl, it seemed to be epic and changing as only intimate physical contact can be.

Later that week when we found ourselves alone in her living room, her mother had gone out to do whatever things that mothers like to do on Tuesday mornings. As I sat at the kitchen's breakfast bar, my heels clicked onto the bar in the stool, I wondered how long it would take for both of us to be naked. When Ellie bade me into her room, asking that I help unbutton her lace over-blouse so she could change into a t-tank. I smiled as I sauntered down the tiled hall, my mind wallowing in yet another round of lascivious images.

Once with her, my fingers softly lit over the pearl buttons down her back, small and pink against her bronze, tanned skin beneath the thin pink lace. I kissed the back of her neck as I reached the last of the buttons and made her shoulders rise a bit in surprise. She swiveled her eyes in my direction and looked like a needy puppy, needing affection after a long day alone. My hands seemed so hot as they slid down her back and around to her hips, gliding over her tummy, my fingers linking in front of her as I kissed and nibbled at her neck.

Her sounds were lilted her in slightly husky voice, her throat sounding full and tired. She turned quickly and sat on the bed, pulling me along with her. Our ankles tangled as we lent across our legs, our lips touching and dancing so smoothly together. He tongue was small and hot against mine and my lips, her teeth ever so gentle against my lips, plying them.

This entry is continued here. Yay!


Thursday, May 25, 2006

Love Lines #2

Love Lines are so fun to write, they expand my mind and sometimes my legs....heres a purely erotic Love Lines to sink your teeth into.

I love when gentle hands become suddenly harsh and needy, making me cry out and bite my lips, writhe my hips and stretch out my neck toward the pillows. Animal need is something I hunger for, something that the center of my flesh yearns for and that is received well by my most lusting body.

I love being bitten in places that wouldnt neccessarily be bitten. My wrists are my favorite place to be nibbled at, and my ankles, the space between my breasts when I lie down. My hips long for smooth and softly biting teeth, the feel the need of someone's lust and longing. I associate biting with the dirty little lover in all of us, breaking out and needing to satiate the need to actually possess someone, body and soul.

I love when you realize that you long for a particular persons flesh against your own, rubbing you harshly, their sparse hair ticking you passively as you writhe beneath them. Your body responds to touch, to bodily proximity of another, the heated moisture on your flesh and between your legs just drawing into completion your whole heat.

I love to just fuck with abandon, your head banging against the wall or the bed, grasping at your lover's body, your lipson his shoulder as he soldiers forth, possessing you from deep inside. The weightlessness of feeling your calves dangling around a strong body, the rhythm forcing you to cry out and fear that the friction of your intensity will wash away reason as you wish for climax. I love that, without a doubt.

What do you love with abandon, what do you place your lust and your tension upon? What makes you want to scream out and thank creation for allowing you to feel a bliss and a need fullfilled?


Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Strawberry Sunday

Its officially Summer where I live in this country of mine, and it gives rise to several summery things I love. Like swimming, tanning, watermelons, strawberries, warm grass and nights where you dont sleep with any blankets, the window open and the sounds of night coming in. My mind plays softly with the past as I watch a silver-screen movie from the 50's, The Dolly Sisters. Yes, such an old fasioned little thing am I.

Saturday at the warehouse grocery store, we bought this huge crate of strawberries, it weighs about 5 pounds. Thats a lot of berry. I like them several ways, with sugar, or with chocolate, or by themselves. When I just eat plain berries, I wash a handful and put them in some paper towel and sit down, whether outside or sitting with people. I rip the little green frilly bits off and them shove my finger down the middle, splitting it up into pulpy slivers - thats right, I rip up the strawberry and eat it in juicy little ripped up sections.

Sunday night as I was laying in my bed, watching Cary Grant fall in love with yet another silverscreen goddess, I was brutalizing yet another handful of strawberries. After a day of sunbathing, I was still in my bikini and lounging on the couch. I began thinking about how I taste, me, myself and I. I was reminded by the strawberries, the tartness and the sweetness, the slickness of the pulpy fruit. Some juice fell onto my chest and as I lifted my hand to wipe it with a fingertip and lick it off, I happened upon an idea.

I squished a strawberry inbetween my fingers and let the juice make my fingers wet and sticky. I then slid my hand down my chest, down my tummy to my bikini bottoms and with a skillful hand, slipped my juicy hand down to my kitten. I could feel the juice from the berry on my folds, it made me so slick and yearning. I fanatasized about the last time someone with divine skill gave my kitten that deep and fire ending kiss. My fingers gently rubbed over my strawberry flavored clit, the juice mingling now with my kitten's wetness. My back arched and I giggled, the first tell-tale waves of heat pressing me, my fingertip making tiny circles on my now swollen clit.

In a heated, impulsive moment, I pulled my hand up from my bikini bottoms, softly smelling my fingertips. My scent mixed with the sweet juice from the red fruit, it seemed the perfect scent, soft, sweet and yet so much like a pheramone. I rubbed my warm fingertips against my lip, letting my taste, my now ever more sweetened taste slip over my tongue.

I whimpered as I reched down with my left hand, my fingers still in my mouth and began once more to rub my clit. My tongue snaked over my fingers, tasting myself as my body rose to orgasm. I bit down on my fingers as I came, the taste of my femininity overwhelming me as my senses heightened with a mind pumping orgasm. I whimpered behind my lips, my back arched and my breath coming quick. As I settled and eased my fingers from between my teeth, my lips, I whimpered, lying still against the cushions of the couch.

I smiled as I smelled the strawberry + kitten scent from my lips, such a wicked moment. I licked my lips and giggled at myself, I am most definatly my favorite lover. Times where I just lose myself in my own fantasies, fantasies about my own body, my own scent and curves - that's when I am most lost to the world. My body, my mind and my hands, they all love one another very much.

My eyes flicked back to the screen, Cary Grant in a military uniform and staring off a train at his love. He's going away to fight a war. He's leaving you, Betty Grable. You better find some strawberries....and quick....you might want to entice him to stay with you and taste your sweet fruit.


Friday, May 19, 2006

Convertible Kitten

I didnt know what an MG was until my friend lost his virgnity to me in his. I also found that it was a tiny little coup, a hot coup, but tiny. It was a 1967, cherry red Mg convertible and drove like a bat out of hell...but with more wings. It slid down hills, the wheels didnt seem to touch anything. You may not realize it, but from all my contact with guys, either friend or lover, Ive found a love of cars. I think it all happened when I was tiny and my dad was auto-obsessed and always in the garage on the weekends. Greasy rags always remind me of being little, sitting on my dad's motorcycle and smelling all the oil and grease and lubes, static radio waves in my ears. Though I dont have many fond memories envolving my father, these are always good ones.

1967 MG

On a Friday night in the So Cal winter, I went out with my friend Greg. I had strapped up my knee length boots, slid on fence net thigh highs and a black pleated skirt. Greg commented that it was too bad that we were just friends....indeed. We didnt know what to do and neither of us was in extreme-party-mode. So we slid in the tight little MG to an old park in our neighborhood and talked for hours. Greg and I were good, old friends. We'd met in second grade and I use to run around trying to kiss him, and he would try to explain multiplication to me. Needless to say, neither of us achieved extraodrinarily well at either task. Id been there when he went through hard times and vice-versa.

As it always does with me, the topic slipped to sex and his lack of it. We were both seventeen and when we were twelve we had made a pact that if by the age of sixteen and both of us were still virgins, we'd have sex with each other. Well, I had already lost my virginity the year before to a Marine, but Greg was still in No-Pussy Land. So giggling, I told him we should make good on our pact. He needed no further permission and began at once tugging on my lips with his and gently raking them with his teeth.

I admit I wasnt really turned on at first, he was my childhood best friend. Soon though, reason gave way to my pounding kitten and I began kissing him back. His timid hands came up to my breasts, my throat and touched me, trying to figure what to do. For lack of experience and overwhelming anxiety, he untethered his cock and waited for something to happen.

No, you cant just "do it". The girl always needs something, touch me.

I slid my panties down over my thigh highs and boots, and lifted my skirt and bit over my thighs. His warm hands slipped over my thighs, feeling my soft skin, he pinched my thigh a little making me giggle, my cheeks flushing. When his hands found kitten, a let out a little happy hum and settled in my seat, his body leaning over the shifter and centerconsole. Soon, his gentle touching get kitten worked up, my whimpers coming close together and causing me to bite my bottom lip. He brought his fingers away from circling my clit and pressed them to his lips. Why does that always get me? I must be a dirty, dirty girl.

With much giggling, I found my way over the shift knob (with a split-second whore thought: What if I just slipped down over it? But then recoiled.) and put a knee on either side of his legs, leaning into his seat. As I lowered myself down onto his hard cock, my ass tapped the horn, sending a bleating through the late misty night. I couldnt help my laughter from bubbling up,

You do realize we're about to fuck in the smallest car in the world, and my ass just honked the horn at like 3 a.m. in suburbia? Someone's going to call the cops!

At that, he busted up as well, our laughter filling the tiny interior of the car. His hot lips pressed to mine and he touched my face, his face becoming serious and thoughtful. As he was looking at me and pondering the mysteries of the universe , I slid down onto him. His eyes closed and a look of surprise filled his expression. His cock was so hard and ready, so long. My small moans began as I pressed down on him to the hilt and pressing against him, made circles, grinding him so deeply. His hands were on my lower back, pressing against me, he was lost in it all. I smiled and closed my eyes, my face tipping up as I enjoyed the moment. He touched my face and when I looked down at him, his eyes were imploring. His kiss was perfect, the moment was just as it should be. His lips moved heated against mine, his hands sliding under my shirt and massaged gingerly at me, feeling the movement of my body that was just for him. I pressed my forehead to his as he came, his mouth open slightly and issueing little gasps, little moans.

He wrapped his arms around me then, his face in my neck. My hands went through his hair, feeling him soften inside me. His lips were so slick when he pressed them aganst mine, it felt like a kiss of thanks. My hands were cool as I sat in the passenger seat, driving back through the misty night and back to my house. His fingers tapped out the beats to the rock on the radio, he smiled at me and held my hand for a few moments before shifting yet again.

A few months later Greg got a girlfriend, she found I was the one who had taken his virginity and then told him if he still wanted to be with her that he would never talk to me again. He actually did as she told him to. It seems she didnt like me too much, maybe it was jealousy, vulnerability. Im still sad when I think of it, I did love him so much, he was such a sweet guy, such a good friend. Maybe one day we'll link up again when he's come into his own. I can only guess.

My mind flicks back to when we were younger and use to surf together. The fish scaring me as I saw them silhouetted in the waves, little black blots against the pearly blue water. Like glass, you could see through the wave. He held my hand as we struggled up and over the waves, heading in the direction of the open water, the sun sparkling on the surface of the water. I asked him that day,

Greg, we'll always be buds, right? You'll always love me?

He laughed, his hand smoothing his hair out of his eyes before reaching across the water to me and squeezing my hand,

Don't worry, I will as long as you say so. You're the boss.

Sometimes I really wish I was the boss, that I could decide to see him, to talk to him. People make decisions everyday that shut others out, sometimes I wish people would just live life for themselves. Maybe it's my foolishness for thinking that we could stay friends after sex, for some people, it changes their thinking. I wish he had lived for himself and seen that our friendship meant enough to hold onto to.

"I dont want you to know where I am,
Cuz then youll see my heart and the saddest day its ever been...
And this is no place to try and live my life...
It's the very moment I wish that I could take back..." -Relient K


Thursday, May 18, 2006

Presidential Fitness Test

You may be unaware (if you were home schooled, dropped out of high school or perhaps are a member of the unholy-undead) that in our country we have and instituted fitness program. Its full and hateful name is The Presidential Fitness Test: National Health Awareness.
It's like hell...believe me.

It makes me think of George W doing little pussy push-ups and crying, but in fact it's a test thats given to both middle school and high school students to make a concensus of how healthy (or unhealthy) our country's children and young adults are. It is in fact, the first step toward a communistic society....well praps not, but at least you can get the jist of how I still feel and felt about it.

When I was in high school (brief though it was for I graduated after only two years) I was the drama league - chorus girl - troubled artist - ballet dancing type of teenager, so suffice to say that athletics wasnt my favorite topic. Now, I can hold my own in a game of tackle football against an all-male team.....one on eight - me being the one ::insert suggestive giggle:: .

In my Freshman year of High School Hell we had yet another one of the President's melodramatic fitness tortures. Being all dancer-ish and flexie, all of the trials that included such requirements were a piece of cake. Pull - Ups are another thing all together. Why does the President feel that the youth of America has to have the talent of being to dangle on a piece of horizontally suspended pipe and then be able to pull oneself up and down and up and down and up and down? Dont get me wrong, I like the idea of the whole Up & Down venture, but this was P.E., not a trip to Pleasure Town. So generally, I was miffed.

Its not so much that we were being forced into a competition based show of embarassing physical tasks and while wearing horrible uniforms, in the California sun, after lunch - it was the fact that I have been blessed with extremely full and *bouncy* breasts. Yes, I said bouncy breasts. Do pardon me. So everytime I would make the said pull-ups, my breasts would do a little jig, much to the delight of an audience of sweaty males and my pedophile P.E. teacher, also male. Every Pull-Up was counted, in that long, drawn out and irritating way,


You get my meaning? Its not that I dont love a little love from the men, but in a certain context. To make matters worse, Im a very hygenic young lady, I hate sweat and I cant abide by being swety or smelly. So when I would "dress out" for P.E., I always stripped down all the way to keep my bra and panties smelling and feeling fresh. Yes, I said - braless, bouncy breasts. Again, do pardon me. Our P.E. uniforms, in case you wanted to know, were made of thin white cotton tees and black sort of poly-athletic mesh shorts. Needless to say, it made it quite interesting to exist in the uniform while wearing no ladylike undergarments for over an hour.

Well this year, I decided triumphantly, I would abstain from said President Humilation Booby Torture Awareness Hell and make known my adamant hate and disillusion for it. Walking out to the black top to meet my coach, I was jubilant in the way of a cutithroat feminist and was makng my little modern-woman speech. As always, the hateful black-top-enhanced sun was beaming overhead, already prickling up tiny beads of sweat on the back of neck. When I reached my usual coach area, I opened my mouth to speak, fully ready to scorch my sexist teacher's woman-hating ass. A horse yell cracked at me,

"Miss Petite, get your feet to the loop and run a mile, new requirements to pass Phys. Ed."

At that, he snapped his finger and i stood pouting for a few moments. All my careful woman-hate all bubbled up for nothing. Without doing the run, I was doomed to be in P.E. for years. I took off with softly padding, athletic shoe wrapped feet toward "the loop" which was a 5 lane running track burned into some very sad and prickly grass out in a huge field at the very back of the school property. My mind rippled with thoughts of how I could get of the hateful runnng activity....running a mile with no chestal-support seemed not exactly my cup of tea.

The word "bastard" was in constant loop, passing through my oxygen starved and panting lungs. The run was was it was - hot, sweaty and prolonged. Too bad those adjectives couldnt be used to describe and good romp as opposed to forced exercise. But I sweated it out, my little heart fluttering, it screamed "Oh no! Im going to wilt!", and once I had run from the dreadful field and up onto the black top, I flung myself at the drinking fountain. I drank and washed my face, my flushed cheeks hot and red. I splashed cooling water all over my arms and my throat. My mind whiplashed when I once again heard the buring voice of the coach yelling my name,

"Stop pansying around and get over here for your eval."

He always used abbreviations whenever possible. Kill me now! My mind shouted as I sulkily sauntered over to him and the raised chin-up bars. I heard an uproar of laughter and comments around me as I came nearer to the group of students gathered. I heard "weat t-shirt contest" in with all the other oh-so-literate observations and immediatly looked down - my water fountain cooling session had left the thin white cotton of my gym tee completly wet, and yes the girls were on show, more or less. My arms demurely folded over my decollite and I made for the locker room,

"Stop! Come back and do your eval, Im serious. Do you want to be re-dropped?"

I about-faced and my face dropped in shock. The bastard knew my tee was completly see-through and he was making me do the pull-ups anyway! And in front of bastard-like high school jock-guys! I hurrumphed and walked calmly to them, dropping my arms and raising my chin like a trim pony. Well, if I had to be humiliated, at least I wouldnt show that they impacted me in the least. I reached the bars to choruses of whoops and whistles, no, the coach wasnt going to do anything about it. Bastard. As I began, they all started counting.

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19.....

Their voices lowered now, Was I really doing so many? Didnt I know my nipples were on show? When I had gotten to 26, I screamed a little with the effort and dropped down on my butt in the dust, wincing. So what if I had pulled muscles, at least I had shown them that I didnt care. That I was too high above them to be affected by their childish banter.

I always remain the one that no one can guess about, the one that proves them all wrong. My parents, my friends, sisters, my brother, boyfriends, ex boyfriends, lovers. As long as I respect myself and know who I am - no one can impact me negitively if I dont let them in my mind.

I am woman, hear me roar.


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Artist's Muse

I've always wanted to be someone's Muse, their divine Madonna, perhaps their Mona Lisa.

Did you know that a French harlot was the Muse for Bouguereau? Yes, a French harlot, just like me.

Oo la la. I'm already an artist, so why do I feel like I want to be fucking one? So that I can have heated arguments over artistic things and then fling one another down to the floor and fuck like rabbits at the apocalypse.

Oo la la indeed.

Real skin tone has real tan lines....

Val was an artist, a Russian artist.

At 25, Val had huge shoulders, and yet, his hands were small and smooth like a woman's, soft like a child's. I became friends with him when my neighbor was hosting him as an exchange student from an art academy in Russia. Interesting, no?

His voice was so light and quiet, I felt akin to him on so many levels, this reason being a huge one. When he expressed himself, his eyes were so lit, so on fire, yet his voice remained still and soft. He knew how to express himself and, like me, he knew volume wasn't the key. My voice is calm and low in conversation and daily speech, sometimes people cant hear me and I'm endlessly repeating myself. My expression is deep and I don't need a loud voice for people to want to hear me. I don't have to be the loudest person, nor the most extroverted - I just have to be myself. Val was so like me on this accord.

I went to spend afternoons with him in the above-garage apartment of my neighbor's house, to lounge on pillows and watch him listening to music and dripping paint all over his canvases. It was so cliche sometimes I would just burst out laughing, biting my fingers to silence myself. It was the summer after I had turned 16 and it seemed so perfect to be spending the majority of my summer (when I wasn't in London) with a foreign artist in his "studio" and chatting away like a college student.

Val and I had never expressed a sexual attraction to one another before.

Before our debate, that is.

We were speaking of the worthiness of Bougeureau's art as "Renaissance" though he was alive during the 1800's. His style is very Renaissance styled, yet more smooth and clear - more realized in lifelike authenticity. I was at the point where I was trailing my fingers along my collar bone, leaning against the wall as I stood near him and his canvas.

I blurted out a passion string of defense for my favorite artist and bang - he grabs my shoulders and kisses me like the world is about to end. I moan spontaneously, his mouth pressed to mine, his fingers tight to my flesh. My lips trained to keep up with his as he kissed me with abandoned passion. My mind raced as it usually does, pulling me from the sensation, I'm kissing a Russian artist because were fighting. I almost giggled and broke the kiss, my mind tumbling back to the fact that I felt such heat in my throat, my chest.

When at last our lips parted and he leant his forehead against mine, his voice was small, full of heat,

I have been wanting to do that for such a great while.

He sighed in something that felt like relief, his great big gray eyes pressed closed, his breath on my face. My heart was shivering in my chest, not knowing what was to come. My mind couldn't fathom it either,

Your eyes are like gems, like something in a painting, do you know I can't will myself from looking into them.

I was shocked by his declarations, for all I knew we were tight friends, artistic counterparts, buds. I felt a warmth in my thighs, creeping down to my calves and wrapping around my feet. He pressed his thumb to my lips, my eyes fluttered closed to hear his voice again,

Please tell me this makes you happy. Please tell me you want me too.

When my voice couldn't fight its way out of my throat, I only nodded heavily. His kept breath slid out of his chest, relief it seemed. Again, he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue sliding along the inside of them, his kisses deep and throttling. I shuddered once or twice, my hands tightly gripping his hips, his hands in my hair, on my neck.

I didn't protest when he helped me down to the floor level bed, the comforter mussed from his sleep the night before. I smiled and sighed when I felt his hot fingertips on my stomach, sliding underneath my thin t-shirt. His breath was hot against my neck as he kissed me there, his teeth lightly grazing my skin. My breasts shown before him, the nipple pointed and awake as he slid my shirt off. His mouth broke their torture, his tongue darting quickly over my sensitive nipples, over the tender flesh along the bottom of my breast.

My fingers snaked under his tee, feeling his hard stomach, his hot skin. His skin was pale and beautiful when I took his shirt from him, his chest large and barreled. My legs snaked around his hips when he lay between them, his chest and stomach touching mine, our skin warming one another. Soon, his touching and kisses became heated, his breathing torrid and quick.

His hands worked quickly at the snaps of my jeans, revealing my black cotton boy-shorts. After he has dispensed with my jeans, he rubbed his lips against kitten through the thin cotton, feeling the heat and smelling me. His hands slipped to my hips and pulled at my panties, taking them away - leaving me naked and breathing before him. His lips felt so hot and smooth against my hips, the inside of my thighs, the outer lips of my kitten. His tongue dipped between those lips and licked at my kitten, all the way up and down, heated and pressing.

I looked between my breasts at his head, his closed eyes visible as he pleased me, his mouth busy and working so hard. My back arched s I felt the first heated pricks of orgasm, my pussy seeming to become even more slick and hot. My whimpers became so quick, so loud and desperate. My hips slid in slow circles, imitating his movements, antagonizing my soon to burst orgasm. I came and a blazing light blazed through my mind, obliterating all sense. My back arched up and up, my hips shook and my hands gripped wildly, one at my breast and the other on his wrist. He held me tight as he continued his attack on my clit, the waves of heat gaining until I was screaming out for him to stop.

Needless to say, he was not soon relenting. When my second orgasm hit with blinding fury, tears sprung from my eyes, my cries becoming louder still and my hands grasping in seeming terror upon my breast and his slim wrist. When at last he released me, my breath came as pants and whimpers, moans even.

As I lay in my burning afterglow, I heard the metallic sounds of his zipper being undone and then the hot flesh of him pressed against my legs, my hips. My eyes were still closed, my breath still pounding when he slid his cock deep inside of me. I managed to moan out, my body wracked with little waves of pain, painful pleasure. It felt so good to be filled so completely after such a wild orgasm, his thrusts becoming deeper and harsher. My legs wrapped tightly around him, as did my arms as his pace quickened. His eyes gazed into mine as he pumped his cock deep inside of me, harder and harder. They become somewhat painful, too deep perhaps, but I lived within the moment, needing it, wanting it so much.

My moans wracked my whole body it seemed, my heart beating so loudly inside of my chest. His finals thrusts hit deep within me, his body becoming totally encased within me it seemed. He fell gently on top of me, his hands snaking under my head, his face on my neck, his breath like heated wind on my chest.

When at last our breath and sense came to us, we loll about, laying entwined in one another's limbs. We began speaking again, about our usual topics, art, politics, and now...Our fuck. His cheeks were reddened, filled with blood and warm. I kissed them as he spoke to me,

When you orgasm, you're like this light-filled being, like a goddess. Art, most definitely. You're art my dear. Pure.

I giggled at his passionate dramatism and smiled as I snuggled back up to his chest. I felt a warm comfort as his arms slid around me, our thighs locked together like scissors. It seemed I was drifting on a cloud, or on the wind. I was nearly asleep when I felt him get up and then return, my mind felt glitter as a cold and wet something slid along my hip. I looked at Val and then at the site of the disturbance.....He was painting on me. He hummed as he did it, his face bright as he knelt nude beside me.

When he was through a few seconds later, he took his white tee he had been wearing pre-coital and lay the front of it flat over the paint and daintily pressed upon it. He then gently peeled it away from me, careful not to smudge the paint on either my body or the fabric. He looked satisfied with it and then once again laid down with me. My mind so utterly puzzled, I lent up and looked at his handy work,

Art is a goddess in America.

Black paint etched against my hip and leg, careful and scripting letters. I smiled as a single tear slid down my cheek, his arms tight against my body, holding me close. His comfort ran so deep within me,

Thank you. I don't know why I wanted to say that, but thank you.

He beamed a bright smile at me and laughed very softly and nestled his mouth near my ear, his hand slipping into my mussed hair and stroking my scalp,

No, thank you, lovely.

My artist/fuck experience leads me to want to seek yet another artistically awakened soul. Another man who can revel in his need and emotion, to truly want and need me. To know that they hold a need and a passion. I hope that at least once more in my life I find another being with a fully realized heart.


Monday, May 15, 2006

Booty Call

I used to think that having anal sex made you some kind of dirty slut - now my mind still is of that opinion....but I love it.

Its not in the damning way that it makes you a slut - but in the way that thinking of myself as a dirty slut turns me on. In the way I love it when my boyfriend says softly to me Baby, Please Suck my Dick - loves it.

The risque always turns me on. When I was younger I would pretend I was a working girl in a brothel and a John was watching me as I slid a finger into my behind. The whole premise was that I was trying to entice him to chose me. Please pick me honey, Ill let you fuck me in the bum. Dont you just love it?

Its always interesting to see how I can introduce bum-play into a new relationship. I have never met a man that didnt fully die with joy after my mentioning that I love a bit of bummage.

Theyre always amazed...I mean why would I, a sweet and educated girl want to be taken in the behind? Well lads, I just love it. The heated stretching feeling, the tightness, the sensation, the idea of a tiny bum-hole being filled. Gee, I dunno.

I think that yes, it takes away some kind of virtue that a man sees in me. But rightfully, it shouldnt. I mean if he wants to see his cock in my mouth, on his balls and likes the sensation cant I just as easily say Well fuck, youre kind of a dirty man. See? It wouldnt be fair.

Once, an ex of mine just slid his pussy-juice-wettened finger in my bum while I was sitting on his face. He didnt ask me if it was ok and neither did we talk about, but he did it anyway - he had the compulsion. Well, his compulsion was met with a bursting orgasm right in his sweet little face.

To me, the "rear-passage" is just an extension of my pleasure areas; my kitten, my breasts, my mouth - my bum is included in the list as well. Of course I cant say that I should motivate the world's female population to go forward with amorous anal adventures - some people just arent comfortable with it. Some people face pain when they experiment with it. Of course this is because of not being turned on enough - who knows the causes. Though I know plenty of chicks who have been butt-traumatized by exes and such. Sadly this can happen.

As for me, I love a bit of DP - or double penetration. Your man is sliding in a out of you, you have your finger in your clit and you have a split-second decision, What if? Its the best and easiest when youre doggie-style and your man can just slide in a finger of two, in-sync with his thrusting......very lovely.

One of my favorite anal experiences was actually one of my first tries at it. When I met Davie, he was so sweet, so hot and he was my 28 year old cable guy. I swear Im not making it up...we started dating after he hooked up my cable-internet in my new apartment and I made him coffee. Such a sexy fetish, aint it? ::giggle:: One night I decided I wanted a bit of a booty call seeing as he ended up being my booty call man after everything. So I called him up, told him to prep his rubber supply and come over to my kitty-pad.

After a stellar night of fucking against my kitchen counter, dinette, couch, coffee table, patio door, the wall and breaking a picture frame off the wall, we were passed out on the floor under the coffee table. My nipple twinged a little from his wicked little teeth and my pussy was dripping from all the activity. Fucking just seems to make kitty get wetter and wetter, and not to just quench her need. I ran my hand through my hair, prissily trying to guess where my panties had gotten to so that I could stuck them back on and wiggle to the bathroom and shower up.

Something stopped me however, Davie's rising cock. After all we had done, after all the cumming and orgasms and pounding, his cock seemed to rise from the dead from just a sinful thought on his part. My interest was piqued,

Um, D, may I ask what is making your cock so damn happy?

I leant up on one arm and looked at him beguilingly. He laughed and stroked himself a bit to test his hard flesh,

Just thinking of pumping that fucking sexy little asshole of yours.

Well doesnt he just have a way with words, I thought as my kitty began pounding and my breath caught in my throat. I ran my fingertip along my bottom lip in thought, as I always do. Anal? With an actual man? With an actual cock? It seemed risky, expecially seeing as how the only bum-action I had seem was from my middle finger and my slim vibrator. I thought briefly and then sighed, laughed and assented.

He at once pounced on me, shoving his mouth hard against mine and biting my lips. His fingers found kitten and molested my clit, his fingertips sliding so slippery as they moved against it. My little cries became pleas of release, either through orgasm or from his harsh fingers working so hard between my cunt-lips. My nipples rose to hard little pebbles which stung and ached in need. He slapped my bottom cheek with a loud crack in time with a loud cry from my open mouth. He stood and held a hand down for me, my eyes on his springing cock as I rose.

He first bent me over the arm of my small couch, his hands under my hips. As he slid his cock in my kitten I didnt want him to slide back out, but knew why he did so. My mind was heated - so afraid, yet so turned on, so lustful and needy. I whimpered when I felt a slick finger press into my bum, widening me and making way for what I knew was soon to come. No pun intended, I assure you. When I felt his cock against my asshole, I moaned and tried to slide down onto it as the tip just rested dead center of my tight little ass.

My breath caught when he slid his thick, hard cock deep inside of me, my asshole stretched and filled. My moans were so loud when he began to gently thrust deep inside of me, his hand came round and slid a finger between my teeth. So Im bitted and being fucked in the ass. Fucking sexy. His free hand dipped down on the side of my hip and reached around to my swollen clit. My pussy was actually dripping down onto the carpet, onto his legs. His balls were soaked as I heard then splash against my kitten.

The sensation filled me so deeply that tears sprung softly to my eyes, my teeth digging down into Davie's finger. When I came I was oblivious to my body, to my moans, my mind and all my sense. I thrashed against him as my ass tightened around his cock, now splurging deep inside of me. My orgasm obliterated light and sound, my surroundings. My throat hurt from my loud screaming, my voice hoarse in the moments after we separated. My sore bum ached with a passion, only heightening my afterglow, my pussy dripping with my come as I lay limply over the arm of the couch.

When he finally pulled out of me after regaining his sense and blood flow was once again safely in his brain, I moaned out and cried piteously. Don't leave me, come back, fill me. My breath was coming raggedly, my throat sore and aching and my chest heaved. I trailed my finger over my bum crack, down to my abused little hole and slicked my finger tip over it, testing the much beloved damage. My breath quickened as I touched myself, amazed that I was in such awe and sexual rapture. Davie laughed as he stood over me and helped me to stand, my arm over his shoulder and his hand pressed to my tummy.

The hot water in the shower compounded to make my sensory overload complete. As Davie washed my breasts, I sighed and thought, Well so much for trying to claim even the the most scant bit of innocence and decency. I giggled as Davie's soap-slicked hands reached down and softly washed my little bum, his hands soft and playful. Our kiss was deep and passionate.  

Who ever said booty calls were just a bit of fun? Mine taught me some new tricks....


Saturday, May 13, 2006

Through the Looking Glass

Masturbation has always been such a dirty word to me - luckily, the word wasn't bad enough to deter me from making the action behind it one of my favorite things to do.

I love photography and sex and watching myself as I come. This also applies to mirrors.

Sometimes I tilt this full length mirror against the wall and sit on the bed, legs spread and fuck myself with torrid fingertips. The blush rising up in my cheeks, my breasts becoming colored and my nipples becoming sensitive and full. My neck to fall back just a little bit, my beck to arch and my kitten to drip and become slick.

I love to watch the process of it all. The glory of my own sex.

Now perhaps vanity is coming into play here, but its also sexual fascination. I am still amazed by my own orgasms, that I can reach them and that they rock me so hard. Sometimes Ive even been disorientated by it all, the rush in my mind just a little too much to bare -but I love it.

Maybe all things are better on the other side of the looking glass?

Orgasms are like techno to me, they pound and rush and have their own beat, their own totally engulfing beat. They rock your mind, your soul your body. My throat gets tight and my body thrashes - not disimilar to when I dance in a club. The music pounds away and my body moves, glides and bumps. Orgasmic dancing. I think that praps all human behaviors are linked to sex, and its movements, its pontifications. Our hands smooth over things, take in the sensations and our mind relays its feelings, its observations from texture, heat and form.

Bray had just turned forty during the summer, his black hair strung with sexy threads of silver, glossy and shining. I liked to run my hands through his hair and see the different ways the light could play in it. Gray hair, like age in men, drives me wild. Don't ask me why, I can't even begin to think.

He always remarked on my body, my skin and how he loved that I took pictures of myself and made them into art - cropping, clipping and colorizing them. Id even won awards for my warped self photography. His fingers slid over my prints, my fingers slid over his shoulders, my fingers pressing and needy.

Sometimes I swear that a man can feel the heat of your mind when it wanders over lustful thoughts. I love it.

His hand slid up to cover mine and pressed down over my small fingers. His head swiveled back and his lips met mine, so infinitely warm and slippery. I repositioned so that I was sitting in his lap, a leg on either sie of him, my toes gently tipping to touch the floor. His hands slid heated down my back, under my skirt to my bottom, cupping my soft cheeks, testing my flesh. I love the way it feels when a hand slides under your panties and the heat of the hand is pure sensation upon your body, your bottom, your kitten. His hands felt like hot iron against my soft skin, his hands torrid and needy - like mine.

I whimper, he feels it too. My nipples are painful little blots under my shirt, the buttons of it surging with the weight of my breasts against them. His hand slides up and under my shirt, under my bra to touch my silky nipples, the supple flesh of my breasts. My head falls slowly back, my long hair touching his knees, touching my bottom.

The buttons pop slowly as he undoes them, my bra pops when he commands its clip, my breasts whimper at the light, the heat and the air. When I feel his lips upon my breast, I moan, my throat soft and amiable. His teeth softly grip my nipple and pull slightly.

Yes, hurt me - just a little.

My shirt is gone, my bra has lost its way and my panties are on vacation, far from the slick kitten. His eyes are fire, his hands are electric and with one gaze into the deep pools of his pupils, I know his mind is conjuring a dastardly sexy plan,

I have an idea, are you wet? his voice is like coffee in the morning.

I nod and begin to touch myself softly, testing my proclamation.

Stand up and turn around, yes like that and sit back down on me.

When I do so, I see theres a full length mirror in front of me. I gaze adoringly at my breasts, flushed crimson with their pink nipples in full bloom. His hands slide from behind me and cup them, his fingers teasingly pinching me. My pleated skirt looks like a half moon draped over my lap, its black silken layers next to my pale legs.

Put one foot on the desk and Ill hold the other one...Oh good girl.

When Ive sorted myself with one ankle in his strong hand, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, I can see why he wanted this. Before me was myself, my legs spread wide, light shining on my deep pink kitten, spread and looking like a wet flower.

Touch yourself, come for me.

My face flushes and my kitten drips even more. With his hand on my breast and my hands on my tummy, I timidly slide one hand down and spread the lips of my kitten, my fingertips of my other hand sliding softly over the hot and slick flesh of myself. I look into his eyes as I touch my clit, slide a finger inside myself. It looks like fire dances behind the soft lids of his eyes, he's licking his lips, staring at me while I bring myself to solemn collapse.

It doesnt take long before Im bucking and arching my back, my clit so hot and swollen. His words dont stop as they flow into my ears,

You are such a good girl, flick that little clit, put your finger inside yourself. Mmmm, I can smell you, youre almost there.

Im his doll, his self propelled puppet. Yes, you want me. Yes, I touch myself for you. Do you love it? When I come, my head rolls back over his shoulder, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. I cry out and moan, my breath just panting and humming. His hand is cruel on my breast, squeezing it in time with my writhing body. The harsh sensation brings me further into it, my mind lost in light and pain....the divine pain of climax.

When at last my body is hush, he is holding me tenderly, like a child. My head upon his shoulder, his arms enfolding my whole body. His hand strokes my hair and he speaks, his words are lost to me, Im still gone. My mind is lights and soft muted soft, blurred color and sensation. My heart is rapturously slow after such a tumult of acceleration and heat.

I just want to be someone's baby, their love and their light. I want pleasure and pain and love and desire, lust. I want so much that I have wandered to find. I want that divine moment where it all just falls, more than an orgasm, but a fall of spirit. Where sex is at its height and you're lost.

Lost down the rabbit hold, lost through the looking glass, lost in the eternal garden of singing flowers and sensation is all you can know.


Friday, May 12, 2006


Sometimes I get a little sheepish when I realize how easy it is for me to bend over....and how much I always want to....


Thursday, May 11, 2006

Garçon Virgin

His eyes so creamy light brown. His breath so silent, so bated. His lips so hot on mine, his mouth testing, prodding. His voice is soft, wondering, "I'm a fast learner." So new to it.

On Trigger's bed: a view to kill for.


"You were the leader, but now I am."

His smile so earnest, so joyous.

"This has to be more than luck."

His hand on my neck, drawing my passions like I drew his.

"Monkey see, monkey do.".

His soft arms wrapped around my back, touching my stomach. You can feel his need like words in your ear. His hands touching my long hair, smoothing it over my neck when I let it hang down long, romantic.

"Accidentally romantic."

My body is his to play with. All so new, he feels so lucky. He cradles me from behind, slightly scratchy face against my neck. Arms tight around my stomach, my hands over his arms. Peace.

"I feel like I'm in High School."
. His hand smooth on mine as we walk. He doesnt know how to walk with a girl, how to lead or follow. This boy, whom I've dubbed Trigger is timid sitting on the foot of my bed.

I lounge on my soft bed and make myself appealing.

"Come lay with me, come here for a little bit."

When I throw my legs over his hips, he's shocked, rocked. His hands afraid to touch me, afraid of being less than a gentleman.

He doesn't know what the body language means. I roll, he doesn't roll with me. He doesn't know to lie between my legs as he kisses me. My jeans tight against my warmest spot. I go under my top, unsnap the clip between my breasts. He looks at me in calm wonder. He understands. Touch me. He does, no words.

"Tell me if I'm doing anything wrong.".

So afraid to be less than a gentleman.

I love it.

He looks at me, testing it, as he slides my top up, revealing my milky breasts. My nipple half taut. Again, pleading look. Warm lips on my nipple, heat shocking me. My eyes see his eyes closed, his mouth savoring the feeling of my nipple in his mouth. All so new. My head slides back, my jaw tipping up. At first, he licks and suckles gently, softly.

Am I made of glass?

As he pushes me, intensifies his pursuit. My arms shaking, hips sliding back and forth. I need. His hands cup my other breast, lightly flicking the nipple, suckling the other. You do learn fast. His hands slide over my stomach, warming me.

My thumb slides under my jean waist band, pushing at the fabric. As he sucks on my nipple, maybe he sees the line of my downy hair. His hands slide over my thighs, near the join of my jeans. He feels my moist heat. He wants sensory overload. His fingers pull at the brass button. Fumble. He slides his hand over my kitten, the outside of my panties.

He tests.

Always tests.

His hand finds the top of my panties, his hand slides inside. Slides further down.

"Is this the place?".

Clit search in progress. I giggle softly -"Further down.". His fingers slide over my clit, he seems amazed. His eyes are closed, taking it all in. I raise my hips, letting his fingers slip inside of me. His eyes shoot open, He looks at me, scrunched brow, mouth open; issuing moans and coos.

"Show me how to do it." I giggle yet again, my vice soft and cloying,

"Its a big job, isnt it?"

His earnest need makes me warm. His eyes want mine, they stare, they burn. Whats up with needing to see me? My flushed cheeks? My teeth biting at my lips? He figures his finger tips aren't enough, he slides his head down my tummy, kissing the sparse line of soft down. Slick, hot lips.

I coo...I'm not a dove.

A shock as tongue touches my warm center. Positional readjust. His smooth cheeks against my smooth inner thighs. I love the warmth, the silk of it. His fingertips slide in, they softly probe. I whimper. Slither of a wet tongue over my slick clit. My back arches, my feet tense.

I love it.

His hands press at me, hold me down. His frustration. My calm demeanor.

"I don't need to come, its alright"
My smile doesn't seem to be enough ,"would it turn you on if I touched myself?"

He nods.

My clit is a science project.

He studies me as I fuck myself. Oh goodie. He kisses my fingers, licks at me a little. He looks at me as he slides his finger inside of me...in time with my fingertip on my clit. Cant control my whimpers, my moans. When I come, his eyes enhance the rapture of it. The burning heat within me, he sees it. Right?

"Im going to state the obvious - I love when you orgasm.". His eyes shine, his lips press to mine.

"Me too."

My giggling fills our ears. It seems so juvenile - so cute and pure. I love it. Again. "I feel like I'm in High School." His air is more soft than mine, he sees me as untouched. Am I untouched? If his eyes think so - it must be.

"What a wonderful caricature of intimacy..." -Panic! At the Disco


Monday, May 08, 2006

50 Things About Me

All about me and my eccentricities...

Background Info -----
  1. My blogging pseudo-name, means "the little (or young) slut". Fitting, no?
  2. My real name means "she who illuminates the world."
  3. I am of French descent, followed by Irish, German, and English...but I'm originally from LA.
  4. I was born the eldest of three daughters; one of which looks like me while the other doesn't at all.
  5. I've moved 14 times in my life because I'm the daughter of a military man.
  6. I nearly have an English degree and am currently working on my RN.
  7. I'm a published poet in my vanilla life.
  8. I paint well enough to sell them and I do, but mostly I give them away to friends.
  9. I have a documented IQ of 155 and lament it daily; it is my (perhaps mistaken) belief that life is easier if you're simple.
  10. I've worked as a Nanny, Waitress, Bar-tender, Stylist, Web Cam Model, Phone Sex Operator, Fetish Model, Retail Salesgirl, Product Reviewer, Seamstress, and Secretary.
Sexual Facts -----

  1. My boyfriend count is 7 but I've slept with about (give or take) ten times that amount.
  2. I have yet to have an orgasm during penetrative sex with a man, go figure (hopes are still high).
  3. I have claimed 9 virgin's virginity.
  4. I have my best orgasms when I have backdoor stimulus.
  5. Right before I orgasm I cling to a random word and as I hit the crescendo, I repeat it over and over in my mind (catalyst, catalyst, catalyst,catalyst, catalyst!)
  6. I can't stand having no kitten patch at all down there, it's like being a little girl and it freaks me out.
  7. I love using condoms, even if I'm in a committed relationship and on the pill, I think they're so fun for some reason (plus v. hygienic!).
  8. Unlike a lot of girls, I love porn and even have my own dvd collection.
  9. I have worn out, broken, and/or accidentally decapitated 27 sex toys since the age of 15 :)
  10. I like when a guy loves my feet, it seems I have a reciprocal-foot-fetish fetish.
Likes/Dislikes -----

  1. I've read over a thousand books and if you had the time I could tell you every title of every one but...
  2. ...I believe television is among the most mind-numbing creations in the world.
  3. I love it when I fold my laundry perfectly and stack it neatly in the shelves of my closet.
  4. I love moments when I can quiet my busy mind and just chill out listening to music with some hot tea, and look out the window. They don't happen often.
  5. I love smart conversation...
  6. I hate when people ramble on about things that they have no clue about, especially if its politics/religion.
  7. I love complimentary emails filled with questions, concerns...
  8. ...but not those that drone on about saving my "corrupt soul"; I love God and he loves me. End of discussion.
  9. I love hand rubs...
  10. ...but I loathe when people want to massage your head....what is up with that?
Favorites -----

  1. Dark Chocolate.
  2. Small, sweet dogs with smiling faces (like mine).
  3. Rose Tea w/ white honey.
  4. Sketching, painting, oil pastels.
  5. Chocolate soy milk.
  6. Pink Roses, Pink Lillies, White Gerber Daisies.
  7. Black lace bra, thong, garter belt with pink bows, and nude thigh-high stockings.
  8. A man's abdominal muscle crease, also his wrists.
  9. A slow fuck in warm weather in high grass with a bright sun overhead.
  10. Red nail polish.
Movies/Music/People -----

  1. Film: "Breakfast at Tiffany's"
  2. Song: 'Fly Me To The Moon' - Dean Martin
  3. Film: "Labyrinth" with David Bowie
  4. Song: 'All Around Me' - Flyleaf
  5. Actress: Katherine Heigl
  6. Song: 'Revelry' - Kings of Leon
  7. Song: 'The Origin of Love' - Hedwig and the Angry Inch
  8. Actor: Robert Redford
  9. Film: "Belle Du Jour" (1960's French)
  10. Song: 'I Miss You' - Incubus
"I never..." / "I always..." -----

  1. I always thought I'd stay a virgin until marriage.
  2. I never thought I'd have already become such a outwardly sexually hungry young woman.
  3. I always thought life was like the movies.
  4. I never knew it could be more like someone's acid-induced nightmares.
  5. I always used to dream about living on my own.
  6. I never thought I'd miss my mother so much when I finally did.
  7. I always pictured the world as being beautiful with small sadnesses.
  8. I never thought I'd realize how much the world could be improved.
  9. I always trusted my own intuition.
  10. I never knew I wouldn't always be right.

      My life is alike many others but in a lot of ways its very dissimilar. We're all written with a certain story in mind, now all we have to do is find the right path to follow to get to out happy ending...

      Does anyone have a map I could borrow?


      Tuesday, May 02, 2006

      He Liked the Darkside

      Warning: the following memoir contains themes of blood lust, blood play and blood exchange - light human vampirism. If any of the above is offensive, this is not your type of sexy story.
      He didnt want to fuck me, he didnt feel he needed to - he wanted to touch me, kiss me, taste me and...cut me. Normally your mother guides you to make informed decisions, especially about men and I know my mother in particular has always been very vocal on this point. Normally your mother tells you to date clean cut, nice and sweet boys. Normally you look at your mother, smile meekly, go meet your tattooed punk-rock boy and fuck him up against her car. Or maybe thats just me...

      Milo was one hot and scary guy, with light blue eyes that made you think a thousand sweet little thoughts. He had the sides of his head shaved and a few inches of mohawk gelled on the top of his head. He had sculpted,soft lips and those big, ice blue eyes. I loved his thick guage piercings, his angry tattoos and the fact that he was addicted to poetry. Yes, my rock n' roll dream was a poetry fiend. Who would have guessed? He would read things to me when we first met in the hallways of school during my sophmore year in High School Hell. He read a bit of Paulo Coehlo as he walked slowly behind me,

      I like cute and cuddly. I like dark and twisted. I like soft lips that I see, quite like yours...

      His voice crisp and intelligent, needy yet calculated. He found wisdom in written word just as I did. I smiled at him and dissappeared into the milling group of students, giggling as I sat in class even hours later. He began skipping class so that he could sit with me during my lunch hour, talking to me of Tennyson and Keats, Lindea. His grand volume of memorized quotes and bits surprized me immensely, always made me deeply contemplative. He always had the perfect quote or line of poetry to capture a moment, or a topic of discussion. He was like a punk rock Shakespeare, like a tattooed Tennyson, rule breaking Dickinson, if you follow.

      Milo took every chance he could to amaze me, to proclaim his emotions, his vision. As he would listen to me speak of some literary giant or an indie guitarist, he would pull on the silver ring that went through his lip with his teeth. Pulling gently and steadily as he concentrated on my lips, my voice, my eyes. I loved piercings and I have piercings; Ive gotten many piercings just for the sensation - I never put jewelry in it. Very soon, he and I were very close, very intimate with our discussions, our bent heads very close as we spoke a heated debate or even simple prose.

      One day, Milo kissed me. angels sang and the wind blew, my lips burned and my heart stopped beating. Feeling his need and his adoration was like being beaten, like being whipped. When he pulled away after the first kiss, he let his head sag and his eyes searched the ground, looked at his crossed legs as we sat on a wide planter at the school. Our lips and tongues were still moist from the other, the taste of him in my mouth was so new and I was so filled with hope. He spoke softly, sadly,

      I just dont know why every time I see you, my heart hurts me, my chest seems to swell with you, my blood even.

      When he said the word "blood" he looked directly in my eyes. My mouth was slightly open, pondering his words. I reached over to him and pressed my hand to the side of his neck, his hand automatically clamped over mine and he brought my hand to his lips, planting kisses on my skin. What he didnt know was that I thought of him too often for my comfort, when I saw him my heart also swelled, my lips began to hurt and I just longed to hear his voice, his cadence and passion. I was overwhelmed with the possibility that he could feel even half of what I felt for him.

      I wiggled until I was in his lap, my back pressed to his stomach, his hands on the tops of my thighs. We had always been in very close physical proximity when we would hang out, but this time - it was heated, it was like my body surged as it touched his. We spoke as normal, but this time it was even more heated, more passionate, lots of tension caught between us. When the bell rang he grabbed my hand before I could leave and begged me to meet him in the parking lot, would I please come over? Would I just give him my time? I smiled and walked away - my smile was all the answer I knew he would need. For the next three hours, my body was tense, my mind was wandering and I kept dropping things. Did I want Milo in my head?

      When he saw me sitting cross legged on the hood of his tired black car, his smile seemed brighter than the intense Southern sun that hit my skin. In he car he played Static-X, tapping the steering wheel lightly at each intense chord and talking to me all the while, laughing at my little sardonic jokes. He laughed when I sang a song that came throbbing through the speakers, my high Soprano voice trying to match that of the dark singer in the band.

      His room was just like him, eclectic, hectic and beautiful. Posters lay on the walls, overlapping pictures, tickets stubs, pages ripped from books, newspapers. His photography, his drawings, his spray paint mural on the ceiling, red with seemingly dripping black. I dropped softly onto his "bed", which was actually more like a million fat pillows all stacked in one corner, comforters and the haphazard and haggard teddy bear. He turned on more heavy rock and took his shoes off, dropping next to me, laying on his side, seemingly shocked by my presence in his "inner sanctum". He slid his hand to my stomach, his fingers sliding softly over the exposed flesh there, his voice soft as he spoke about the Bush Administration and their sins, his eyes flicking from my face, to the window and back again. Interrupting him, I touched the pads of my fingers to the piercing in his eyebrow, my fingers soft, my lips slightly parted. I looked at his eyes, his lips, his smile appearing softly. Again, my body was shocked when his lips touched mine, his hand wrapped under my hip, gripping tight to me. He laughed at my tiny moaning sounds as he kissed me, telling me how I was the strangest girl in the world. He really liked strange.

      I love when you can just make out with someone for what seems like forever, your lips becoming sore, your bodies so tight and tense, grasping for the other, needing so much. When he found his way between my legs, he innocently lay a hand on my stomach, his kissing becoming even more heated, his hand sliding up to my breasts. He kissed the tops of them, his lips so soft it felt like just a breath of wind against my skin. I dug my nails into his back when he found my nipple and licked it, his eyes on my eyes; I could see his tongue touching my tiny, hard nipple. I could feel the inevitable slickness in my panties, my need, but also my restraint - at the time I was still a virgin, and still very guarded. He was sucking on my nipples, craddling them in his hands as he did so when he stopped and looked at me, leant on his elbow and stared at me intently,

      I know you wont think Im strange for asking you this, but, weve sort of spoken of this before. So Ill give it a try. Dont worry, I wont ask you to fuck me.

      He paused and wet his lips,

      I want to cut you, I want to taste your blood on my lips, I want to see it on my fingertips. Please, I know you want it too.

      And I did. Ill share something with you - my first orgasm was had during the movie Interview with a Vampire and I didnt even touch myself. It happened automatically. When Tom Cruise leans over Kirsten Dunst in that big bed, and cut his wrist, presses it to her lips - its just too much for words. Obviously my body thought so when I was eleven, because I spontaneously orgasmed. So I already knew I had this predestined vampiric sort of need within me. I had spoken to Milo about this before and he knew the "Interview" incident, he relished it, in fact.

      I bit down hard on my lips, looked at the red ceiling and slowly nodded my assent. He laughed a little in glee and went off in search of supplies. I wiggled around in my wet panties, uncertain, scared and sooo damn horny.

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      When he returned, he had a sterile wrapped razor blade, a few alcohol prep pads and a couple of band aids. Awe, so cute. He laid it all aside, very near the menacing teddy bear and began kissing me in a torrent, his lips mashing against mine, biting my lips so that my arms curled around his neck, pressing my hips and my breasts against him. Eventually all the tongue pashing forced my legs to curl around his hips, my finger tips running softly over his scalp. He stopped and looked at me, a soft smile on his lips. He pulled down my jeans a little, to reveal more of my hip bone, he kissed the pale flesh there and ran the tip of his tongue over it, the heat of it shocking my system. He took a little prep pad and rubbed my whole hip area and then unwrapped the blade, all the while his teeth were softly clamped over his lip ring. My heart started pounding when I saw him bring the blade near my sanatized skin. I think I whimperd quickly with a twinge of fear. He smiled slowly and then kissed my forhead, my lips, my stomach and then put the blade to my skin. I moaned when he dragged the sharp blade against my flesh, my back softly arching and my hand tightening on his shoulder, grapsing his flesh. He made four quick little cuts, each about an inch long. Little drops of blood were sliding together, the blood from each cut mingling. I could feel the blood grow slightly cold as I lay there panting, my body tense, my kitten nearly in pain and throbbing. He looked at me very devilishly, my legs wrapped around him as he knelt between my legs, his hand griping my hip very near the deep little wounds. His voice was deep, dark and alluring when he quoted soft words to me,

      For men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best as Heaven and Hell...

      And with that, he pressed his lips to the bloddy little cuts and kissed them, blood smudging on his mouth, his lips. Tennyson and blood - I thought - what a combination. I cried out as his tongue raked softly over them, the heat making the small cuts burn and become little slices of light in my mind. The pain was a divine light in my mind, buring at me, hurting me, but pushing me to the edge. My heart nearly stopped as he lifted his face and I saw my blood lining his lips, his tongue licking at them, the shining silver of his lip ring marred by the slick red liquid. When he kissed me, I tasted the bite in my own blood, the primal heat rose in my throat and I moaned, his lips biting at mine as I tasted blood. He licked his finger tips and as he began once again kissing me, the tiny traces of blood remaining on our lips, smuding quietly around our mouths. He pressed his fingers gainst my wound, touching it lightly and then pressing. I bucked against him, his hard body feeling like a weight on me.

      He slid his body down mine and unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them off and down with my sodden panties. He once again licked my sweet little cuts and began licking my kitten. No doubt the taste of blood and pussy in his mouth. I moaned and almost instantaneously came, feeling the air against the blood stained hip and his tongue sliding over my swollen clit. When I came, the force of it arched my back and buried my head in the pillows that I lie upon. It seemed I could smell the blood, I could taste it, was I seeing red even?

      He lightly kissed the small cuts, his lips soft and warm, wet with my moisture. He leant on his elbow, his body lounging over my thigh, he stared at the little red lines. He stared at me. He licked his fingertips, he seemed to hum one octave. As I looked at him I realized that maybe I was in a little over my head. Would I always need this type of sensory overload now? Would all of my sexual thoughts be centered around blood? Would I become a slave to this blood lust?

      Milo, I...

      He smiled at me, all my fears dispelled. It was just one piece of me. Just a small sliver of my sexuality. Notedly, it is a strange piece and such a tiny one. People cringe at gore and blood - so do I. Horror movies dont turn me on. Thinking of murder and death doesnt turn me on. All of that scares me like you wouldnt believe. Praps its the thought that someone would want something to intimate of me. Praps its also my tiny little masochistic side, the side that likes swords and blades. I have piercings, a few tattoos - its all this kind of ritualistic feeling that brings me closer to myself.

      The pain reminds me that I'm alive. The blood, well the blood Im still trying to figure out, but until then Im fine with it. I'm fine with myself, I accept myself no matter what my thoughts. I fear nothing and am willing to do whatever I think might make me happy.

      And after all, whats a little blood between friends? :)