Mortified

Inspired by Mortified, I dug up some of my old journals and took a trip down memory lane. Jesus, what a depressing little alley way that was. I'm a big fan of angst, but lord. I wanted to kick my own ass after a few pages.

I did, however, find then entry where I talk about my first kink experience:

September 2, 1997
I'm surprised I'm not as freaked out as I thought I would be. I answered an ad in the "Village Voice". A guy into Bondage and Dominance. We went out for drinks last week at Cafe Aubette. Apparently he wasn't aware we were going to have sex that night. I was. I shaved, plucked and moisturized. I didn't wear a watch.

We went back to his place note: I didn't write this at the time, but I remember it well. His apartment was very "bachelor-ish". Mirrored walls, black lacquer furniture. He put handcuffs on me, tied me up, fucked me with a vibrator, ate me out, I sucked his cock. He spanked me, whipped me with a cat-o-nine tails. I have never been so relaxed, comfortable in my life! I actually got a little bored after a while.

He had quite a bit of equipment and he's done this quite a bit. He said 20 women. I don't know. I'm not in love with him. I like him o.k. I'd see him again. He wants to buy me a collar. It's kind of exciting. It's really exciting actually. To have a man make me come with his tongue inside me! My clit was so sore afterwards. I'm still sore in places where he squeezed me really hard. I took to sucking cock like a pro. God, I loved it. The feel, the taste. His come was a little bitter, I didn't really swallow a lot.

Afterwards we held each other tight and talked and talked. It was nice. It was fun. I can't believe I did it. I felt a little disjointed while it was happening, like I was watching it all from above. After I said I couldn't sleep over. I caught a cab, came home, watched some t.v. and had a really sexy dream about David Duchovny.

Strangely enough, all this happened the day Princess Diana died. She was killed in a car crash in Paris while being chased by the paparazzi.

The next day the thumbs on both of my hands would go numb for about a week due to pinched nerves from the handcuffs.

No date
Things with Frank are getting a little too intense for my taste. I come over on Saturday and the guy has bought me a collar, some really high heeled shoes and a skirt I can barely fit into! It's so stupid! He wants to introduce me to this couple he met from Columbus. I don't think so!

God, I don't want to go back to work.

two cum sluts on 29th street

I want to see you get fucked by a lot of men. I want to watch them come all over you and after they are done, I'll lick every bit of cum from your body and then fuck you.

We had a lot in common. We had similar goals. We exchanged a few e-mails, then graduated to the phone. Soon, we were exchanging videos of unusually potent cum shots from RedTube.

We finally decided to meet. He chose a bar I'd never been to and will probably never go to again for reasons soon to be explained. The place was packed with a few office holiday parties and we shouted over the drunken crowd with Santa hats. We found a place at the bar, and after some light generic conversation about work and the holidays we quickly got down to talking about why we were there: his insatiable oral fixation and my general love of debauchery. Neither of us bothered to keep our voices down as he talked about his love of nipple clamps and having his tits chewed to oblivion. I talked about my love of flogging and semen. He had yet to suck a cock, but was eager to do it. Licking come off of someone is great, but there's nothing like drinking straight from the tap.

I was wearing a rather long, wool skirt and he was rubbing my thigh sweetly. I excused myself to the bathroom and whispered in his ear, "I'm going to take off my tights and my underwear."

When I returned, we noticed a booth was open by the door. We gathered our drinks and our belongings and settled into the corner of the booth. It was just to the left of the entrance and on a slightly raised platform. We settled into the corner facing outward and continued our conversation. His hand slid up my skirt and started teasing my clit. I lifted my ass a little so he could gain better access and soon he slipped a finger inside. I could feel the lining of my skirt grow damp. I nibbled on his neck keeping one eye on the door. Every once in a while someone would walk by, no more than 5 feet away, oblivious to what was happening just to the right of them.

He lifted my skirt higher and slipped his hand under my ass, slipping one finger back into my cunt and another in my ass, pumping in and out vigorously. I buried my head into the crook of his neck, muffling my groans. Every now and then I would catch the bouncer eyeing us and I would tap his shoulder. We would part discreetly, each of us temporarily returning to our drinks. He slipped his fingers out and put them to my lips, so I could lick up my juices. When the coast was clear, back went the fingers. He went in deep, curling his fingers inside me, hitting my G-spot with one and fucking my ass with the other. I bit into his shoulder, lifting my ass up while demurely tugging my skirt down. I gripped his shoulder as I came on his hand, growling into his sweater. He slipped his fingers out and brought them to my mouth again.

It was getting late. We both had to get going. Outside, I lit a cigarette and we both stood for a while making chit-chat. We had both eased ourselves against the wall. There were construction walls and scafolding in front of the bar, making it a slightly less exposed area. He moved behind me and suddenly dropped to his knees. He lifted up my skirt and dove under, licking my ass. I gasped and leaned forward slightly. I watched a group of people walk by across the street and I kept my eyes on them as I ground my ass into his face. My lids grew heavy and I moaned as his tougne lapped my asshole. He spoke often of his oral fixation and I was beginning to see what he meant. My knees buckled and then I noticed a couple coming down the street. I reached behind me and tapped his head. He lifted up and I straightened my coat and skirt. We kissed and parted ways.

36-24-36

I do not want to be one of those people. One of those, "I had a great date so I must blog about it immediately" people. But shit! I just had a fucking awesome date and I must blog about it.

I was not expecting much. I've been on enough blind "online dating" dates to know not to expect much. We met at a casual bar near my place. Local. Low key. I was early and sitting at the bar reading a magazine and drinking a Maker's Mark on the rocks. He tapped me on the shoulder. He was cute. He looked like his picture. He was "really" cute. We had some drinks and had some bar food. I got a burger. He got the wings. He had that hipster nerd thing going on that I love. He had this whole multi-culti thing going on that I love. Dad from Denmark, Mom from Trinidad or something. I don't remember. He runs his own business in this extraordinary, slightly antiquated industry that totally turned me on. There's something very old-world, yet completely modern about him that I find fascinating.

He was in a band. Studied film in college. Fuck. You had me at "Hello".

We moved on to this new bar near me I've been meaning to check out. They do some burlesque, not the big leagues Little Brooklyn / Dirty Martini stuff, but good for some fun. I tried their signature drink, some crazy concoction of Maker's Mark, grapefruit juice, muddled cranberries... normally more than 2 ingredients is too much or me. I hate "girly" drinks. But it was pretty damn good. The second one was just as good. And the third.

Then he got down to it. The "what are you looking for" question. So I laid it out and I've never done this before...

I want a partner, a boyfriend (I hate both of those terms) a significant other, but I do not believe in monogamy. I want someone to share my life with, who will also be willing to explore sexually with other people with other genders... to me, sex is a playground, and I have no intention of limiting myself to only one playmate for the next 30 years.

Then there was the awkward bit. The slight pause as he took stock. "Did I just freak you out?" I ask. I'm all about being honest these days. I don't want to waste my time. I don't think I put it this clearly since I was drunk at this point. All I remember is him saying something about wanting to get it on with Johnny Depp at which point I may have had a tiny orgasm right there on the stool.

At some point he pulled me in for a kiss and fuck... he is a damn good kisser. Fuck. We're making out like idiots at the bar. They're playing "Let's Get Physical" and the dancer is doing her thing with the pasties and she's got that insanely creamy skin that I fucking covet.

We finally decide to leave and he's tipsier than I am on his Stoli and tonics, which I find cute. We're on the sidewalk and I'm having a smoke (which he finds kind of kinky!). We start making out again and they're playing "Brick House" and we're necking and singing along... "chicka bow, chicka bow, chicka bow wow..." And it gets to that part that I LOVE. We're pawing at each other and I push him away, then we go in to kiss some more and we're clutching each other and I PUSH him away again, because not tonight. Not yet. When we do, I will fucking rock his world. But not tonight.

And I walk away... "She's a brick... house. She's mighty mighty. Just lettin' it all hang out."

grease monkey

"What am I doing with my life?" I asked myself as I stood naked, bent over a patched, plaid Salvation Army sofa in the back office of a car repair shop somewhere in Connecticut with an inflatable butt plug up my ass.

I had just met this person. We only chatted a couple of times on-line. There wasn't much to say. He wanted someone to dominate and fuck and I wanted to be dominated and fucked. What else was there to know?

The first time we met was when he picked me up at the train station. His fingers were dirty, stained with years of oil and grime. Theoretically this would have turned me on. Theoretically. I had made an effort to look nice, I wore a skirt and some little kitten heels. The least he could do was wash his hands. Then again it wasn't like he needed to impress me, to charm me into sleeping with him. I was already naked and spread out as far as he (and I for that matter) was concerned. What was I going to do, say I changed my mind and take a cab back to the train station? Yeah, right.

He wasn't particularly attractive or he might be if he had a little more confidence. This happens all the time. The bravado, the authoritarian voice on-line becomes timid and meek in real life. He smelled of too many Marlboro Reds.

We drove up to the garage, my heels clacking on the greasy concrete. I looked around and started to get wet. "This is going to be good," I thought. Maybe he would bend me over one of the cars with my naked ass exposed in the huge space of the garage? Or would he tie my hands to one of the chains hanging from the ceiling?

Instead, he led the way to the office. It was small, low-drop ceiling with florescent lights, an ancient coffee maker and a stack of styrofoam cups, yellowed memos tacked on a cork-board, a couple of metal folding chairs... you get the picture. I excused myself to the bathroom, washing my hands with that pink, powdered soap I didn't think they made anymore.

"Take off your clothes." He sounded almost bored, which should have turned me on more than it did. It was freezing in there. He told me to bend over the couch and I did. He ran his hands over my body roughly, like he was testing my skins resiliency. He smacked my ass hard and I moaned my approval. He spanked me for a while, but not long enough.

He withdrew and stepped back to retrieve something from his duffle bag. "Have you ever tried one of these before?" Butt-plugs sure, inflatable, no. I turned my head to the wall and jumped at the sudden coolness of the lube. He was more careful, when he put the plug in. "Good?" he asked. I nodded and closed my eyes. Then the pumping began. It sounded just like a blood-pressure monitor. Slowly it expanded, growing larger and larger inside me. It was odd, to have this thing growing inside me. There's something about inserting something large inside my ass or my pussy that's satisfying. It's work, it takes time and there's a sense of accomplishment when that huge dildo or that 5th finger makes its way inside. This felt like cheating.

I asked him to stop after a while, just at the point where it was becoming uncomfortable. He stepped back and smacked my ass again. He shoved his fingers (which were still grimy) into my cunt and fingered me roughly, occasionally rubbing my clit. It was an obligatory finger-fuck, the kind intended only to ensure sufficient lubrication. It too ended too quickly.

He kept his clothes on as he fucked me. He was almost silent the entire time, his heavy breathing the only indication he was doing anything at all. I closed my eyes and gripped the back of the sofa. He bent me over further and I leaned my head against the sofa. It too smelled like too many Reds. He pulled out and jerked off on to my back. I stayed bent over as he went to the bathroom. I reached behind me to rub his sperm into my skin.

"You can stand up if you want." He was done with me. He grabbed a Coke from the mini-fridge and asked if I wanted one. I didn't but I accepted one anyway. He turned on the little t.v. and sat on an old olive-green office chair. I sat on the couch awkwardly, the butt-plug was still in, and sipped my Coke. There was an old Star Trek episode on. "This is a good one." He went on to tell me the entire plot, his eyes not moving from the television.

"You think you could take this out now?" I waved the pump at him, all the time thinking, "There is a naked woman in front of you who's willing to do just about anything and you would rather watch television. Is it me? Am I not as alluring as Leonard Nimoy?

"Oh yeah." He deflated the pump and slipped it out of me, returning to the chair and The Starship Enterprise while I sat on the couch with my hands between my legs, shivering. At the first commercial, I told him I had a train to catch and pulled my clothes back on. I still had his drying sperm on my back, but I didn't care. Usually, I like it, this marking of territory. I like sitting on the train, wondering if the people next to me can smell it. This time, I just wanted to go home. He graciously drove me back to the train station, neither of us bothering with the pretense of suggesting we do this again sometime.

David_2

We didn't speak in the taxi. We sat far apart, not touching, each of us looking out of our windows at the rain. When we got to my little studio, I asked him automatically if he wanted a drink, even though we were both still a little drunk. Maybe we kissed a little, I don't remember. I don't remember if we talked or if we made out at all. I remember him undoing my pants, yanking them down and pushing me to my knees. I rested my arms and head on the bed. I listened to him open the door to the bathroom. I closed my eyes and waited patiently.

When he came out I turned to him. He looked about 50 feet tall. His belt was loose and with one hand he slipped it off, then doubled it cover. He pushed my underwear down and without ceremony whipped my ass with the leather belt. I cried out at the shock, my hands curling into fists. He drew back and hit again, the straps burning me. I settled into the rhythm, concentrated on my breathing as the pain washed into me. Soon, it became too much. I put my hand over my ass to protect it, but he swatted it away. I tried again and he hit it away again. At some point, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was huge. I sighed when I saw it, the belt forgotten for a moment. "Hold on to it!" He commanded. I grabbed his hard cock, gripping it for dear life as he hit again and again.

When he finished I slumped to the floor, leaning against the bed. He knelt in front of me, looking into my eyes. The he slapped me, full across the face. No one had ever slapped me before. I felt the tears well up and he slapped me again. I inhaled sharply and turned my eyes away. I looked to my left, my right, anywhere but at him. I clenched and unclenched my fists frantically. He reached over and grabbed my hands, opening my palms, his fingers entwined in mine. He moved to sit on the bed next to me. "Look at me." He said. I couldn't. "Look at me," he said firmly. I did, my eyes wide, a childish pout on my lips. He slapped himself. And not gently. "See?" He said and slapped his face again. "Here." He took my hand and put it to his face. "Slap me." I shook my head no, afraid of the ramifications. "Slap me!" And I did. Softly at first. "Again!" I hit him again, this time with all of my force.

"See?" He smiled at me and I smiled back, I even laughed a little. As we made our way up to the bed, I pulled my pants all the way off and stripped away my shirt and bra. It seemed odd that I would still be clothed. He was finally naked as well. He lifted my legs over my shoulders, a condom appeared from somewhere. He said, "I like wearing condoms. I like the idea that I control your reproduction." I rolled my eyes at this and entered me hard, all the way in one quick thrust. He was serious. He fucked furiously, my legs bouncing on his shoulders.

While he fucked me he asked me, "What would you do if I slapped you like that in public?" Gasping as his cock drove into me, I said with a smile, "I'd kick you in the balls." "No, you wouldn't." He said, thrusting harder. "Yes, " I laughed. "I fucking would." The temperature changed. There was a shift somewhere in the dynamics. It wasn't want he wanted to hear. I grinned, staring directly into his eyes now, daring him, challenging him. I wanted him to know that I had his number. I wasn't going to make this easy for him.

He slipped out of my cunt, pulled off the condom and raised my legs further up. He shoved his cock into my ass using my own juices as lube. I winced at the pain, but as my body opened up him, I sighed with a smile on my lips. I know he was trying to punish me, to hurt me, but it felt too good. I closed my eyes and let out a laugh. When I opened my eyes, he was deadly serious. He was fucking me harder now, sweating with the effort. "Don't laugh at me." He said. I laughed harder, "I'm not laughing at you!"

(I wasn't laughing at him. That's the truth. I was laughing because, well... I was happy and I was feeling good and I was having fun. I know it may not be the sexiest response, but I can't help it. And no matter how many times I've had sex, I still get giddy by the fact that there is a cock inside me.)

He slapped me across the face. "I said, don't laugh at me!" I couldn't stop grinning, his large cock pumping in and out of my ass, hitting me so deep in just the right place. "I'm not laughing at you!" I shouted. But for some reason, just then, I wanted him to think I was. I looked him in the eye, a smirk on my face. "Go ahead," I thought, "What ever you're going to do, do it." His eyes were mean, there was no humor, he was genuinely angry. I knew it wasn't directed at me. It was an anger he had already for some other woman or women in general. It was too deep and too old for me to have caused it. I took stock of where my knives were in my kitchen and how quickly I could get to them.

He pulled his cock out of my ass and positioned it to my mouth. I could see bits of my own shit on his cock, but I put it in my mouth anyway. It did not take long. He pulled out, came all over my face and collapsed on top of me panting. I reveled in the weight of him on top me. I hadn't come, but I didn't care. He rolled off of me and quickly fell asleep.

I usually can't sleep with another man in my bed, one I don't know anyway. It takes me forever to fall asleep by myself, anyway. Usually, I lay awake for hours and fall asleep just as the sun is coming up. This time I dropped right off. I slept like a baby.

The next morning, I walked him to the subway. We awkwardly kissed. He seemed shy and maybe a little embarrassed. He couldn't look me in the eye. I stopped at the corner to get a cup of coffee and a muffin. When I got home, I went to the bathroom and saw there was a small smear of shit on my forehead and a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my ass.

At the time I was angry at his "It's not you, it's me" brush off. Like most men who do deliciously mean things to me, I had developed quite the crush. He wrote that he didn't intend for it to go so far so quickly. E-mails became less frequent and then stopped.

Now, I know I dodged a bullet. He was right. It was him.