As one of my friends once said to me: I seem to have no limits. Many of the BDSM-related things I don’t want to do, I don’t want to do because I don’t know how to do them in a safe manner. Of course, I [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Not many things squick me out.

As one of my friends once said to me: I seem to have no limits. Many of the BDSM-related things I don’t want to do, I don’t want to do because I don’t know how to do them in a safe manner. Of course, I don’t want to do everything, but I can comfortably say that typically I’m up for almost anything.

Which is why my aversion to rimjobs was kind of perplexing to me.

Anal sex, sure, but putting one’s mouth there seemed too… intimate. Dirty. I didn’t want to let someone do that to me because I was too embarrassed, and I didn’t want to do it to someone else because I thought it would be… kinda gross.

Christopher had to try very hard to convince me to let him rim me. And even when I gave in – bent over, on my knees, ass in the air, head in my pillow, his tongue in and around my hole, me moaning and panting and my mind being blown – I wondered how he could possibly find that erotic.

Well… all of that changed one night, when me and the Optimist started making out.

Things quickly progressed until he was naked and I was blowing him, licking and sucking his balls and his thighs. Soon enough the same thought came to both of us at pretty much the same time:

“Can you kiss my butt?”

I blinked. I had been thinking of doing that, and more… but did I really want to?

It took me a few seconds to make up my mind before I gently turned him over. I kissed and nibbled his ass cheeks for a bit before spreading them to reveal his little pink star.

I looked. I smelt. It smelt… different, but not unpleasant. I rubbed over his hole with my finger. I enjoyed having him spread out before me like that. I imagined I was making him feel exposed… I hoped that I was.

And then I put out my tongue and took my first taste.

Again, it tasted different, but not unpleasant. He was clean, and I felt like I could have been licking any other part of his body… except this was somehow so much more erotic.

I dove in and started lapping.

He made the most amazing noises. Different. Mewling, whimpering, vulnerable. My tongue is too short, so I couldn’t do more than just lap and swirl my tongue against his hole – but that was more than enough. Soon, he breathlessly asked if he could flip onto his back so he could jerk himself off more comfortably. I let him – but my mouth could no longer reach him. So I used my fingers and watched him as he came – hard, hard…

My god. How could I have ever thought that was gross?

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You’re clutching the dildo in one hand. The phone in the other. The one is slipping in and out of you, and the other is almost slipping from your grasp. You hold onto it, wedging [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Wow. It’s been a while. Coming back with a theme I like a lot though – long distance.

You’re clutching the dildo in one hand. The phone in the other. The one is slipping in and out of you, and the other is almost slipping from your grasp. You hold onto it, wedging it into your shoulder and pushing it close to your ear.

On the other end of the line is panting. Rough, harsh breaths. In-out.

The two of you were having a normal enough conversation until you let slip that you were lounging around in your underwear, something about the heat, and he teasingly asked you what kind you had on, and you told him. Cotton. Floral. Cute. From Victoria’s Secret.

And the one short answer turned into a long spiel of how your body sprawled over the bed, how your lightly sweaty limbs were positioned. You traced a hand over yourself and let him follow it, from your hips, down to the dip in your waist to your chest to your hair.

He groaned. Talked you into putting your hand inside your panties. Practically guided your fingers inside you with his voice. In no time at all, you were both panting and thrusting in a chorus that was stretched over 600 miles. Spouting nonsense words:

“God!”

“Your pussy–”

“You feel –”

“s’so good–”

“amazing…”

He insinuates your other hand into your bra and pulls the dildo out of your drawer and tells you to imagine him. Imagine it’s him doing all this to you.

You do. And then a few seconds of ragged breath – and you come. And the phone skitters, clatters, to the floor.

Got a sex fantasy? Microfantasy Monday is by Sweltering Celt and rules can be found here.

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I had pictured a spectacular hours-long session where we did everything we had ever wanted to do to each other… well, actually that sounds more like ‘hello sex’ after not having seen each other for months. And a few hours [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> I’m not sure what I expected ‘goodbye sex’ to be like.

I had pictured a spectacular hours-long session where we did everything we had ever wanted to do to each other… well, actually that sounds more like ‘hello sex’ after not having seen each other for months. And a few hours probably wouldn’t be enough time for us to do all that we wanted to do to each other anyway.

‘Goodbye sex’, in reality, was 30 minutes of rushed, semi-clothed passion which was over as quickly as it had began.

But it was spectacular.

—

About a month ago, Christopher walked back to my room with me after a night of gallivanting. To inform me that he had decided to drop out of college, was going to move in with his girlfriend and focus on his writing.

I was quite unsurprised. He had taken a long personal leave from college before, and I knew his academics were dragging along, and he didn’t seem as though he was getting what he wanted from his experience here. In all honesty, I think this is the best thing he could do for himself. He will probably be way happier. And he will be doing what he really wants to do.

What followed his admission was a lot of talking, and a few tears (from me…) and hugging, and affection, that inevitably derailed into kissing and… other things.

I know I haven’t shared this – me and Christopher had continued sleeping with each other for the past term. A couple of weeks after I came back from my exchange program, me and Christopher had been out drinking together one night, and he walked back to my dorm building with me. When we reached my door, we ended up kissing in the hallway and soon he had me against the wall, feeling me up… I opened the door to my room, and after a few minutes of indecision, he came in with me.

I couldn’t talk about it before now, though I wanted to, because me and Christopher really didn’t want our friend F to know. (She reads my blog occasionally.)

—

The day before he was due to leave, he emailed both me and F asking if we wanted to meet him for dinner. F was at work then, and couldn’t come, but I was able to make it.

We hung out for about three hours or so, just walking and talking. Eventually we ended up at the highest point of campus, silently watching the sun go down.

I haven’t experienced many spiritual moments in my life, but that was one of them. Sitting in the notquitecold, with someone I cared a great deal for, and nobody else around, as the sky blazed pink and purple, thinking cliche thoughts about love and time and endings and beginnings and how neither of them really exist… (And, also, though I’m ashamed to admit it, thinking of how how he had come to this spot with his girlfriend before, I knew that, I had seen the pictures…)

After it was dark, we started making our way back to the center of campus. The ground was iced over, and I was wearing Converses, so I had to keep grabbing hold of his arm or hand to keep from slipping. We reached a dirt road and were halfway down it when he stopped walking.

“I don’t want to go yet.”

So we stood for a while. He took my hands and we pressed them together, smoothing our palms over each other and twining and untwining our fingers. Eventually he told me,

“I really liked the time we spent together. And I’m sorry… if I hurt you… and I’m afraid of hurting you even more…”

We were standing close together and for once I took the initiative and caught his lips with mine.

He abruptly started walking again, while holding on to me with one hand.

“Where are you going??”

“Um… in the direction of your dorm, it looks like. Muscle memory…”

We kept going in that direction. He was supposed to show up at his best friend’s apartment in half an hour, so called ahead saying he was going to be a bit late because he was “hanging out with friends” (riiiight…). I was touched by the fact that he had started to tear up a little and had to make an effort to keep his voice cheery on the phone…

When we reached my suite, I cracked my door open and looked at him.

“Are you sure you want to…”

Before I could finish, he rushed towards me and pushed us both into my dark room, kissing me urgently. The door swung closed and I flipped on the bright, overhead light. Soon I was on my bed and both of us were working to get my clothes off. Naked, while he was still fully clothed, I lay back as he groped and kissed my breasts, moved down my body and buried his face in my pussy.

Christopher is fucking amazing at giving head. Some of it is technique, but mostly it’s just that he enjoys it so much. His warm mouth just engulfs me and all I want is to let him go at it for hours and hours. When we’d had ‘hello sex’ a few months before, it felt like that’s what happened, and I came so much and so hard and was so deliciously exhausted even before he had put his cock in me…

He comes back up to kiss me and I start pushing at the top of his jeans impatiently with my foot. This is how it always is – he gets so wrapped up in touching me that he can’t pause even for the few minutes it takes to let me take off his pants so I can play with him too. (Part of me likes that…)

He gets off me and stands next to the bed and drops his pants. I don’t waste any time. I lick the tip of his cock before sliding it into my mouth, relishing the feeling of it filling my mouth and gently hitting the back of my throat as I work it in and out.

Soon he pulls me up.

“You’re too good at that,” he says. “I’m going to come.”

Back on the bed again. I glance at the clock. It’s been about 20 minutes.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, considerate as always.

“Um,” I say. “I really want to fuck you, I just don’t know if we have time…”

“No, we can do that.”

As I’m about to get a condom from my desk drawer, we both get waylaid again – he starts licking at my pussy and slowly pumping his small, cute, thick fingers into me. I’m dripping wet. I can feel it. I had been speaking but I drift off mid-sentence and my head rolls back and my eyes shut. We manage to coax ourselves away from each other long enough for me to grab a condom.

He lay on my bed, half propped up against the wall, shirt still on and staring at me intently with half-lidded eyes. I roll the condom on and climb on top of him. He feels so good sliding into me – he always feels good – and I move up and down his shaft for a while.

I’ve never been good at being on top. Sort of annoying really. I’m not in very good shape, and I always need to brace myself against something with my hands. So I do so.

As I look down at him he slides his middle finger into his mouth, which makes my breath catch. Christopher – and my other lovers – just look so hot when they do that. I also realize what he’s going to do with said finger. As I keep up a leisurely pace, he slowly works it into my ass and when it’s fully in I flop forward onto his chest and sigh.

I really do love anal play.

He slides his finger in and out at a counterpoint rhythm to his cock. I start to moan. And then I notice him pulling the oddest of faces.

“Are you okay?”

“Just… trying… not to come…”

I make a ‘tsk’ noise.

“Stop that. Just… let go…”

The last few words are said quietly, into his ear, almost imperceptible, but he listens to me and grabs my hips with both hands and pistons into me, hard, at a pace that I could never hope to maintain.

I watch his face as he spills into me, then nuzzle the space in between his neck and shoulder.

No time for cuddling, though. I wrap myself in a towel to run to the bathroom and grab him some tissue, and after cleaning himself up he starts hurriedly pulling on his clothes.

I look at the clock.

“Wow,” I say. “Looks like you’re only going to be a few minutes late. Not that bad at all.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I came so fast and I…”

I want to go into detail about how I find making him come and watching him come just every bit as hot as he finds doing the same with me, but now isn’t the time.

After he gets dressed, he unexpectedly asks,

“Do you have any alcohol?”

“What??”

“For the smell.”

“Oh. No… oh wait! Will mouthwash work?”

He takes the mouthwash from me, grabs my trashcan, gargles and then spits the mouthwash over his hands into the bin.

I’m a bit embarrassed at the thought of his hands touching things in his friend’s apartment with traces of my wetness still on them.

“Um… you might want to just wash your hands…”

He finishes getting ready to leave and cups my face for one last, hurried kiss.

—

I know that I’ll always be Christopher’s dirty little secret. (Or, well… one of them, at least.) I have a strong feeling that I’m not going to really be able to be a part of his new life because of my status as, well… the person he cheated on his girlfriend with for a long period of time.

In a sense, his girlfriend won. Yeah, like it was even a competition in the first place. She had always won – even before this ever started. That’s not been on my mind really, but it has popped up a couple of times.

Am I ever going to visit him? Fuck no. That would be as awkward as hell – not to mention invasive. Is he going to visit me, read: the college? He says he will. Whether or not our sexual relationship will continue while he’s here is still up in the air, though he’s made comments that imply that he’d like it to continue.

I hope to still keep in touch – to still be close.

His leaving is, in a way, a good thing. With him gone, I have no choice but to stand on my own two feet. To be strong for myself, purely because I know there’s no one else around who will be.

Now, the door has closed – for good, this time. But who knows what the future holds?

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Sometimes I see you and wish very hard that I could publicly hold your hand, kiss you on the cheek, just touch you when I feel like it. Simple, childish things. Except that I can’t because you either don’t want me to, you’re not that [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Sometimes sex is just an excuse.

Sometimes I see you and wish very hard that I could publicly hold your hand, kiss you on the cheek, just touch you when I feel like it. Simple, childish things. Except that I can’t because you either don’t want me to, you’re not that kind of person, or it would be inappropriate…

Sometimes sex is less about the orgasm and more about the feeling of skin touching skin. About the sitting and talking that goes on beforehand, pressing and turning over each other’s hands, feeling the shape and texture. You taking my feet and gently rubbing them. Laying naked in bed together. Being able to press my nose into your neck and take in your smell.

S was trying to describe the type of person I’m attracted to last night, and I said that one commonality between my lovers is that they all smell really good. (Though that’s probably just a bias.) Different, but good. Whether indescribably tart and fresh (the Actor), of earth and hemp and strangely-attractively-unwashed (K), of leather and clean laundry and comfort (Christopher) or deep sultry musk and sweat (the Emperor).

And after sex – the talking, the exploratory things that only get said after you’ve explored each other’s physical bodies.

Sometimes sex, penetration, arousal is just a byproduct of intimacy.

—

I was out with Christopher and F again last night. It was a jazz-themed party with a live band and we needed to dress up to get in. Should have been a good night, but something was strangely off the entire time… I felt a little anxious, a little vulnerable. It was a combination of lots of people I didn’t know, plus (I didn’t realize it at the time) the continuous swarm of beautiful girls surrounding Christopher, much like lots of pretty, graceful moths to a flame (cliche, I know).

I really have to do something about this irrational possessiveness – possessiveness I have no right to feel in the first place. I think it would have been better if I was getting rampantly hit on as well, which I wasn’t… The Scientist, who has been haphazardly trying to get into my pants since I came back, was there but chatting up this pretty blond girl instead, and Roommate was there too but was being crass and annoying. When we eventually moved to Zeta Mu, the president, who I strangely have a crush on, was there and kept glancing at me, which was slightly gratifying.

I came back home and masturbated before I went to sleep – but coming felt oddly empty, oddly pointless, oddly mechanical. As if I were an automata made flesh.

—

I woke up this morning lonely, depressed and discouraged by the large amount of work I knew was waiting for me. Luckily F instantly dispelled that by shiftily opening my door, and then climbing into my bed when she realized I was awake. We cuddled; bitched about romance and life.

F: I’m tempted to go out and bring a random guy home, but it would be really awkward, and I wouldn’t be able to spoon with him afterwards because we wouldn’t know each other

Wilhelmina: Yeah, it’s basically just [miming whacking a guy off, miming thrusting, shrug]. There’s no point to it really.

Since F is newly-single, we’ve both been considering people, exchanging notes, playfully discussing sandwiching someone together, cruising for people online. Well, rather she’s been cruising for people on OkCupid and craigslist and I’ve been getting cruised on fetlife. I’ve actually met a couple people there who I find very interesting, we’ve exchanged quite a few emails, but they live several hours away from me. Curse my town for being so tiny and isolated…

I do have a number of people here who I have crushes on, but my “list” is getting shorter and shorter as I weed people out due to lack of chemistry, unavailability, etc, and it’s not getting any longer.

The upside is that the Emperor and his gf (I think?) are visiting in a few days (!), which I’ve announced incessantly to any of my friends who will listen. Me and the Emperor have been emailing regularly again, exchanging news and fears and him cockily teasing me now and again. I’m really happy and excited that they’re coming

I feel as if I should… do something with my single status. Right now I’m at peace with it, but I’m not taking advantage of it, of my freedom, to do anything. I should be socializing more, meeting more people, having fun and being playful and flirtatious. Instead I’m defaulting to burying myself in my work, only hanging out with my close friends, and being grumpy.

Right now I’m stuck. I’m stuck in remnants of feelings and connections, I’m stuck in memories of past loves. And I need to move past that.

I have to start pushing my boundaries a bit more.

—

I’ve been a little dissatisfied with the quality of my and Christopher’s friendship lately… sex aside, I felt like we were more connected when I was in the Caribbean and he was here but we talked on Gtalk fairly frequently. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s busier this term, and he lives off-campus now so isn’t around very much. So we’re not seeing as much of each other as I would like.

My instinctive reaction to this kind of thing is to be insecure, to test him, to want him to actually make an effort to see me, which is silly. I could easily just ask him to hang out but I don’t – I don’t want to look vulnerable or like I’m hounding him too much. Which is also silly.

—

After idling in bed and talking for a while, F came out with me to pick up some food I had ordered in town. We randomly dressed up in punk/lacy gear, walked along holding hands and talking loudly about inappropriate things and she sang snatches of songs from “Cabaret.”

I’m so glad F is around. Without F honestly sometimes I think I’d go completely nuts.

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Then imagine brushing your arm against the arm of your swivel chair, and wincing. You [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Imagine waking up, pulling yourself out of bed and getting ready for work. You get to work and sit at your desk. Today is just like any other day – absolutely full of the potential of being dreary and uneventful.

Then imagine brushing your arm against the arm of your swivel chair, and wincing. You look at your forearm. Run your fingers over part of it, and wince again. You have a bruise. You rack your brain – how on earth did you get bruised there? 

Then you remember where – and last night comes rushing back. You got it from bracing yourself against the headboard. On your stomach, arms holding onto the wooden headboard, spine curved almost to the point of snapping as he fucks you from behind. You’re not quite on your knees; you strain to prop yourself up under his weight. 

After that bruise, you notice you have another one on your shin. And the muscles in your back are sore. And your pussy is sore. And your nipples are chafed.

Yes – you were thoroughly fucked last night. Indeed.

You smile secretly to yourself, pressing your fingers into the bruise, into the remnant. An echo of explosive sensation. 

Maybe today won’t be so boring after all.

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Let me put it this way. Lately I’ve been blogging somewhat mechanically, doing MM and HNT because they are there, writing things because I can and not necessarily because that’s what I want to write. The problem is that I don’t [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Lately I’ve been taking a very ambivalent view towards sex.

Let me put it this way. Lately I’ve been blogging somewhat mechanically, doing MM and HNT because they are there, writing things because I can and not necessarily because that’s what I want to write. The problem is that I don’t really know what I want to write, now that I’ve worked through many of my issues regarding sex and relationships… Issues that I didn’t start this blog to help overcome, yet that’s how it worked out. In the same way, I’m not sure what I want to get out of sex anymore.

It’s not like I’ve lost my sex drive. Far from it. I’ve definitely sat around with F, complaining about not getting any and playfully discussing cruising for guys together.

At times I miss the intensity of being in love, I miss the emotional and psychological color that it gives to sex, yet at the same time I’m so fed up, so tired of the roller-coaster moods. And I see couples together and I wrinkle my nose, thinking no, I don’t want that.

Well, eventually I want that. Just not now.

And then sometimes I feel like just playing; flirting with people and maybe not even having it lead up to anything. Or taking someone home randomly simply because I find them pretty and compelling. At the same time I’m too lazy for that; too much of a hassle to spend that much time and effort on something that will very likely turn out to be meaningless.

—

I was out last night with Christopher and a few other people. And after a little while of drinking, I found myself being randomly pushy towards Christopher for no real reason.

When was the first time I talked about needing to explore my domme (?) identity more? The fact of the matter is that I still have all of these needs, these desires, and I’m still failing to find a way to fulfil them. I’m pushy towards Christopher because he’s nice enough to take it, to tolerate it without getting angry, but he doesn’t exactly like it, I think.

I don’t even know if this is “domination” or if it’s even at all sexual. What I want is someone to entertain my petty little insecurities. Someone who will let me take control of them when I’m anxious or insecure or need attention or need reassurance or feel out of control and simply need the feeling of being in control of something, no matter how superficial that control that might be. Someone who will do menial, pointless little tasks for me, like fetch something for me if I ask them to, even if I could easily do it myself. Someone who’s willing to be mildly inconvenienced for no good reason except to make me feel better. Someone who’s willing to let me push them, test them, make them jump through hoops.

It’s not like I would be like that all the time – but just now and again. It’s just a game – I know that, and the other person would know that too, but would play with me anyway. Forget gifts, forget romance, forget flowery poetry – willingly giving up control over oneself to somebody else? Is there any other better show of affection?

So how exactly am I going to figure this out? Walk up to someone I’m interested in and instead of asking hey, want to go out some time?, ask them hey, do you want to be my bitch?

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You’re face down on my bed. I don’t have anything to tie your wrists with, but you [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> My imagination apparently has a mind of its own… In other news, my post On Christopher: Fragments was featured on Fleshbot’s Sex blog roundup: Caged Heat a little while ago

You’re face down on my bed. I don’t have anything to tie your wrists with, but you immobilize your hands, without me asking, by shoving them under the pillow.

“Hold on a minute. Don’t move.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I snicker – the words sound so much cheesier spoken than typed, but they cause pleasure to thrum through me regardless.

I take my time and roam around the room. I make sure you can hear all my movements. The thud of my dresser drawer opening, the rattle of the belt buckle. You can’t see. You don’t know exactly what’s going to happen to you, and I don’t want you to. I want you to hear just enough to titillate. To keep you wondering.

I also want to stall for time. Standing naked next to the bed, belt in hand, glasses on so I can see what I’m doing and hair piled haphazardly on my head to keep it out of the way, I feel more than a little nervous.

“What do you want to do to me?” you asked. Before this started.

“I want you to close your eyes, I want to tie your hands behind your back and hit you. Hurt you. And after that perhaps fuck you,” I answered.

But what if, now, you decide you don’t want this?

I start out gentle, climbing up to straddle you and caress your shoulders and back with my hands. I scratch over your back too. My nails leave pretty pink marks.

After a while I climb off and pick up the belt. I fold it in two and run it lightly over your back, your legs. Like I’m introducing you: Christopher, meet leather belt. Leather belt, meet Christopher.

Then I bring it back over my shoulder.

Thwap. The belt licks sharply across your ass and a satisfying red welt blushes its way over your skin. You tense and suck in your breath.

I space my strikes far apart, running my other hand soothingly over your body at intervals, groping you occasionally. The sounds we make are stark against the otherwise silent room: the leather hitting your skin, the hiss as it cuts through the air, your moans when I touch you.

I am a curiously coiled mess of desires. I want you to feel good. More than that – I want to take you to worlds of sensation you’ve never even imagined. But at the same time I want to protect you, take care of you.

I could do this for hours. Striking and soothing; jerking you from pain to comfort and back again. But not now – now is a beginning and I don’t want to push you too far. So finally I let the belt drop and leisurely kiss your shoulders and the back of your neck. I take the lube off my desk, loudly pop the cap and squeeze it over my fingers. You’re moaning now, raising yourself onto your hands and knees. I get behind you. I should probably say something about not giving you permission to move, but I’m too distracted by your spread legs and spread asscheeks and by the way your body curves.

Slowly, I push into you and bring my other hand around to grab your cock. You’re moaning now. Thrusting back and forth between my hands. I’m twisting, curling my finger and then adding a second, loving the way you feel inside.

You don’t last long. Soon, you’re crying out, coming onto my sheets.

Afterwards, when we’re both sitting (still naked) on my bed, I rain kisses over your face, crawl into your arms and murmer thank you into your chest.

(Implied: thank you for doing this for me.)

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K came up to me after our class, gave me a hug, and we went and had a two-hour lunch where we talked non-stop. All our interactions were very obviously platonic – I had expected as much. While I [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> After getting back to college, I met K and Christopher within the first couple of days.

K came up to me after our class, gave me a hug, and we went and had a two-hour lunch where we talked non-stop. All our interactions were very obviously platonic – I had expected as much. While I had been gone, all our emails were fond and sometimes even affectionate, but definitely platonic. And during our conversation he told me all about the sexploits and heartaches he had gotten into over the past few months. I was disappointed for about five seconds, and then realized that ultimately it’s better this way. This way, I now have an awesome new friend. And I never felt that we “clicked” very well romantically or even sexually, though I’d probably sleep with him again if given the chance – now that the pressure and uncertainty have gone we’d probably be able to just play, and enjoy each other. We’ll see.

Christopher came by my room while I was hanging out with F, who is a mutual friend. My reactions were completely the opposite to when I met K. We hugged, he sat down and we started chatting with F – and I could almost see sexual tension fill the room like a particularly large elephant.

Have you ever felt that before? When neither of you are even doing anything special or suggestive, but the most normal words and gestures suddenly feel different? Like they mean something? Like legs touching, like too-long hugs, like “I’m really glad to see you,” “Were you okay last night?”… I turn the words over in my mind and they’re completely normal and mundane, so I don’t know what he does that somehow charges them with wealths of meaning

I had fully decided to not do anything rash, and let things roll and just see how things would turn out, but obviously I ended up drinking wine with the Scientist later that night, and ran into Christopher when we were visiting the frats. I still would have been able to not do anything rash, etc, except that someone pointed out to me that one of the girls we were with was ferociously hitting on him, which lead me to act quite visibly agitated, which lead Christopher to notice and start persuading me to tell him what was wrong, which lead me to say that I couldn’t tell him but I would text him instead, which lead me to send him a text saying that I wanted to ravish him, and that I found my feeling very bewildering.

Ravish. Honestly.

I have to stop doing this thing where I spill my guts over email/SMS.

He found me and said that he felt the same but didn’t know what he wanted to do about it yet. He seemed stressed and I promptly felt bad because I hadn’t needed anything from him at the time, really, I just wanted to express how I felt… I left soon after that and comforted myself that it wasn’t that bad because I hadn’t said anything different from what I had already been telling him many times over email/chat, and maybe it was better that I brought things out into the open early instead of letting them fester. At least now the tension would abate for a while, right?

Not really. I got brunch with him and the Scientist the next day and everything seemed perfectly normal until we all had to leave and he said “See you later.” At which point the tension asserted loudly that, yes, it was indeed still around and very much so.

Dammit.

—

When me and Christopher were fwbs, I always viewed myself as simply “warming the bed”. I told myself that the reason he was sleeping with me was because he was lonely and horny and his gf wasn’t around and he just needed someone. I actually asked him recently why he slept with me, specifically, and he said it was because he was attracted to me and he felt emotionally close to me.

He also said something like I wasn’t the only one who missed our non-sexual intimacy – he missed it as well. Which really confused me. Because if he could be both physically intimate and sexual with his gf, then why would he miss being that way with me?

What also confused me that I think there was tension between us even when his gf was visiting. Looking back, I remember hanging out in a big group or playing RPGs and feeling as if there was so much energy in the air. So many unsaid words.

If his gf was around, why would he want me? Was I not merely the bedwarmer? The cheap substitute?

—

S: Of course he doesn’t see you as a substitute. His feelings towards you and his girlfriend are different. You can care about more than one person.

Wilhelmina: But if he’s in a monogamous relationship…

S: No one is monogamous, it’s just a social construct.

Wilhelmina: I know, I think so too, but if you’re going to be in a monogamous relationship…

Wilhelmina: What I don’t understand is that if he says he only likes me as a friend, and is only sexually attracted to me, then what is all that other… stuff that’s there?

S: Well maybe what he says isn’t the same as what’s reality.

Wilhelmina: Well, that’s what I want to know, I want to know what he really thinks, but he won’t say, so…

S: I think you already know, you’re just trying to convince yourself that you don’t. He likes you.

Wilhelmina: Well, I’ve thought of that, but then it’s probably just wishful thinking on my part since I want him to and all…

S: I wanted to tell you something about low self-esteem. People with moderate or high self-esteem receive a compliment and it makes them feel good. People with low self-esteem receive a compliment, like someone liking them, it makes them feel good for a little while, and then they convince themselves it isn’t true because they want to preserve their view of themselves.

Wilhelmina:

—

I had been petulantly emailing with the Emperor last term. Something about my liking ‘unavailable’ people – including him. That was when he matter-of-factly told me that I needed to determine what I wanted before I could discern whether or not someone was ‘unavailable’. It was then that I realized I didn’t really want to be in a relationship with the Emperor, but I did want to be close to him.

Closeness.

I remember when I went to hang out with the Emperor, at times I would tell my friends I was going to leave to “bask in the Emperor’s presence.” Such a perfect way to put it. I just wanted to be around him, spend time with him. I didn’t necessarily want anything from him.

I think that’s how I feel about Christopher at the moment. I don’t need a relationship with him. I don’t need him to break up with his gf. I just want to… be close.

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New Year’s Eve.

Drinking since 5pm.

Alcohol count: 2 Bailey’s, 1 shot of Tequila, 2 glasses of Chardonnay, 2 Vodka-limes, 1 white russian, 1 champagne, 1 strawberry Daiquiri

—

You stumble into the restroom, tilting on your silver four-inch heels, slamming drunkenly into the wall between the two cubicles. You [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> Press play.

New Year’s Eve.

Drinking since 5pm.

Alcohol count: 2 Bailey’s, 1 shot of Tequila, 2 glasses of Chardonnay, 2 Vodka-limes, 1 white russian, 1 champagne, 1 strawberry Daiquiri

—

You stumble into the restroom, tilting on your silver four-inch heels, slamming drunkenly into the wall between the two cubicles. You push the door closed and manage to lock it, yank your skinny jeans down to your knees, and wedge your fingers into your panties, thrusting.

Forget oysters; forget chocolate. Nothing like alcohol to get you pumping.

—

The key to getting over somebody is finding one reason – any reason, as long as it’s big enough – that it wouldn’t work out between you. Never ever work out.

And so, now, your feelings for them have fizzled and transformed into a fond camaraderie without the bite of love.

It’s only with one person that, no matter how hard you stomp on your feelings with your stiletto shoes, they still manage to bounce back up again.

You tried the same technique with him, only to realize that…

…

…

…

…you couldn’t find anything. Not one thing.

Sometimes unrequited love feels like a squalling infant… it keeps you up at night, distracts you, keeps you from your work and studies and other activities, makes you cry now and again, and you need to take care of it all the damn time, but it also gives you inexplicable delight.

And eventually you learn to just live with it – just  accept that it is there – and just go on with your life as normal.

Instead of feeling angry… right now? I want to go out and dance and revel in my fabulousness and think to myself:

Well. Your fucking loss, bro.

—

The other clubgoers are banging on the door. You’re leaning against the wall, curling your fingers against the wall of your warm dripping pussy and throwing your head back and gasping. And then your orgasm rocks through you and you blink, slowly coming back to life and realizing where you are.

The thrill kind of goes away from sex-in-a-public-bathroom when it’s just sex with yourself.

You calmly pull your pants back up, compose yourself and open the door. You wash your hands with the fragrant club-bathroom-soap.

And then you dive back into the crowd, grab your drink from the nearby table and take a giant sip, and continue twisting your body to the pounding rhythm of the music.

No, I didn’t actually masturbate in a public bathroom. I would, but not while I’m out with my mom and sister.

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You don’t blame him. You’re utterly ravishing tonight. Short dress, black mascara, red lipstick. Hair immaculately coiffed; nails polished to a sheen.

You finish your drink; say goodbye to your friends. And then you walk towards him. The wedge heels of your knee-high boots gently tap-tap on the [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> He’s been looking at you all evening.

You don’t blame him. You’re utterly ravishing tonight. Short dress, black mascara, red lipstick. Hair immaculately coiffed; nails polished to a sheen.

You finish your drink; say goodbye to your friends. And then you walk towards him. The wedge heels of your knee-high boots gently tap-tap on the floor. Your hips sway. Your legs look amazing in the elegant black suede.

He’s doing that thing where he swallows and scracthes the back of his head; pulling at his already messy hair. Wanting you… trying not to want you… knowing that it won’t make one whit of difference in the end.

—

You’re trying to open the door to your room, but he won’t stop kissing you long enough to let you. Already your lipstick’s smudged and almost all kissed off.

—

The light from your bedside lamp is dim. Your clothes are strewn about the floor and your hair is out of its neat bun. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed; naked but for the boots. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of you. You wait for him to unzip the boots and pull them off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he picks up one pretty foot and presses his cheek, then lips, against the soft suede.

“Maybe we should leave these on,” he murmurs.

He puts your foot back down, and pushes your knees apart…

I actually own the pair of boots I’m thinking about; they’re from Morgan de Toi.

Got a sex fantasy? Microfantasy Monday is by Sweltering Celt and rules can be found here.

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