I need fresh meat

Lately, my evening masturbation fantasies have been devoid of specific male protagonists. Apart from the already frustrating fact that I am not getting any real-life action, I also have no current man to lust after. Since I don’t like to waste my thoughts on has-beens or unobtainables, pretty much everyone from the past months is out. My two regulars from my pre-surgery days are now in relationships, the one guy from my beard-lovers dating website I hadn’t yet met has moved to another country, Mr Brazil and I have a lack of chemistry (Chemistry 101), and Mr Mexico clearly isn’t up to the job (The end of the non-affair). As far as building up a network to satisfy my needs is concerned, I’m back to square one and on the prowl again. Very frustrating, when all your usual roads to sex are dead ends all of a sudden…

Shut up!

Even though I haven’t written much about it lately, I still like this certain colleague of mine (If only…). For obvious reasons (him being in a relationship, us working together and me not wanting to risk complicating a good working relationship) I have not (yet) told him how I feel. And I’m afraid that I might have just blown it altogether.

The other night a small group of us went for drinks after work, and we also talked about more personal things this time, including views on relationships and preferences when it comes to sex. I could tell that he was slightly uncomfortable with the subject matter, as I think that he is not that upfront about these things in general, let alone in front of people who are not close friends. However, the real problem is one that I have come across before: men sometimes freak out when I am open about what I like in bed and I completely scare them off (Kiss with a fist). While the rest of the guys were pretty much on the same page as me, he seemed put off. I am not even sure whether it’s because this is just not his cup of tea in general, or whether it was just too much information too soon.

Obviously, since I am not really sure whether I should tell him how I feel at all, I am engaging with him as if he were just a regular colleague and friend. But therein lies my problem. As a friend, I’d want him to know all about me and I would not have to worry about him getting the wrong impression; as someone I like and possible want to get to know better and date, I would not reveal as much this early on. Especially since it is not a must-have – just something I occasionally like to indulge in.

I’m afraid that this particular train has left the station and I’m not on it…

Put your money where your mouth is

What’s in a fantasy? When we imagine the craziest sex of our lives, do we intend to live it out, or are we just indulging in make-believe? If we had the chance to then actually put it into action, would we go through with it?

Most of what I dream about would make for pretty good porn clips: elements of BDSM, orgies, testing ones boundaries, exploring new sensations, experimenting with brute force. However, as always, I am bound by health and safety issues (Safe my ass). Technically, I would need an exclusive partner in crime to be able to safely indulge in all that I fantasize about. For me, that almost makes it impossible, as these are not the kinds of things I usually do in a relationship. Don’t get me wrong – the initial honeymoon period, in which you just have crazy sex all the time, is usually good; but it wears off after a while. What’s more, I tend to not want to hurt those that I love and care about, which is exactly what I want to do in bed. An eternal quandary, it seems.

So for me, it is not so much about not daring to live it out – it’s more an organisational problem. Completely unsexy and unbelievably frustrating, I know. Even more frustrating is having found someone who dreams about the same things and then not being able to make it happen courtesy of such irreconcilable differences.

If you died tomorrow…

… what would you do? Me, I would most certainly spend the bulk of the time with my loved ones – family, close friends, all those whom I want to tell that I love them one last time. But I would also fuck those on my fuck-it list (Fuck it), if at all possible.

I’ve lived in my fair share of cities, countries and continents over the years, and the one thing that always happens is that you never take in the local scenery and sight-seeing while you live there. Then, as soon as you’ve decided to move, you frantically try to make up for lost time in a week or two, completely missing the point and beauty of what has been lying in front of you for so long.

This is not a plea to spend your last day on earth fucking (although I highly recommend making it at least part of your day, if you can). This is more a heart-felt piece of advice: don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today. And, more importantly, you more often regret the things you didn’t do rather than the ones you did do.

 

 

My tits are off the menu

Since the surgery I have tried to come to terms with different levels of pain, what I now physically can and can’t do, and how I look (The body issue – part two). I have never been a huge fan of neither my body nor my shape, but I appreciate that my body has been successfully getting me through life so far, and I am grateful for it. In that sense, it’s more like a vehicle to me – used, dented, leaking oil, but reliable and defiant.

This morning, however, I again realised (I had been denying it so far) that – as far as sex is concerned – I will, from now on and possibly forever, have to take my tits out of the equation. For one thing, I still have no feeling in some parts of that area, and the parts that are “awake” again are so sensitive that any touch results in massive amounts of pain. And not the good kind, I might add. The other issue is self-consciousness: they used to look much better, and I just hate how they look now. Upper body weight-loss, the strain of surgery and the massive scar have done their parts to make me feel unattractive and unsexy – at least in that area.

I will miss it, for sure. Thankfully, the film industry (in an effort to avoid R-ratings) has prepared everyone for what I will now have to do: keep my bra on during sex. As odd as I have always found that, watching it on TV.

Practice makes perfect

For many reasons – including my own emotional well-being, as the unfulfilled tension was nearly killing me – Mr. Mexico and I agreed to stop all explicit ongoings and just be co-workers and friends (No more). Easier said than done, though.

We have, in fact, stopped talking about anything to do with tension between us, us possibly having sex, etc. And I must admit that removing this factor has instantly made things a bit easier as far as concentrating on work is concerned. Another factor, however, is the fact that we just have strong chemistry and that I hence simply want to fuck him pretty much whenever I look at him. I am perfectly capable of just ignoring this urge to a certain extent, but I can’t stop it.

A new source of added annoyance is my apparent inability to immediately read and categorize his words, actions and looks now. While before I could just file every innuendo under the “teasing/flirting/wanting” label, I now have to stop and think whether it was even meant as an innuendo and then choose my responses wisely (or not so wisely, if I get it wrong). This can cause misunderstanding mishaps and make an otherwise easygoing situation unnecessarily complicated – definitely not something I strive for.

I think it is like any relationship that changes its status: all involved parties have to get used to the new status and the correlating rules – something that takes practice.

No more

Mr. Mexico has been occupying a lot of my time in the past weeks (“Almost” doesn’t count), and we’ve slowly moved from being flirty to being very flirty to sending each other porn clips and discussing how we’d like to do it. All this talk and no action has not only left me wanting him even more, it has also become a major distraction and annoyance.

I have had this sort of thing before, with a guy who has been the subject of many of my blog entries: Mr. Unobtainable. We would pretty much have full-blown sex via messenger or other devices, but we’d never do it, because – obviously – he was taken. Bullshit, I say – as constantly talking to another woman about how you’d like to do her and indulging in text sex already qualifies as cheating to me. Men, however, have different views and rules when it comes to this, and they are also cowards. If they are torn about cheating, they themselves won’t start anything. You, as the “other” woman, have to take that first step, and then you are forever the bad one who tempted the poor guy and threw yourself at him.

The other night, after a brief drinking session with a few colleagues (during which we – again – were incredibly flirty), Mr. Mexico drove me home, and the drive was pretty much spent with both of us admitting that this was torture and that we’d very much like to fuck each other. Contrary to popular belief, it was him who started things by putting his hand on my leg, between my legs; and my hand on his cock. When we arrived at my house and he had parked the car, we just stared at each other, ready to pounce, for about ten minutes, and he kept sighing and saying “don’t look at me like that”. So yes, I’ll admit, I finally leant over and kissed him and then blew him for a bit. If that makes me a bad person, so be it. I just could not take it any longer, and I was sick of the hypocritical view that he had not already cheated, just because our lips had never touched.

It was a short pleasure, and I ended it quickly, since we were out in the street and there were people close by. Since he said no to coming back upstairs with me, I got out of the car, went home and finished the job on my own – as so many times before. Incredibly anti-climax and frustrating. But no more – we can’t go on like this, it’s just too damn distracting and unsatisfying. So I will just leave all the flirting and suggestive comments, and I will most certainly leave all the porn talk; instead we will just be work colleagues and friends. I’m pretty sad about this, as we have unbelievable chemistry and sexual tension, and we would definitely get on like a house on fire in bed. However, there is no point when he is that torn and obviously does not want or dare to take that final step. I will be here if he ever changes his mind, but I can’t do this any longer.

Home porn – the (pros and) cons

I love porn. I watch it as a duo to get in the mood for sex; I watch it alone when I masturbate and am pressed for time (as it just turns me on and delivers results in 2-3 minutes max); sometimes I even watch it just for fun, for appreciation of the genre. But making your own porn is a different story altogether. After having mentioned my own history with home-made porn in a recent post (Good-bye, Mr. President), I feel like I need to provide further information on the issue.

You see, back when I indulged in the odd film project with my then boyfriends, it was a whole different time. It was the late 90s, people still watched movies on video cassettes (imagine!), and the internet was new and still uncharted territory for most. It contained little personal information and didn’t featured whole lives in the form of constant picture updates, like it does today. The days of “accidentally” leaking a private sex tape to gain notoriety were still years ahead. It was a time of online innocence, which meant a heyday for privately recorded debauchery.

Nowadays, I wouldn’t dream of even taking nude pictures of my self with my phone, let alone make a home porn. No, this avenue of pleasure has been closed off for good, as it is just too risky. And you can really only ever trust yourself – certainly not the cowards/losers/weirdos/assholes that are out there for us to date and fuck (I refer you to almost any one of my blog posts).

But don’t despair – there are millions of talented boys and girls out there who are happily doing the dirty-work for you. As an added bonus, I can tell you from my own experience that, as a woman, chances are you will watch that clip back and only see the things you don’t like about your body – magnified, exposed, recorded for – if bad luck will have it – the rest of the world to see online – for good. Because once something is out there, it is out there forever.

Damn!

I kinda like someone. I really didn’t see this one coming, as I am neither in the position nor in the mood to like someone. But then things rarely go as plan or expected.

It’s someone I see at work almost every day, and, at first glance, he really wasn’t my type. However, now that I’ve gotten to know him a bit, I can’t help but like him. Obviously, he’s taken (as all men I’m interested in seem to be); but even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t say or do anything about it. It’s difficult enough when it comes to lusting after and fucking people.

When you lust after someone (like I do with another colleague of mine – yes, I’m a busy girl when it comes to pleasures of the mind), your thoughts are carnal and dirty. You imagine him getting hard and you getting wet. You imagine the first time you suck his cock and what it would taste like. You imagine the moment when his cock first enters your pussy.  Every once in a while, when thoughts are just too damn distracting, you may even retreat to the bathroom at work to provide some fast and much-needed instant relief. When worse comes to worse, you can always find someone else to fuck and indulge in make-believe.

Liking someone, however, is a totally different ball game. When you like someone, then you get a weak feeling in your tummy when that person smiles at you. Then all you can think about is that moment when he comes closer and finally kisses you for the very first time. Sadly, there is no fast and instant relief for that predicament. As so very often, I am figuratively fucked, rather than literally.

Say what now?

I’m not sure, but I think that two gay friends recently kind of sort of tested the waters as to whether I’d be into a threesome with them. Maybe.

I know, it sounds crazy, as most gay men I know aren’t even remotely interested in having sex with a women. But still, it’s not unheard of. I just keep being reminded of the Sex and the City episode where Samantha tries it out and has her ego crushed when the two get “down there” and find out that they are neither ready nor willing to explore. I definitely don’t want that kind of experience!

But back to the issue at hand, which is me not being sure whether the two were actually suggesting what I think they were suggesting. Inviting someone to join you in a threesome is a tricky subject to begin with, even when you approach random strangers in a bar. Add to that the major uncomfortable-factors of being friends and two of you being gay men and you’ve really got yourself a communication challenge. Obviously, none of what they said at the time was clear, and it was all jokey and in the context of a conversation about which men I like and would like to go home with that evening. Still, they were new and confusing remarks, and both of them seemed to be steering the conversation in a certain direction. I am not shy, but I also don’t want to unnecessarily create uncomfortable situations among friends, so I didn’t say anything. I did go home and ponder, however.

Apart from wanting to be sure about their intentions, I think the even more important factor here is whether I’d then really want to try a threesome with these two. And I have to say no. Not because I don’t want to experiment – I get turned on watching gay porn and would love to try this someday. More because I’m afraid that this could seriously damage the friendship if it went wrong – in whatever way. And be it only that we would afterwards feel uncomfortable in each other’s company. That’s the last thing I want!

So, as much as I want to know whether they really did mean THAT, I don’t want to wake any sleeping dogs, seeing as I would say no to it anyway.