Drinks finished, they moved through the now crowding cocktail hour. He was a little shocked to be leaving so early, the late afternoon sun was just dipping below the horizon. As he slipped into the driver’s seat, he recalled letting her into the passenger seat and recognized her gait and balance were great for having been two sauced to drive. He smiled, glanced back at the tavern marquis and made a mental note to return very soon. She had delicate and swift hands that found his inner thighs quickly as he pulled onto the avenue. She said Porter’s Vista and he silently whispered ‘score’ into his head, the perpetual smile remained.
Safely tucked into a ridge overlooking the city, their lips found each other quickly, hands unbuttoning and caressing, his slipping the blouse off of her shoulders exposing her delicious skin. As the fabric fell behind her, he let his fingertips brush nipples that allowed gasps with a light tap and swirl of his hands while his tongue drove delicious into her mouth, her reciprocating with driving desire, jeans unbuttoned and fingertips cupping his erection with soft concern. His lips dropped off of hers without retreat and followed her skin across shoulders to the nape of her neck finding a breast that with her hand cupped underneath enveloped his searching mouth, tongue drawing circles around while she began stroking him slowly, a chuckle emanating from her throat as his mouth deftly drew a nipple deep with teeth that played a soft little game around her areola. Breasts exposed he buried his head between them and found her legs open and calling allowing the thin fabric of her skirt to slide well past her knees and he began massaging her wetness with each touch, her tongue now darting into his ear, hand enveloping a very hard and happy cock and fingertips caressing her passion to a rhythm that carried them beyond any delay until soon she straddled him and the drive began. Occasional moments he felt in control, so he slowed his rhythm playing her gasps, she no longer searching his eyes, simply now wanting all of his cock to penetrate her with every slide. Her hips, svelte with delight began to rock him as he sat back in the driver’s seat burying his mouth and lips upon her breasts taking turns and letting him lose a nipple as she bounced now feverish on his cock, until with certainty he was no longer in control and she drove him home, efficiently, purposely her wetness dripping upon his thighs as her moans took over the moment and then rested on his young manhood, happy and erect. He began to wonder if this was it feeling the chill of the night dew on his naked skin noticing the steamed windows from a long and well meant journey of sensual release. She looked into his eyes with delight, not love, only lustful and unbridled fucking and smiled as she felt him slowly leave her. Quickly she jumped off his hips, dropped her skirt, fell back into the seat, a hand on her forehead and let out a wonderful sigh, turned her eyes to him that indicated she wasn’t yet done.
Her hands caressed his cock again, every touch sending pulses of delight to his brain. She leaned and let her tongue swirl the spent semen hanging on the head of his cock, sucked him in quickly and let him drive the back of his head into the seat rest of the car, his eyes widening with the wonder of her insatiable passion and amazing ability. In his mind he imagined what might be ahead, but didn’t really have any idea … (to be continued)
“Daddy, I need you.”
So enticing, so delicious. But today, I’m speaking of ‘daddy’ usage in a different venue. What is it about this word ‘daddy’ that bugs me so much when it is used in circles of sexual proclivity. I hear it so often and certainly would by lying if I said I didn’t want to be referred to that as well, if it means me getting underneath the dress of a beautiful woman; however I can honestly say, the term has never been spoken to me in hushed gasps in the throes of having sex, or making love. Yet, I hear it used so often in the D/s counter-culture, in the readings certainly here in these blogs, and the occasional reference in Craigslist or other back-page advertisements of sexual need, deviant desire, hidden secrecies of erotic pursuits.
‘I’m looking for my daddy’
‘young submissive delight needs her daddy’
Certainly the references will go on and on, and everyone is generally familiar with their context. For me, it raises the question of whether or not this feeds the denigration and view of women in our society today? I have read enough accounts of the D/s subculture to leave me quite intrigued and wanton of the opportunity to explore the lifestyle, the beautiful outcomes, the essence of delightfully submissive passion created through masterful desires and exploration is enough to make anyone curious, if not jealous of those that have embraced the lifestyle wholly without reservation. That said, I wonder though if everyone gets it, and if those that don’t lend to a more severely repressive and dangerous precedent toward the image of ‘woman’ in our society today. Certainly there can also be argument toward the reversal of gender roles in the practice as well.
To the outsider, that’s me unfortunately, I am worried about the term as it applies to women in our society. I love the idea of a woman getting down on her knees at my command, and exploring my sexual need with all the passion of an erotic goddess, but I worry about the men in our society that take advantage of the term and rather than recognize a woman for her sheer elegance, instead let the term permeate their already skewed objectivity of females in our society. I have tried to wrap my head around this since beginning blogging under this pseudonym, and I would be delighted to continue a dialogue on the subject.
In the end, I truly love women in all of their beauty, desire, compassion and sexual fire. There is nothing more attractive to me than the sight of a woman in the throes of a climax, whether I am observing or have the delightful opportunity to help provide that needed level of stimulation toward orgasmic pleasure. Nothing comes close. I just wonder, and with respectful curiosity, pose the question to my community of bloggers.
Happy New Year to everyone. Be safe and positive with your energy as you close the door on simply, another day!
Alright, time for some candor. I started this blog several weeks ago because I wanted it to be an outlet for my darker side, the part of me that I would not like to be associated with my daily routine. However, I’ve already limited myself. A couple of years ago, I realized that part of my struggle with writing was I was afraid to get to the core of my psyche. I mean, I didn’t want to get so dark, that people wondered about me. So, ignore all the successful chilling writers, or the wonderful passionate poets who speak to the beauty of their real fantasies. My God, if I did that, well, someone might really know how truly twisted I am. So instead I write about some tripe like ‘Highways … ‘ and then spend the rest of the night beating myself up because I personally think it sucks. And, really quite frankly it does.
What is my point? I’m a very sexual man. I love sex, and I love the beauty of woman, and I adore the spontaneity of lust and passion and everything that goes with the wonder of allowing the physicality of our lives to be enhanced, acknowledged and explored. I particularly love the fascinating idea of a woman of substance treating herself to all of her pleasures ~ as I commonly like to say, a woman is capable of reaching all of those levels of arousal that any man dreams of being capable of triggering. There are drawbacks, mainly my inability to step into that private world of desire, to walk along the path of sexual release without censor. I haven’t gotten there yet, and in my journey I have wondered what the reason is I want to get there. Is it just because I’m a horny guy that enjoys self-stimulation to relieve my stress? Or is it because I have yearned over half my life for the ability to explore my sexual prowess by bringing a woman to the throes of her sensuality at my hands. And what I wonder is that factor? Well, the only conclusion I usually come to is it is my own personal need to be recognized.
Ego. Who am I? What is my identity when I walk in our world, our society, my neighborhood, favorite coffee-shop. I often fear I am that old guy past his time, and then I see someone older than me putting on the charm. I often realize it is my marriage that I feel torn from when I explore my deeper notions of sexual release, knowing they don’t include my spouse. Please know I have tried, and come to the conclusion I am unable to change a person that does not wish to change. In the end I have the utmost respect for my spouse, but sadly, it leaves me a very horny man.
I guess the bottom line of this write is I’m trying to be perfectly honest with who I am and why I am exploring the avenues I choose in this blog, and along with that, want my readers to recognize I am a pretty typical male, one that reacts from his dick far more than is probably healthy. My hope is I will find that balance. I am open to your commentary, because one thing I have realized in recent weeks is that there is a lot of study of the human condition in these readings, and that is fascinating. Couple that with a delightful vein of eroticism, and I believe I am in the right place.
Your thoughts are very, very welcome! Thanks for listening.
I woke to you, eyes closed, a naked shoulder, and began to trace my index finger along your skin setting off in a sensual journey. I love these moments when we are together, and nature speaks outside our windows to provide a lovely harmony as we begin. Sunlight only starting to radiate the room. Yours is a dream like state, that will transition to eyes opening in a soft arousal, while mine is mastering the beauty of your waking self at the hands of me. At this time, you are my statuesque art, a canvas waiting to have visual evidence of pure elegance. I draw with a certain design in mind, that will cause pleasure to the eye.
My brush travels your arm, being sure to touch that region within your elbow, then falling off onto your stomach, my other hand pulling away the bed linens to expose your naked skin, a fabric of undergarments now shielding last night’s wild abandon, turning human reality into a climactic joyride until wrapped sweetly in silks to rest willing. My fingertip travels upward to your left breast hanging with its delicious mass letting your nipple descend as a beacon that will soon satisfy the oral need of my now wet lips in anticipation. I run my fingertip around your breast slowly gathering intensity while gradually finding your nipple. And when I do, my eyes still upon your shuttered bliss, I do now notice your lips part, a slight gasp, that for me allows my mind to imagine I have entered your dream. My fingertip is joined by two or three others only for a few minutes as I caress that nipple, the release and let only the skin of my palm play sweet pressure on your nakedness, soft circles that bring you to life.
Eyes open, and my mouth reaches for yours to say … good morning!
Eighteen and finally with the opportunity to go out to the bars. I was able to go by myself, didn’t have to lie. Tonight began my crusade. Tonight I would learn how to get laid. I was fortunate, disco was sweeping the country, and there were plenty of hot bars to go around with ladies in need. There was one place I had in mind ~ The Red Lantern. I’d always heard good things about it, from my neighbor, whose mom was a regular there. I always thought she was pretty hot, but hadn’t really tested the waters with her yet. Especially given my best friend was her son. She was divorced and definitely liked to party but I was still the little kid next door. She didn’t look at me like a quest like she did on a regular basis at the Lantern. I actually hadn’t even thought about the possibility of running into her there tonight. I just wanted to saddle up to the bar and order my first drink.
I walked in, the place was crowded, and I found a spot at the bar. The bartender came over and I asked him for a Manhattan, it was the only drink I knew by name. I had no idea what was in it, but the coke chaser tasted really good. I took a couple sips and soaked in the mirrors that ran the length of the l-shaped bar. You could see everyone, including the dance floor, the people sitting with you at the bar, and the hot woman whose eyes were looking right at me. I turned my eyes away for even though she was staring at me, I didn’t want to stare. How absurd my thinking was. I looked around to where she was sitting and I noticed a guy with her, and just then she leaned over to him, whispered into his ear, and looked right at me. I was so nervous I almost dropped my drink, turned back around and gradually peeked over her way through the mirrors, and sure enough, she was on me again, but this time, she ran her tongue along her lips. I almost came right there. I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I looked at her too quickly her boyfriend or whatever he was would come over and pound me right there at the bar, so I ordered another drink and focused on being 18 and legal age to be there, occasionally glancing her way, and finding her checking me out for the next 20 minutes or so. I guess I was like a ripe banana to her, and her boyfriend was into it as well, but I was crossing signals, and while I was trying to figure it out, I downed three or four Manhattans. That began a journey that would take me a different direction. (continued …)
He sat down and the moment began. A chatter nearby attracted his attention. Two women, certainly older and definitely experiencing the last minutes of happy hour. A couple of chuckles and he was in the conversation. She looked at him with a skeptical eye and asked what he was doing in this place, he was ten years younger than anyone else. He stated he enjoyed the ambiance and that brought the smile to her face he had hoped for. In the next moment after a flurry of dialogue she dropped her keys next to his beer glass and said I’m too drunk to drive, you’re going to have to take me home. Stunned he nearly exploded in his jeans at the notion, but that was tempered for a few minutes when her girlfriend started to rationalize with her through the four or five gin and tonics she’d ingested in the last half hour. Together they talked about making good choices and he let his knee slide up against hers while her girlfriend began failing her dialogue. While her left hand cupped her chin listening and visibly bored to her girlfriend’s laments, her right hand slipped off the bar and landed on that exploring knee, and with a slight squeeze her fingertips taught him patience was the best advice without words for the moment. He decided a walk to the john might be a good strategy and politely excused himself while sliding his fingertips over her lovely hand in as much of a discreet caress he hoped to provide and slowly ambled toward the bathroom. Once inside he stared at a mirror for a couple of minutes and noticed a young man with a perpetual smile and a hard on that measured a good distance to the sink through tight jeans. A minor adjustment and he could walk again back to the bar. She was alone as he suspected, said her girlfriend finally caved and went home. He asked politely how she might get home and she looked at his crotch and said ‘I expect you will drive me home” and chuckled in the blind swirl of her afternoon tonic. (to be continued)