Re-Freaking-Diculous

The title is essentially my reaction to seeing this.

And I mean that in a good way. Actually, my first reaction to the title (which, if you're scared of clicking links, is 500 Asian Person Sex in a Warehouse) was, "Nope, they're exaggerating." But I was curious anyway, because I like me some group sex and orgies, so I looked at the video. And then I had my reaction, as above.

Then I thought, "Damn, Japanese women are attractive, and they seem to be willing to do some crazy-ass shit." Then I wondered how hard it would be to create a video like that in the US. Then I wondered whether I could get in on the creation of a video like that in the US.

Basically, my reaction boils down to: it's a crazy video (and in a good, sexy way) but if I were making the video, I would have done some partner-swapping and group stuff too, to the point where it would have been a 500-person orgy, not just 250 couples fucking simultaneously (seriously, check the video, I'm not lying). Even with it just being that though, it's well worth the price of admission (which is free, by the way). And the Japanese, bless their tiny Oriental hearts, do some crazy shit for porn. I don't go for all of it, but in this case, it's terrific. Certainly better than Silent Hill porn (of which there is a startling amount).

The Naked Chef

I was home alone this evening, and I cooked dinner for myself, and I didn't feel like getting dressed so I cooked naked. Not something I ordinarily do, what with the spilling of hot things on tender areas and just the general issues of hygiene. But I don't usually wear aprons (which some people do when they cook naked) and I was too damn lazy to put on clothes.

No, I'm not reporting this because I've horribly disfigured myself in a kitchen accident. It just made me feel a little naughty, in a happy, good way, rather than in an unpleasant way, which seems to be the way I've been naughty recently. Some gentle silliness of the naughty variety.

I cooked something with zucchini, and they were small, and I was sorely tempted, but really, I had dildos for that. So I went and got a dildo, put it in, and finished cooking with a dildo between my legs. Then, for good measure, I sat on the couch, watched something funny, and ate with a dildo between my legs. Then Betty Grable came up on the screen (don't ask me what I was watching and I won't have to lie) and turned me on so much I had to cum, so I went for some porn, had the necessary O, then put on panties and a shirt because it was getting too chilly to be naked any more.

Yes, I find Betty Grable attractive. Quite. The early half of the last century was a good period for a lot of things. Not for everything, certainly. But I can definitely see myself as a pinup girl. Or with a pinup girl. Plus two hot guys... and a trained pony... and Zartog, Space-King of the Moon! No, wait, come back to us Lexi. Come back. Snap out of it, girl.

Anyway, a boring evening at home. Not everything needs to be War and Peace.

Dating Can Be Fun

By the title, I mean that it can be, if you don't stress out about it. If you really care, if you're looking for lasting love, if your biological clock is ticking away madly, then it tends to be less fun. Of course, it can also be really great, but not necessarily in the meaningless, fun kind of way.

I've got to give my date a name, so I'm going to call him Simon. That is decidedly not his real name, but it'll do. And as I was looking for a fun time, not really even any expectations of anything more than a social evening, maybe a few drinks I wouldn't have to pay for, some nice conversation, I was definitely prepared to have a fun time on my date, rather than obsessing over it. He's seen me in my work clothes, with my hair a mess, all dirty and busy. If he still wanted to go out, hey, I wasn't going to sweat the small stuff.

He's quite the looker: tall, dark, and handsome. Definitely some non-WASP blood there, some exotic genes floating around, although I couldn't say exactly what. It was alluring. He's got longer hair than a lot of guys you see nowadays, although he's playing a part which requires it, so maybe that's not his normal look. It would be too bad if it weren't, because those long, dark locks definitely frame his face, draw attention to the eyes. Dreamy. But then, I guess actors are supposed to be interesting-looking.

He's done some modeling and acting in the past, so he's buff too. Yeah, I was drooling a little, inwardly. Can I help it? How often do I get to go out with a hunk? Not that Mike and Dad aren't hunky, but I mean besides them. Most of my other guys aren't exactly Playgirl material.

I met him at the theater after rehearsal; I didn't have to be there but he did, so I just dropped by, caught the end (with him taking off his shirt, yummy) and then waited through notes and then we headed out. The nightclub scene in my area is quite limited, so we wound up at a bar, which wasn't exactly what either of us were hoping for, but it had to do. And I did get a drink or two for free, courtesy of my date, but I didn't want to impose because I know he's a poor actor, and I also didn't want to get stupid, so we nursed our drinks.

Turns out, he's a nice enough guy, but kind of a bimbo. Whatever. Actors. So I didn't have quite the intellectually-stimulating conversation I guess I would hope for, but we do share some interests, got to tell amusing theatre stories and talk. After an hour, we both decided that we didn't dig this bar at all, so we went to the diner for pie. A guy after my own heart, really, in that regard.

Then we sat in the diner and drank endless free refills and talked. Thank God it's open 24 hours a day. Simon's a night owl too (a lot of theatre people are, understandably) so we were in no hurry to go anywhere.

The conversation turned, as conversations sometimes do when you're around me, a little raunchy, in a humorous sort of way. We were getting along, not drunk but not quite sober, happy with pie, and started telling jokes of the decidedly not-family-friendly nature. Then I told him this long story about an ex of mine, and he said, "Oh, hey, listen, I hope you didn't get the wrong idea from anyone at the theater."

"Huh? What wrong idea?"

"That I was gay. I'm not. I'm bi."

Okay, out of the blue. We were getting along well enough that non-sequitors were starting to seem perfectly reasonable, so I guess he thought I should know. "Bi, huh? Nobody told me anything."

"It's just that you seemed like maybe you didn't think I was interested. I didn't want you to be disappointed."

"Interested?" Crafty, that's my middle name. Lexi Crafty Guiterrez III. No it's not.

"You know, interested in anything more than hanging out." I'll give him full credit for being totally up-front with things. Sometimes actors are wonderfully refreshing that way; they don't mind being an open book about things which some people would hem and haw about for hours. "I mean, I asked you out, and I thought that maybe you heard from someone I was gay because they saw me kissing Pete." Not his real name either. Actually, I don't know who "Pete" is at all. I didn't do a thorough background check on Simon or anything like that.

"To be honest, I figured you were just a gentleman," I said, because it's essentially true. "You might have heard things about me too. They're probably all true."

He laughed at that. "I guess I figure most women think I'm gay because I'm an attractive single guy in the theatre," he said, which is fair. I must confess, I had a certain nagging feeling in the back of my mind that he must be gay, simply because sometimes it seems like every guy who might be a possibility is. That's just my cynic talking though. "I'm not ashamed of it, but I didn't want you to get the wrong impression."

"Because I was talking about my ex? Come on, that was just a funny story." I stopped before I said anything which would make me look worse. "Listen, Simon, I'm out on a date with you, having a good time, and if you were gay, I guess I'd be a little disappointed because you're hot, but hey, I don't expect anything." I might have been a little less coherent than that, but I didn't have a court reporter taking it all down so I have the biographer's liberty of cleaning myself up a little post-facto.

"Oh." He grinned. "Okay, well, you want another piece of pie?"

"I'm bi too, okay. No problem. Maybe you heard rumors."

"Nope." He grinned again. Damn, it was really refreshing that he wasn't particularly nonplussed by the whole thing. "I guess neither of us is as talked about as we think, huh?"

We laughed at that. Then we talked for a little bit about being bi. The waitress overheard most of it because we weren't exactly keeping quiet and were one of the few people there. Whatever. I don't give a shit, and I don't think Simon did either. But we both realized that maybe the middle of a diner wasn't the best place to be able to tell some of the stories we were getting into. He, with no real agenda at all, said, "Your place or mine?" It didn't even seem sexual. It was like two people who just need another place to talk business.

But I think I came across as thinking something I didn't, because while I'm not at all ashamed of sex, I am a bit ashamed of admitting I still live with my parents. I mean, if you know everything about me, it seems much more reasonable, but as old as I am, living with my parents is profoundly uncool. So I'm afraid I may have blushed or stammered, because he backed off like he was afraid I wasn't interested at all, until I said, "Your place; I don't really have a good place to go." Which is a bald-faced lie, and I don't enjoy telling them, but I do in the service of protecting my family, so I can rationalize what was actually in the service of protecting my ego.

We took two cars because I wasn't about to leave mine in the diner parking lot. Maybe that made it seem like I was only going because I couldn't get out of it. Now I'm probably over-analyzing. Whatever. He has an apartment on the outskirts of town, not a very nice place but possibly all he can afford. It was a typical single guy pad, a little messy, but I'm not Sally Homemaker so I could give a shit. We sat on his couch and felt a bit awkward for a few minutes, then he got drinks, which broke the ice a little. Then we started talking more explicitly.

I don't remember what led to it, but at a certain point in the conversation, he asked, "So, are you still interested, or should we drop it?" The reason I don't quite remember is that it was another non-sequitor. It made me stop and think for a moment, then I said, "Interested in what?"

"You came back to my place. You haven't slapped me, but you haven't exactly ripped your clothes off either. I just want to make sure I know where I stand."

Again, sometimes direct works on me. He didn't seem macho about it; he was just asking nicely. I wonder if I'd said no, if he would have tuned out or kept on talking until I was ready to leave. But come on, you know I wasn't going to say no.

"I'm really not looking for anything serious," I said. "But all this talk is turning me on, and I could care less if you're bi."

"That's fine with me," he said. "You want another drink?"

And then we were slobbering all over each other. It wasn't like one or the other of us started it, it was just like we both decided that no, we didn't want another drink, we wanted to fuck. It wasn't particularly passionate, just kind of pent up. I'll take it anyway.

Things proceeded quite quickly after that. We didn't spend much time kissing; he started wriggling out of his pants, and I looked down and saw a nice cock to match the buff body. I had to suck it. It seemed like the thing to do. He leaned back on the couch while I worked my mouth-magic on his member, already quite hard, then he said, "Want to get more comfortable?" I did. My knees were hurting a little, I don't mind admitting. Plus, I wanted something more than cream in my mouth.

His bedroom was spartan, but there was a big box of condoms in the drawer of his dresser, as I discovered when he pulled them out while I was pulling off my blouse. We basically got naked in a hurry individually, he rolled his own condom, then suggested I get on all fours. I admit, I had been hoping for some missionary, at least to start, but whatever, I wanted it in me so bad I could scream. He got behind me, and I felt that exquisite moment when my innards are spread as the shaft slides up into me, like it was meant to be there. He was not shabby in the size department either.

It was rough, rougher than I was expecting from his persona, but I came anyway, a staggering orgasm that made my belly tighten and I'm afraid the neighbors might have heard me moan. I hope they enjoyed it. Then he slid a pillow under my tummy when I collapsed on the bed and just kept bearing down on me, thrust after thrust, until I came again, more softly this time, my face buried in the mattress. He pulled back and I felt empty, then moved to the head of the bed and stripped off his condom, and didn't even have to ask before I had his cock in my mouth, drinking the strong, sweet spurts of cum as they shot from it.

"No wonder Janos told me you were good," Simon said with a sigh, sitting back.

Cue dramatic music. Cue Lexi smacking herself internally. In case you don't remember, Janos was a coworker with whom I had a one-night stand. You can read about the sheer idiocy of it here.

See, this is why I try to keep work and pleasure separate. Because now, apparently, Janos is telling people about me. But that wasn't my immediate reaction. My immediate reaction was, "What? You lying shitheel. You were just pretending to be nice to get me in bed. You know all about me, know I'm some kind of office slut, and damn it, I didn't see it coming." I didn't say any of that, of course. What I said was, "How do you know Janos?"

My initial reaction turns out to be mostly incorrect. Simon met Janos doing another gig at another theater a while ago, and they've been friends ever since, through Facebook or some such. Simon knew that Janos had worked here, and my name came up after Simon had already met me and was planning on going out with me, and Janos apparently bragged about his conquest.

Simon could see that he'd been less that forthright about it, and he apologized, and while I felt a bit violated, it wasn't sexual, it was just my general annoyance with Janos bragging about fucking me, and the worry that it would get around to other people. Simon said he completely understood. So I guess he's not a bad guy after all. Not, perhaps, as good as I thought to begin with, but he never claimed not to have heard any rumors about me, just no rumors that I was a lesbian.

Maybe he's just a player, and it was all a ruse. I feel very stupid for having fucked Janos, and a bit stupid for fucking Simon, since it'll just be more fuel for the unprofessional fire. But he's an actor, and I've had flings with actors before. Lots of tech people have. It's sort of a fringe benefit of working in the theater sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. It's not professional, but these things happen.

I'm somewhat ashamed to say that, even knowing what I knew, I let Simon fuck me again. Well, more than let. Maybe it was rage-fucking, maybe it was trying to pretend nothing had happened, maybe the whole thing made me horny, or maybe it was just that I had already done it, what harm was doing it again going to do. The level of intimacy wasn't there, and it was a lot less friendly, but it got the job done.

Now, of course, I feel kind of sickened by having fucked him again. Actually, for the record, "again" implies multiple agains. We fucked again, then I sat there a minute until he started fingering me, which led to number three, then we fell asleep side by side with the cummy condom still on his cock, then woke up later and went for number four. I really don't know what I was thinking. I was horny as hell, that's part of it. And angry. Kids, anger is not a good reason for sex. At least I was safe about it.

Then I went home and felt sick, couldn't really bring myself to be intimate with anyone, called Sveta on the phone and cried, which is somewhat uncharacteristic of me, and curled up and wanted to die. It was not a good time.

I woke up this afternoon feeling better. I still feel stupid, but I don't really feel like being pissy about it any more. I got my jollies from him, and if he's a player, well, I refuse to let him make me feel miserable. I don't feel raped or anything like that, and I was definitely a fully-consenting adult at the time. I just wish I had slightly better impulse control.

I'm sort of dreading running into him again, but on the other hand, maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't know. I also don't know just how much damage any of this will do to my rep, professionally. I've never had an affair with a coworker. I've just done single-instance stupid things with one, and I've gone out with a few actors. My work hasn't suffered. Basically, the only worry I have is that people will take me less seriously as "one of the guys" who can kick your ass if you're not careful.

The worst part is, he was good in bed, and if it hadn't come up, I would have been happy to fuck him 17 ways to Sunday, and part of the reason I'm dreading seeing him again is that I think I might be extremely tempted to fuck him again, because as I said, what's done is done and I didn't love him in any case. Sometimes my cooch thinks for herself.

Anyway, dating can be fun, as I said a long time ago at the top of this post. In this case, I had fun, but not without consequences. I guess there's a lesson there too.

TMI Masturbation

When masturbation's lost its fun you're fucking breaking. Or so said Green Day. TMI, as always, provides grist for the proverbial mill, but you really should see the post on this one because the cartoon that went with it is really funny.

1. When you masturbate, how long, typically, is your session and what do you think about (other than having an orgasm)?

Length of session really depends on how long I have. If I have 15 minutes, well, then I take 20 minutes stroking it. Typically, I spend half an hour between things, but that might be repeated several times throughout the day if I get the chance. I don't count preparation; I might spend a while not actually with my finger in the honey, looking for porn, typing a blog post that gets me particularly aroused, reading something, whatever. The point is, when I'm getting myself off, a lot of the time it's fairly abbreviated. This might be explained by the fact that I have other people around to get me off a lot, but I sort of view masturbation like some people might view a smoke break. If I'm working at home, I take a union break every so often, rub the magic lamp, then get back to work feel a little better for the endorphins. Occasionally, I do an extended masturbatory session, but not often. Who has the time for that?

And of course when I tease the tender tamale I think about social legislation and the rise of the merchant classes in Holland in the 16th century. Who doesn't?

2. Have you ever been "caught" masturbating?

Since my family doesn't give two shits, I've never been caught by family. I've been watched, sure, and even joined, but not caught. Similarly, I've never been caught by a roommate because my roomie was into it too. I did get caught by James, long ago, but we've heard that story already. And there might have been a few other times where I was nearly or actually caught, but they don't stick out. I'm really not terribly ashamed of masturbation. If employers were more open-minded, they'd allow employees to go off and work off some steam at regular intervals during the day. It would keep down sexual harassment, for one thing. Of course, if employers were really open-minded, they'd allow employees to work off steam with each other. But that's another story.

3. Have you ever masturbated in front of your computer? If 'yes' was it for your own purposes or for someone's viewing pleasure?

I'm doing it right now. Does that help? My computer is too crappy to be doing it for anyone's viewing pleasure.

4. Have you ever attended a group masturbation party? Same-sex or mixed?

Nope, why would I go to the trouble? I want to attend the whole baseball game, not just the first inning. In case that metaphor failed, I meant that I wanted to go to an orgy. There, happy?

5. When masturbating, as you reach orgasm, do you continue to stimulate yourself without interruption, or do you stop and apply pressure until your spasms subside? Or?

Or? Or? I can't stand the suspense.

I keep up the music, mostly because I don't cum hard enough while masturbating to make it difficult to keep things going. I may not finger any delicate areas, but I definitely keep things going, because sometimes you get lucky and get two for one.

6. Have you ever video'ed yourself while masturbating (solo)? Where are they now?

Where are they now? Blah blah, insert your own TV retrospective joke here. I don't know enough about celebrity lives to pull it off. But just imagine that I made a joke about Bob Denver, or possible Bob Saget.

I've never "video'ed[sic]" myself doing anything. I've had video taken of me masturbating by myself, and they (assuming the question was actually about the tapes) are quite safe, my dear, quite safe indeed.

Bonus (as in optional): How often do you use the word "fuck" (or its derivatives) in casual conversation - frequently, occasionally, rarely, never.

Fuck, I fucking never use the word "fuck" in conversation. You'd have to be some kind of fucking moron to believe that I could be so fucking crude. Fuck sake, you're a fucking piece of work, you fucking know that, asking me all these stupid fucking questions about my fucking vocabulary. Besides, what the fuck's wrong with "fuck?" Fuck you, you fucking fucker.

When I was in Catholic school, I had to be more circumspect, of course. That's why I can swear in so many different languages. None of them match the pure ferocity of the Germanic "fuck" though. Rage, sex, taboo, and explosiveness, all in one little four-letter word.

Now, of course, I try to be more creative. Fuckstick, or cuntsock, or asshat, or "I don't give a flat, rate-adjusted fuck." May the testicles of a camel brush against your mother's upper lip. A thousand plagues of locusts infest your left ear. May you take a long journey on a short road. Or, when all else fails, "Hey, fuck you and yours, bitch!"

Business and Pleasure

I've said it before, and I'll say it again; I like to keep my professional and personal lives separate. Not that I always obey this dictum, but I do keep it in mind.

That being said, that means that I don't have sex with coworkers (well, I try not to anyway). But as a theatrical technician, I don't really consider actors to be coworkers. It's still somewhat unprofessional, but they all sleep with each other, so I view it as something less, like maybe having sex with a professional acquaintance, someone with whom I'm not likely to have to work in the future. Not that I never see the same actors, but we're in different worlds.

I'm saying all this because I have a date with an actor. I was in doing technical things before a rehearsal, and in walked the cutest guy (well, not the cutest, but the cutest I'd seen in a while). I'd never met him before; must be new to the area or new to the theater or something. I didn't know he was an actor, just said, "Hey, how's it going?" because I was being nice. He helped me clean up which he didn't have to do, and we got to talking. Then rehearsal was about to start, and we'd hit it off, so he asked me if I'd like to get a drink sometime, since he's in the show and I'll be around.

"Wuh-well shucks, a-hyuck, a-hyuck." At least, that's how I felt at the time. In case it's not coming across, I'm impersonating Beaky Buzzard from Looney Tunes cartoons where he blushes and looks away. I'm so fucking classy it ain't even funny.

Upshot: we shall be visiting the same drinking establishment at the same time. He's my age, he's cute, and while he's got the tact not to spend his time staring at my breasts or ass, he didn't seem uninterested in my form. It's been a while since I've legitimately dated a guy. It'll be a nice change of pace.

And lest you feel concerned for my main squeeze, I talked it over with Sveta. She's fine with it, claims that, if she weren't tits-deep in work, she'd probably have some fun on the side too. And while the idea of that does make me slightly jealous, and I'm sure me doing things with other people makes her slightly jealous, it's really more that we wish we could be together than that we don't want to be with anyone else.

As a rule, I don't like actors as long-term romantic prospects because they tend to be kind of flaky. There are definite exceptions, but if this guy is like any of the other actors with whom I've been involved, it'll be fun to date him, maybe fuck him, but nothing serious. Plus, I could use some social avenues, since right now I seem to have nothing but work and home. Plus plus, I bet he'll buy the drinks. Maybe not, but I can hope. I'm a whore. Such a terrible whore. But in my defence, his purchase or non-purchase of the drinks will have very little to do with the action he gets. Either he'll get action or he won't. I'm more than willing to go Dutch and put out. So maybe I'm not a whore, but rather a mooch. Yes, that's it.

Further bulletins as events warrant.

Totally Unrealistic

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Senses

Her tongue flicks over my pubic bone, brushing the skin where I've just shaved. I remember when she was timid about tasting me, back before she knew better. Now, she's just teasing me.

The muscles in my inner thighs spasm involuntarily. I long to wrap my legs around her head and pull her down, but instead I grip the blanket and arch my back slightly down into the mattress, pressing my hips up, trying to make myself available. No, she's kissing my thigh now, the left thigh. Ooh, she's going to give me a hickey if she's not careful. Or maybe that's what she wants to do.

No, it's gentle. She's kissing her way from above my knee into the space between my legs, kissing the lips but not responding to my unspoken need, not going further. Then up the other thigh the same way. I'm dripping, burning. I can never achieve the level of heat and wetness she does, but I'm close to cumming just from her soft, warm breath on my most sensitive of places.

Then I feel rather than see as her hands shift in, delicate fingers spreading my outer lips, exposing the pure pink desire. She runs her tongue up, from the bottom, almost licking my ass, slowly over every nook and cranny, the tip delving almost without thought into my warm, wet passage, then running up, the tongue, so delicate, feeling rough as a cat's on the bud at the crowning arch. It's exquisite torture, not enough stimulation to make me explode right away, just building the tension. I remember the first time she figured out that this was the way to drive me crazy.

A flick of her tongue, wetting my clit, then down again and up, slowly, deliberately. She wraps her lips around the head of my cunt and softly presses them together, then backs away just as I'm beginning to get used to the idea. Then she puts a finger in her mouth, slowly, sexily, letting me watch her do it, a small smile on her pink lips, then presses the wet finger into me, too slowly and too gently to get me off. She knows the pressure is just building up. She knows exactly what she's doing.

Then a cold breath. She blows on my clitoral hood, making me shiver, the chill on wet flesh sending chills up my spine. I contract without thinking, and she instantly curls her finger just so. And it's like a sledge hammer. The world goes white for an instant, like someone cut the strings animating the puppet of my body. But only an instant. I'm moaning, "Yes, yes," and the chill is gone, replaced by her warm lips and tongue which is now stroking insistently at the tip of my clit, and the finger which is shortly joined by another, and I'm cumming, hard but slow, the waves rushing up and down my body as she times them perfectly, riding them like a surfer.

My nipples are hard enough to cut glass, my breasts rising and falling as I try to keep breathing, try not to lock up like I once did, try to keep the orgasm coming. And my thighs are spasming constantly, my hands locked in the blanket to keep from thrashing, my back arched up now, head thrown back, hair spread across the pillow. And she spreads the fingers inside me, stretching me sideways, then curls them, stretching me up and down, her lips creating constant, gentle suction on the head of my clit, the tongue flicking in staccato rhythm that I can't predict, not in time with anything.

Finally, somehow, she senses that I'm through, just as I realize it, and the last wave subsides, and she comes up to kiss me. I can taste myself on her, just a little, until she brings her fingers up, and then I lick them clean and taste myself a lot. The withdrawal of her fingers somehow feels different from when a man cums inside me, softens, and pulls out; it's the only thing I miss about heterosexual sex when I'm with her, really: that lack of completion, even after an orgasm like that. But it's different, not worse. There are many things I miss about a woman when I'm with a man.

I know I should immediately return the favor, but I just lie there and let her snuggle with me, body to body, kissing and feeling the warmth between us. We don't have anywhere to go, and she likes the afterward just as much as I do.

Outside Interests

"My parents will kill me if they find out." Why is it that both the best and worst conversations start like this, particularly when you're still a kid. In this case, I wasn't the one saying it, although I had in the past, about cutting school with friends, smoking, drinking, all the stupid shit you do when you're young and rebellious. In this case, though, it was about sex, and my parents might not have heartily approved, but they wouldn't have killed me.

We were dating. It was cute, really; he gave me presents and took me to movies sometimes. We'd kissed once or twice, but nothing more. And now I was asking if I could spend the night at his house when his parents were out of town. I wasn't asking, really, just suggesting strongly. I don't invite myself over to places. But hey, I wanted to be able to fool around, and I knew his folks had a liquor cabinet and mine didn't. I don't want anyone to get the impression that I was a liquor slut when I was younger; it was mostly the prospect of spending the night with him.

He was one of those guys who probably talk a lot of shit when they're with their buddies, but likely didn't even know what a vagina looked like. I didn't hold it against him, really; he was cute, taller than I was (which I like in a guy, since it's more of a rarity for me than for other women), decently-built, and not an idiot. Plus reddish hair, which I'm a sucker for.

"I'm not asking for you to throw a party," I reassured him. "I just, you know, think we could spend a little time alone together. I'm not going to tell anyone." Well, I might tell my siblings. Maybe not Mike, because he might get jealous. He was going through a phase at that point. And maybe not Sheri, because she might want to tag along. That wasn't going to happen. He was my guy, and I wanted to be all alone with him. It was kind of romantic, in my mind, going over to his house, snuggling up with him, being all adult.

Of course, I was fooling myself, but the evening turned out okay anyway. He finally agreed, as long as I would promise not to tell anyone else. It was Wednesday, and for the next day and a half, I turned up the heat a little, kissed him in the hallway surreptitiously, put my hand on his shoulder, leaned into him a little, that sort of thing. By the time Friday evening rolled around and I was knocking at his door with my knapsack full of things, I was half-sure he'd greet me in the doorway with nothing on but a smile. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

He was nervous, I was nervous. He wasn't the first guy I'd dated, nor was he the first guy with whom I'd spent the night, but it wasn't like I was the seasoned campaigner. And I didn't really want to seduce him; I wanted him to seduce me. I put out all the signs I could think of; short skirt, low-cut blouse, no bra, touching him, giving him a kiss as he invited me in, bending over a little too far to put my stuff down, asking to see his bedroom.

"You're not going to sleep in the spare room?" Shit.

"Um... okay, I guess. But can't I see your room?"

And then we sat in his room for what seemed like forever. Silence. Finally: "So... do you want to eat dinner or something?"

No. No I don't. I want to take my clothes off. But okay, dinner, fine, maybe a little wine or something? He got the hint on that one, and although I think he might never have opened a bottle of wine before, he managed to get the cork out. I don't care for wine, but at that point, I wanted to try to like it.

We had microwave dinners and wine, probably cheap-ass wine but I had no way of judging. I wasn't into the taste, so I was drinking it in gulps, trying to ensure a nice buzz.

Then we watched a movie. Sitting on separate couches. Oy. It makes me want to kick my younger self, looking at it now, but let's be generous to her. Half-way through, I got up, went to the bathroom, and changed into my pajamas. The T-shirt was too small, and my nipples stuck out rather a lot, and suddenly I was embarrassed to go back in there dressed like that. I can't really say why, maybe just the awkwardness of the situation. But I went back in.

And it was then that I knew he was an okay guy, because he spent the rest of the movie trying very hard not to stare. I like that; acknowledgement, but not being a creep about it. At least, that's how it seemed at the time. So as the movie was winding up, I went over and sat down next to him, leaned against him, and when he didn't pull away, I put my head on his shoulder. It was kind of sweet. He wasn't repulsed by it; he put his arm around me, and we finished the movie and then started kissing. I think he might have started kissing me, but what does it matter? We were both into it.

"You know why I wanted to spend the night, right?" I asked him, finally. "Not to sleep in the spare room."

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "I kinda figured that out. You want another glass of wine?"

"Actually, I kinda want to go to your room," I said. "We can be more comfortable there." I didn't tell him that I thought the wine tasted icky; that would have been rude.

He practically jerked my arm off leading me up the stairs to his bedroom again, so I didn't have to ask twice. "Can I touch them?" he asked of my breasts. I just nodded, reached down, and pulled the T-shirt off. After a subjective hour of him worshipping my breasts, I had to hint that maybe there were other things he'd like to see, otherwise I think he might have been content to hold my breasts in his hands for the rest of the evening.

Once I slipped out of my pj pants and was lying back on his bed, totally naked, he pulled off his shirt and joined me, his fingers slowly rubbing my slit the way I guess he believed women like. I moved a hand down to help him, and eventually he was stroking me properly, finger dipping into my pussy and coming out wet, spreading the juices on my labia, until I had a small orgasm, prelude of things to come. "You want to fuck me?" I asked him. Once the chips are down, I'm pretty direct.

"Really?" It was like I was giving him the best gift ever. I never get tired of that, which may be why I shift from partner to partner so often; I like seeing the look of gratitude in the eye of the guy as I let him fuck me. That's pure ego on my part. I'm not necessarily proud of it, and not all guys are grateful, but hey, I'll take it whenever I can get it.

He was Catholic; there was no talk of condoms (which is something I found absolutely ridiculous about Catholic school guys; they'll go through the card, but apparently birth control is a bigger sin than premarital sex, even sodomy). He pulled his pants and underwear off in one motion, and his cock was thick, and felt thicker as he pressed slowly into me, face to face. When his pubic hair tickled the outside of my cunt, I came again, harder because he was spreading me wide, my legs pulling up to wrap around him.

He didn't last long, a minute maybe, thrusting rather more quickly than I would have recommended if I had been a virgin. Then he pulled away and shot a lake of spunk, thin and watery, onto my belly. It cooled immediately as he sat back breathing heavily. "Wow," he said. "I thought maybe I'd get a BJ out of this evening if I was lucky."

"Well, you can have one if you want," I said with a grin, collecting some of the jizz and licking my fingers clean. "And then maybe we can fuck again?"

Now that's a way to begin a good conversation.

TMI Would I Rather...

Yet again, from TMI, clearinghouse of all things questionable.

Would you rather...

1. Have eyes that always smile or a voice that makes people calm?

Definitely the voice. I don't want my eyes to always smile because they'd be lying. People who smile all the time and are unhappy on the inside are sad. I do not in any way believe in "putting on a happy face." I can't honestly say that either option here is great, but I'll take the voice.

2. Have an affair and your partner catches you or your partner have an affair and you catch him/her?

I'd definitely rather do the catching, because I'm fairly forgiving and I handle angry better than ashamed. Not that I'd necessarily be angry, or that I'd necessarily forgive, particularly when I've made it pretty clear that it's hard to cheat on me because if you want to fuck someone else and you're with me, all you have to do is ask (although you might also have to put up with me asking you to describe it, or asking to be brought along).

3. Have better sex or more money?

Better sex than I'm having now? Certainly possible, but I'd go for the money because I have pretty good sex right now. If, on the other hand, this means, "Would you rather have good sex or good money?" I'll go with sex, because that makes me happier than money. Not that I want to starve in exchange for great sex, but if it's a choice between being rich or being sexually-fulfilled, I'm going with the sex. Not that I wouldn't like to be rich, but if it were a trade-off.

4. Be able to read everyone’s mind all the time or always know the future?

Oh, the mind-reading. Knowing the future would kind of suck. Mind-reading, on the other hand, would definitely let me be less worried about what people were thinking about me. Yes, I do worry about that sometimes. Now, it might confirm my worst suspicions, which would suck. And if it was a power I couldn't control, and I had to hear everyone's thoughts all the time, that too would suck goat balls. But it would be great for character studies, and I could stop saying things like, "I think she was feeling this way." I could just say, "She was feeling that way." I don't know; I'm not thrilled with either choice here, but I think mind-reading would be better than knowledge of the future, particularly if it was some kind of predestination thing where one would know the future and be unable to change it, which would probably make me want to kill myself.

5. Your partner have sex with someone else or fall in love with someone else?

We've done this one before. Short answer: who the hell would say anything other than sex?

Bonus (as in optional): What one thing, big or small, would you change in your life if granted one wish by a lamp-bound genie? Why?

Maybe a change in our society's puritanical moral codes? That seems like the kind of thing that a genie wouldn't be willing to change for just one wish (and might wind up biting the wisher in the ass). Honestly, is this the type of genie that takes perverse pleasure in granting wishes that bite the wisher in the ass, because if so, I'm wishing for a turkey sandwich, on rye bread, with lettuce and mustard, and, AND I don't want any zombie turkeys, I don't want to turn into a turkey myself, and I don't want any other weird surprises. That can't possibly backfire.

Convincing

Dad wasn't sure. "How long have you been trying anal now?" he asked me when I brought it up one evening. "That's not that long. I think you're still a bit young."

"Sheri said..."

"Your sister is older than you, and she's a different person."

He was genuinely concerned. Mike and I had been fucking almost exclusively anal for the past month or so, and until we saw porn with double penetration it hadn't entered my mind. After that, it was like Pandora's box, and learning that Sheri had already tried it with two guys just made the competitive side of me want it more.

I had sucked Dad while Mike fucked me; in fact, in the early days of Mike's sexual maturity, it happened fairly often the other way around. I would sit on Dad's cock and rock, and Mike would get hard and come over and let me blow him. He was hard a lot of the time, never seemed to get tired of cumming. Young male stamina can be powerful stuff.

But we'd never tried anything else. Sheri offered to get a strap-on and stick it in me while Mike fucked my ass, but I didn't want to start out on training wheels, and I didn't want to ask her for her help. I tried it on myself, a plug in my ass and a vibe in my cunt, and while it was very nice indeed, it wasn't really anal, nor was it really fucking.

So Mike and I decided to work on Dad. I was tempted to try to seek outside help, maybe get another boy in and he and Mike could both fuck me, but that seemed hard. Of course, Sheri had done it, but I didn't think I could. So we worked on Dad.

At first, Dad didn't want anything to do with anal. He said Mike had better not bring a cock from an ass to Mom's pussy either if he knew what was good for him. It's funny to think now, but maybe Dad was a little concerned that Mike would want to try anal on Dad as well. Who knows; if things had been different, maybe Dad and Mike might have tried it out. As it was, it took a bit of convincing before Dad thought it was a good idea for me to do anal at all.

That Dad didn't think I was old enough annoyed me, and so Mike started fucking my ass all over the place, around Dad whenever possible. I even did some things I would later find kind of icky. I would let him fuck my ass until he came, then drool it out on his hand and lick it up. It's the closest I ever came to scat, really.

Then one day, I noticed that Dad was hard, and though he was trying not to pay attention, he wasn't succeeding. I put on a real show, straddled Mike's cock and rode him with it in my ass, stroking my breasts, my pussy, licking my lips and fingers, grinding down on him. When he came, I just kept going, felt the cock growing harder in my ass, then whispered, "Daddy, please?"

He struggled with it for a moment. "Not tonight, precious," he finally said. "Why don't you finish up with Mike and come on over and give your old man a turn?"

And as his stiff, thick cock was spearing me, pressing deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and I was cumming, I still grinned, knowing that I'd won. I'd broken down the barrier.

After that, it was just a matter of convincing Dad that he should do it, rather than some random guy. That argument was easy. "Daddy, I want you to be the first one, you and Mike. If I have to get another guy, you know it might not be any good..." I pouted. I was shameless.

But don't believe for a moment that I wasn't nervous. I was. A cock in the ass made me feel really full, and I wasn't sure that my pussy wouldn't be shoved closed, unable to take a cock at all. I wasn't really afraid of pain or discomfort; rather I was afraid that I would fuck it up and not be able to do it right.

In the end, of course, it wound up not being planned at all. I was in the playroom downstairs, having been given a round anal rogering by Mike and then prevailing upon Dad to follow that up with a shot in the pink, sitting on Dad's cock, feeling him stroke my tender nipples as I slid my hips back and forth, bending my lower back a little so my pelvis ground against his. We could go like that for a long time, if we were feeling patient. It was summer, not much to do in the evenings but fuck, and Dad was perfectly happy to have me sitting on him, my legs spread wide to straddle his, before my knees went totally funhouse-mirror on me and made it less comfortable.

I guess Mike wasn't finished, or he got bored, because he showed up after a while, still naked, cock half-hard and swinging slightly as he walked. "Want me to suck you?" I asked him, but he just shook his head and sat on the couch, hand running up and down his shaft slowly, thoughtfully. Thoughtful masturbation isn't something you hear about every day, but in my family you'll often see us in our natural element playing idly with ourselves, not even thinking about it, the way you might scratch your head while thinking.

"Daddy, can we try it? Mike's all ready, and we're in the right position..." I gave him a kiss and a squeeze with my muscles, then stayed lying on his chest like his approval was a foregone conclusion. He'd as much as agreed the other day, and though I had figured we'd make a bigger deal of it, I wanted to try it now, while I was glowing with all the sex I'd had and still hoped to have, while his cock was inside me and he really couldn't say no, could he?

"You ready, champ?" he said, turning his head slightly to look over and Mike. I gave Dad a kiss on the cheek and then trailed my tongue down over his chin and to his chest and sucked at his neck.

"Yeah, really?" Mike asked, perking up.

"She's going to bite my neck if I say no," laughed Dad, then moved his hand from my hips and beckoned. "Come on. She obviously wants it. Don't you, sweetheart?"

I just kissed the place I'd been sucking then kissed back up until I was lying full on my Daddy's chest. "Arch your back a little, Lex," said Mike, and as I did, I felt his hand spreading my butt cheeks. "I'll go real slow."

The lubing up made me giggle, then shiver, then cum before he even got around to touching me with his cock. I came on Dad, and he enjoyed that so much that I felt him pressing himself up against me, his cock worming its way deeper and deeper, deeper than I thought possible. Then came the pressure on my rosebud, like always, only heightened by apprehension but dulled by orgasm.

When Mike popped into my ass, made artificially tight by the penetration of my pussy, I came again. It was just too much. And I was moaning and gasping and writhing, and far from being concerned, Dad's hands were holding me to him, keeping me from squirming away from the sensation at once too much and not enough. My anus widened as Mike pressed in. It was tight. The pressure on the place between pussy and ass was incredible. I've often wished I could recapture that first penetration from both sides again, it was so intense. But while it's different the second time and every time after that, it's still the same too.

I came down from the heights to feel two cocks well and truly buried in me up to the hilt. "I don't think I'm going to last long with you feeling like this," said Mike breathlessly. I didn't care.

"Fuck me, please, fill me up," I moaned, and when Dad ground up and Mike pressed down, I lost track of the sensations again.

I can see why it might be too much for some people. It might have been too much for me the first time. But still, when I came back to myself still lying on Dad's chest, my brother's spunk oozing out of my asshole, and Dad flipped me over and started pressing his hips gently and firmly into my thighs, then grunted and shot a huge load into my pussy, I loved it.

I didn't love coming down from it, when the tension and the pressures were remembered, the ache, the feeling of having been at it too long. The pleasure went away and the rest was uncomfortable, but after a few minutes I was able to get up, stagger upstairs, and eat dinner with no problem sitting in the chair, apart from making some puddles. "Can we do it again tomorrow?" I asked Dad later that night, as he tucked me into bed. In the next room, I heard the telltale sounds of Mom and Mike going at it, and it made me wet, so wet that I also knew that I would be hopping out of bed and joining Mari in hers as soon as Dad closed the door.

"We'll see," he said. We did see. I've never regretted it.

400

I had hoped that, by the time 400 rolled around, I would have something interesting to do for it. I had hoped that Sveta might be able to visit and we could do something fun. Hell, I hoped that because even if Valentine's Day is shallow and commercial, I still wanted to spend it with my sweetie. Or any day. I'm starting to go into Sveta withdrawal, and long-distance fixes aren't enough. It's like offering a joint to a crack addict. God, there was a pun intended there, so fucking intended.

So 400 is bound to be anticlimactic. I didn't build up much anticipation, but I knew it was coming, and yet here it is and there's really nothing I can do to celebrate it properly. Rest assured that, once the moment arises, I shall, but who knows when that moment will arise.

Until then, I'm going to cast my eye back on the blog and ponder. I started this out, almost 3 years ago now, because I had realized that I really was getting off telling stories on some chat sites I used to frequent, but I was getting bored with telling the same stories over and over again. Everyone always wanted to hear about my family life, about my first time, and I wanted to find a place to tell some stories and just tell them. I didn't set out to create much of a blog, more of a repository for stories.

Well, that lasted about a week before I realized that I was talking about my current affairs, not just the past. And then after a longer period, it became apparent that I was really blogging, letting in some of the personal shit I said I'd keep out, the drama, all that crap. But the thing is, I kind of like that you have some context for the stories I tell. It would be easy for me to just write sexy stories, fiction, not even claiming they were true. I could tell stories of things I've never actually done, fantasies of mine. I do write things other than this blog, and I have written some erotic fiction.

But now I realize that, while I'm giving context, I should also be concentrating on making my stories something more than just a retelling of events. Not that the events are good stories, but I've tried, more and more, to do some character work too, to work on sensations, feelings, more poetic stuff than "he fucked me three different ways, I came twice, wham bam, it was a good time."

If I could, I might go back and add a commentary track to my previous posts, see where things have changed, maybe offer some additional insight. But that's lazy and recycling material. It's too bad that 400 had to happen now, in sort of a down time for me and my life, but that's the way things work.

So this is 400. I'm posting this lame crap because if I didn't acknowledge it at all, I'd feel really crappy. But I also don't want to put off posting until I can think of something suitable. So you get this. Sorry

Snow Day

Unlike all the people who are currently wishing they were in Aruba, I like snow. I don't like some of the things about it, but when it's falling and it's fresh and new, there's little else I enjoy more, weather-wise. Once it gets all sad and gray, I don't like it, but if I lived in the Alps or something, I think I could get along just fine with having clean white snow all the time. And I like being inside where it's warm, looking out at a blizzard. Again, there are definitely things which I don't like about horrible winter weather, and eventually I go stir-crazy if I'm trapped in the house, but I think I like it more than most people do.

When I was younger and stupider, I used to go skiing. Rather, I'd beg to be allowed to go skiing, and my parents would waste the money. Neither of them are stupid enough to go skiing. Maybe once in a winter, all my friends would be going, and I'd put on my best "pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeez" eyes and get to go.

Thing is, I hate skiing. I'd be much happier sledding. I don't like going fast, or heights, or falling down, and after a while the fake snow and the cold tend to sap what little enthusiasm I have for it. This isn't to say that people who like skiing are dumb, but I was dumb for constantly wanting to go skiing when I really don't like it at all.

Plus, it wasn't like we were getting to go to Aspen. These were local slopes with more of a Wal-Mart feel to them. So no lodge with snifters of brandy, no ritzy atmosphere, just hours and hours of doing something I didn't like to do in the cold, with all my friends moving on to bigger and better slopes because they were actually good at skiing, leaving me stuck on the easy hills because there was no fucking way I was going to try anything else. Yay. Feel sorry for me. No, wait, don't, because I was a little idiot. Laugh at my stupidity. Yes, that's better.

I told you all that to give a background for something which the recent weather has made me think of. So when I say, "I fooled around on the slopes," I don't mean I skied crazily. And I don't mean, "I had sex in the lodge." There was no lodge, and the place which was called "the lodge" was crammed full of middle-class social climbers and kids by the truck load. I mean, "I fooled around on the slopes."

All my friends had, as usual, deserted the boring easy slope and were trying to pull a Sonny Bono (too soon?) on some quadruple Black Diamond somewhere in the stratosphere. I was standing at the top of the Bunny slope (it may have even been the Double Bunny, for those people not hard-core enough to ski on the actual Bunny slope) looking warily down, wondering why the Hell I didn't just take off my skis and walk back down the hill. If it can be called a hill. If I had been on a sled, I would have doubted that it was enough of an incline to keep me moving. But standing on skis, it's a whole different perspective. See, I told you. Laugh at me.

"Need some help?" I got that a lot, actually. I think it's something that ski instructors can sense, wafting from my pores. I turned around. Yep, ski instructor.

Thing is, I didn't have any money, nor did I have any right to free lessons, or much of anything else. Plus I didn't really want to learn. I wanted a fucking sled. One time, I actually tried sitting on my skis and riding down on them that way. It wasn't easy, and I had to keep my hands out to keep from tipping over, but it was way more fun than skiing.

"No thanks." I tried to look as if I were just contemplating the beauty of the scenery until he went away.

"Wanna race?" He thinks I'm older than I am, I though to myself. Not surprising. Most people placed me for much older, which was useful in some circumstances.

"You'll win." Go away. Go away! If I could have used telepathy, his head would have exploded. Thank God I can't.

"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Thanks, buddy. Stupid asshole.

Fuck it. "Nope." Maybe he'll give up and go away. Wait a minute. I can see his face now. He's not bad looking, and I think he's trying to pick me up. He wasn't being an asshole. He looks genuinely concerned that I'll fall and kill myself. On the hill that five-year-olds progress through in fifteen minutes, the hill that I've been stuck at, skill-level-wise, for the past three years. "Sorry, I don't get any lessons, just a lift pass."

"Do I look like a ski instructor?" Yes, yes you do, when you're not looking like a hottie. Gosh, I wish there was a lodge. I'd let you take me back there. "Sorry, the coat fools everyone. I work here, but I'm not on the clock or anything." Really. Indeed. Hmmm...

"Well... I can't ski at all."

"Sure you can. You're standing up. That's more than I could do my first day."

Yes, it's my first day. Just keep telling yourself that, Lexi. Don't tell him you've been skiing now maybe four times, for hours at a time. You're a total beginner. Work it.

"You're thinking you should have stayed home. The hill looks a lot higher from the top." He's nice. And apparently either psychic, or a very good guesser. It's tough to see exactly what he looks like with the winter clothes on, but he's older than I am. Hey, who cares. I'll get chatted up by nice guys who are older than me.

Long story short, he convinced me to let him show me how to ski. Thing is, I already knew how to ski. I had in fact taken a lesson the first time I went skiing. It didn't immediately turn me into an Olympic Gold Medalist in the Grand Slalom. It just made my knees hurt. But I let him teach me again. There was a certain amount of bodily contact, him putting his hands on my waist to steady me, giggling, all that kind of thing. I was not a novice when it came to certain aspects of what was going on. I let him think he was charming the pants off me, largely because he kind of was. Plus, I really wanted to stop skiing.

Eventually, I gave up trying and let him catch me each time I fell over. He tried very hard to convince me that I was doing better than I was. I wasn't. I was probably the worst skier since some Norwegian strapped barrel staves to his boots and then fell down a mountain. But I let him talk me into going up the bigger hill, the easiest hill that didn't have a goofy name.

Of course, once up there, I made it about 100 feet before I told him that I really didn't think I was going to be able to make it back down. I'm not proud; I did a bit of a Scarlet O'Hara with a big strong man. "Go on, you go down and I'll walk after you." Something like that. Nope. I had him well and truly on the hook.

We walked down together. We had to walk on the edges of the field to keep from being killed by other skiers (and snowboarders, something I sort of wish I'd tried because I bet you can sit on a snowboard much more easily than skis). It was getting on to twilight. I was hanging on him shamelessly. I don't remember whether I kissed him first or he kissed me, but someone started it.

But damn it, we were still up a mountain. The closest place where there was any hope of privacy was probably a mile away. And things were proceeding rather quickly to break things off and hike a mile. If I'd been even a marginal skier, we could have made it down to the bottom, but then I suppose none of it would have happened in the first place if I had been able to ski marginally. Actually, I could ski marginally, but I'm crafty.

I think he felt he was crafty too; why else would he be picking up girls on the Bunny slope? We both let each other think whatever was necessary. The trees were close, and no one was around. "Have you ever done anything on the slope before?" I asked him.

"What sort of thing did you have in mind?"

I reached down and rubbed my hand against his crotch, and even through the layered clothing it was obvious that he was interested. "I've been behind a tree to piss once or twice, but..." he said. Maybe he needed some encouragement. I kissed him again, then took his hand and placed it on my chest, where he ran it up and down. "It's going to be awkward..." he said.

"But it'll be so naughty." In truth, I was pretty concerned about it myself, but Hell, how often do you get an opportunity like that? So we went into the trees, just a short way, hidden from passers but not in danger of being lost or falling off a cliff. He worked there. He could handle it.

In the end, both our skis leaned against a tree, and I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth. I didn't want to let it out of my mouth because it was so cold, and every time the wind hit it, he shivered and lost a bit of hardness. In the end, I got him to cum while the cock was wedged in my throat, which wasn't easy and I didn't get to taste much of the semen.

"It's getting too cold," he said after a minute, stuffing himself back into his pants. "Come on, we can make it down the hill if you try." He was right. It's amazing what the desire to get a fuck in before you have to leave can do to a girl.

Still, it was a bruised Lexi who arrived at the bottom, relieved and hornier than fuck. "The lodge is too crowded," he said. Like I said, not really a lodge. But there was a room, Employees Only, which was empty and quiet. I wish I could have fucked in the woods by the ski slope, because it would have made for a slightly better story, but giving a guy a blowjob on the slopes is enough for me. We left our boots and skis at the door, he pulled off his gloves and slipped his hands into my pants. They were cold. I jumped and gasped, particularly when he started petting my pussy. But then we were kissing and he was opening my coat and pulling it off, then pulling my sweatshirt over my head, then my shirt. I was standing there, in what felt like summer but was probably 50 degrees, in my bra and snow pants and stocking feet.

He never got the bra off. In fact, I wound up turned around with my snow pants, pants, and panties down around my knees, with him first stroking my pussy, then pulling his pants down too and slipping his cock up into me from behind. It was quick and dirty and awkward, and I can only imagine how much worse it would have been if we'd tried it outdoors. I probably would have wound up with snow in my pussy. As it was, I wound up with cream on my back. I was all set to start getting dressed again, to go looking for my friends, find out if it was time to go home, but he got to his knees and pulled my pants down further and started licking my pussy, which made me forget about leaving and want more.

Eventually, I wound up on my hands and knees too, with his cock in my mouth until he was ready. He must have been really hard up, which was hard to believe because he was good looking and his cock wasn't small by any standard. Then he hopped up, got behind me, and pressed in again. Fucking doggie style with pants holding your legs together is tough, and if he's got pants holding his legs together, that's even tougher, so eventually he pulled his pants off to be able to get more into it, and then into it he got. I didn't keep track of my orgasms, but I had enough to sate me, and even though he pulled out again, more in control this time, and let me suck the third load out of him onto my tongue, I was perfectly happy. I mean, I could have stuck around and fucked some more, but after a few minutes he helped me up, said, "We'd better get out of here before someone comes in," and then we got dressed again.

He wanted me to try some more skiing, to hang out with him, to go out with him, something, anything. I told him I had to meet up with my friends or I wouldn't have a ride home. No reason to tell him that I couldn't stay out too late because my parents would worry. If he thought I was his age, I wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion. We did kiss some more, but in the end he gave me his number and I went and found my ride.

I didn't call him. It never would have worked out. Plus, around about that time, I realized how dumb I was being, engaging in an expensive activity I didn't like. And I started enjoying the snow from a spectator's point of view instead of being an active participant. That's the closest I can remember coming to actually fucking in the snow, and I guess I'm just a little sorry I never actually did that. If I could work out the logistics, I'd try it. But I still do love to go walking at night when the snow is falling.

Just thought you'd enjoy this story. 399. 400 as soon as I can think of something worthy of that number.

Medical Malpractice

We're going to start Tuesday a little early because Jim was nice enough to ask a question that I think deserves an answer, even if it makes me wince a little and the answer won't be terribly sexy.

"Have you ever gotten excited at the doctor's office? Or during a physical (or gyno exam)? When Sveta got on the pill, did she need to go through an exam? Were you with her the entire time?" - Jim

I'll get the easy bit out of the way first: of course she had to get an exam, and of course I wasn't with her the entire time. She'd had them before. She's not a child, and I don't need to hold her hand, not to mention the fact that it would be a bit weird. Plus, as we'll see below, I am no more interested in undergoing someone else's medical experiences than I am my own, and I figure, why borrow trouble? So I waited in the waiting room with my mom.

First thing's first: I'm not a fan of doctors. Not as people, but as a thing I have to deal with. Medicine and I have a rocky history, and not because of any one thing in particular, just because I always get into medical situations where the cure is worse than the disease, plus I'm terrible at describing symptoms, and just a bunch of stuff, little by little, that makes me really dislike going to the doctor. I don't go, often enough, even when I probably should. But I've become expert at ignoring things. I know, not good. I don't like medical attention.

I've never had a nurse fetish (or a doctor fetish), although I'm okay with watching silly porn featuring either or both. It's not real, and I'm not in the doctor's office. I don't like medical dramas or reality shows. And I hate needles, and for a while it seemed like every damn time I went into a doctor's office, they'd be sticking me with needles.

Anyway, I do have fairly regular checkups, because I may be stubborn but I'm not stupid. Pretty much since I became sexually active, I've had the usual song and dance, which might have been a little odd, given my age, but seemed wisest. For the longest time, I was petrified of going to the doctor, so I was too nervous and scared to think about sexuality at that time. And most women, I think, will agree with me when I say that there's really very little that's sexy about gynecology. Sure, maybe there are fetishists who get off on it, but I don't.

However, there was this one time, when I was away from home for an extended period, and for one reason or another I had to go to a doctor who wasn't my regular doctor to get an exam. I don't remember why, exactly, because the whole experience was so ridiculous that minor details like that have been suppressed. Maybe it was time for a checkup. I honestly don't remember.

I almost put it off, I remember that (largely because later on, my brain had a lot of fun telling me how much better it would have been if I'd just listened to my procrastinatory side and put it off, like the stupid bitch that my brain sometimes is). But in the end, I went. The doctor was this middle-aged woman, not unattractive if you're into that sort of thing, but who sort of reminded me of some women who had been in positions of authority over me at various times, women who were obviously completely in control. What can I say, I was in a bad mental state anyway, and it just made it worse.

Usually, the speculum is ice-cold, but for whatever reason, this one wasn't, and I think that's when the problem started. She did it differently than my regular doctor (my brain also likes to point out that she was doing it maliciously to turn me on, but I don't listen to my psycho brain if I can help it). And lo and behold, I suddenly got incredibly turned on in spite of myself. It's only happened to me a handful of times; I'll be in a situation which is either totally wrong or would ordinarily turn me off completely, and for whatever reason I'll get sopping wet and want to grind on anything that'll stand still for five seconds.

I tried very hard not to do anything like that, but I think she could tell that something was up. When she pulled it out after, I came. I have enough orgasmic experience that I can cum quietly, but I wasn't fooling anybody. I was beet red, the most I think I've ever blushed (or if not, then tied for first) and my eyes were a little glassy.

And then she turned to me and said, "Don't worry about it; it happens to me every time."

Bam. On with the routine. And if anything, that made it worse. If she'd given me a stinkeye, I could have put up my defensive barriers and ridden out the storm. Maybe being pissed off at her would have helped me keep it down. But no. She had to be understanding. Plus, it happens to her every time? Christ.

Needless to say, I could never go back there. I averted my eyes for the remainder of the visit, didn't say anything much, collected my paperwork and got the fuck out of Dodge. And ever since, that memory has made it even more fun to go to the doctor. So no, I wasn't in any great hurry to watch Sveta. Not that I don't love every inch of her warm pink form, but even if I'd been allowed for whatever reason, I wouldn't have, because it might have turned me off of her so bad it could have ruined the weekend.

So I count my blessings that I have never again had a female doctor with a warm speculum. It's still a very weird memory, not entirely pleasant, which is probably why I didn't bring it up before. Actually, on perusal, I did briefly bring it up before in another context, but this is the first time I've actually told the story. I hope. 400 posts makes a gal forgetful. This is the longest-running thing on the Internet I've ever done.

Keep them questions coming. No question too small or too large. Okay, that's a lie, but you never know until you ask. There aren't many things I won't talk about, even if they're somewhat unpleasant memories.

Couples

I love group sex. I particularly love it in porn, especially when they swap partners or there's a big mass of fucking going on. Not that I don't enjoy simpler things, threesomes and the like (after all, I love DP, so three is a good number).

But sometimes, two is best. You do lose a certain amount of connection between partners if there are more than two of you. So today, we're going to have a few videos of couples because you get a sense of the electricity that is only there when two people are fucking.

First, we have: Tight Girlfriend Fingered and Buttfucked. The name pretty accurately describes the sweetmeat in this case (10 points if you get that reference). Plenty of foreplay, plenty of sex, the girl is indeed tight, and the guy is good looking without being super macho. Plus, anal. I wish it ended with a creampie, because that really cements the couple dynamic for me in porn, but still, a good video.

Second: Girlfriend Turning On. She certainly is. She's adorable, so tasty-looking. And she's reactive too, nice moans and faces. Plus, once again, anal, only this time you get to see him press his hard cock into her tight little ass, nothing finer. Again, no creampie, but the video is worth it for the girl alone.

And lastly, speaking of adorable: Young Girl Fingered, Sucks, and Gets Fucked. Her face is so adorable it's not even funny. Fairly straightforward video, and I know both the people involved are porn stars, but still, a-freaking-dorable, and it's a couple, and thus fits my theme for today.

Three for one today. Pick which one you like best, or like them all, or hate them all and wish I would share gay porn (feel free to offer suggestions). Or watch German Post-Modernist films. Whatever makes you happy.

Mission Accomplished

For the longest time, I never saw his eyes while he fucked my ass. I won't say it was a choice, necessarily; we were too young to know any better, and the only anal we ever saw was doggie style, plus it just seemed the most convenient. It wouldn't seem like the small vertical shift to go from one hole to the other would make that much difference, but it really did.

And since I love anal, and so does he, that means I never get to look him in the face. All our kisses have to be awkward, turned around like he's pulling my head back, like he's reigning in a horse. It's not tender. I've lost something with him.

It's after school, a lazy autumn afternoon, the light slowly dying through the window of the living room, and he's had a snack and we're sitting, me in my undies and a robe, him still in school clothes, and I know that it's only a matter of time before he puts the plate aside and pulls out his cock. I'm aching for it. My thighs get a particular tightness, like they're struggling not to open. I find my hand always moving back to my belly, not quite in control, like any minute it's going to move lower, and damn Mike, damn men in general, I'm just going to play with myself. If he doesn't get going, it's going to happen. I'm too proud to jump him, even though my ass aches too, aches for the fullness, the sweet need to accept and reject at the same time.

"You ready, sis?" He doesn't always ask. Sometimes he sweeps me up, without asking, taking me because he knows I'm ready, always. I can see in his eyes that he senses something, he's unsure. Maybe I'm not ready. I think for a moment to myself, wondering, doubting. Maybe I don't want it today.

"Can we try it face to face today?" I finally ask, sorting out my internal monologue. If I were trying to get him to do something he didn't want to do, or at least was pretending not to want to do, I might pout a little. I'm a girl, I'm allowed. But this isn't an odd request. I just want to get to see his face for once.

I think back. Surely we've made love face to face recently. But no, all I can remember is anal, nothing but anal. Not that I don't love it, particularly when he switches half way through, pressing lower into my dripping pussy, cleanliness be damned. But it's always from behind.

"Okay," he says, and pulls off his pants. No need for oral, not the first time. I'll get him up again in a bit, maybe try for two. Neither of us has much to do that evening. His cock curves up a little, rock hard, and it wiggles as he stands to take the rest of his clothes off. I just want to watch him; the young muscles, not muscular but fit, certainly, tighten and loosen as he moves. His ass has these two cute dimples in the sides, on the hip, which only show when he's bending over. I don't spend much time looking at his ass though; his cock, then his face, entrance me.

He grins and tilts his head slightly. I'm still dressed. What's wrong with me? Too wrapped up in watching him and thinking. The robe is tossed aside, I shuck my panties first and then reach back to undo the strap of my bra. I'm still not that good at it. Haven't mastered the skill yet. And it doesn't help that my mind is entirely elsewhere, next to him.

Somehow, the bra comes off, and we've come together, kissing, my arms around his chest under his, his hands reaching down. I can feel the tip of his cock pulsing slightly as it presses into my abdomen. There's already wetness there, to match the wetness that has been building in me, the warmth.

Even though he's younger, I let him lay me back on the floor. We could go downstairs or up, but what the hell, it's nice right here. The carpet isn't as soft, but it's fine on my back. I don't have to get on my knees right now, and when I do, we can always move elsewhere. I feel the pile on my back and my ass as he gets to his knees between mine. Then I'm surprised as he lifts my legs.

"What the hell are you doing, goof?" I ask him, giggling as he raises my legs up more.

"Trust me." And I do. Never mind that I know more about sex than he does, that I've been doing it longer, than really, I should be guiding him. He's my guy right now. I'm going to trust him.

I expect him to aim for penetration, but he starts spitting on his fingers, and I know now that he's aiming for anal. This is new. The passage suddenly feels tight, crooked, something which will make it uncomfortable, unpleasant. I want to stop him, to tell him that it's okay, he can flip me over if he wants. I want to beg him to at least use lube if he's going to be strange. But when his fingers gently touch my asshole, then start probing it, the warm wetness that he gathers from his spit and my pussy relax me. I'm going to trust him.

I'm not very flexible, and having my legs up like this for long periods isn't comfortable. It's pressing my lungs up, making it more difficult to draw a complete breath. My knees are on his shoulders now, and he's moving closer, and I'm going to trust him damn it. I'm going to.

There's always a moment of hesitation, right as his cock is about to press through the first, tightest barrier. There's always a moment where my body says, "Hey chick, that's an exit, not an entrance." If it kept up like that, I couldn't stand it, but it lasts a moment. And that moment is simultaneously the best and worst thing. This time, the moment lasts almost too long. I was right. His cock shouldn't go in like that. Not enough lube. Too crooked. Too tight. Too something.

And then I release a tension I didn't even know I had as the head pops in and he's inside me again, and it's like always. Maybe not the best way to get fucked in the ass, but now I can see my guy's face, see the reaction as he loves the tightness. And he can see me, see that instant of doubt, see how the doubt is resolved into wonderful acceptance.

Tomorrow, we're going back to doggie style. My back can't take this shit.

[Editor's Note: for those of you who are screaming, "Put a pillow under your ass, silly!" trust me, I know now.]

Thanks Guys!

Just a quickie to say that I love you all, and I'm sorry that I got a bit shirty the other day. I hurt 'cause I love. Kidding. I hurt 'cause I'm a jackass. But thanks for cheering me up.

I really do love hearing from people, but if you're the silent (or, in Pash's case, the non-commenting-although-cumming-loudly) majority, that's okay too. But you can comment. I really don't bite. And I try to make people happy. But if you're happy being a lurker, feel free to lurk. I hope you enjoy it however you enjoy it.

I've Got To Be Better About This

What with my 400th post coming up and all, and all I do is stupid shit like porn links or answering idiot questions, I must try harder.

The problem is that recently I've had limited computer time for various reasons, and when I get on, all I really want to do is get off, then get off. The connection speed is terrible, and some of my favorite sites are down, and blah blah blah and I wind up finding a likely suspect on a video site and hitting my joy buzzer until I feel reasonably satisfied. Reasonably.

Life is not so wonderful Chez Lexi that I'm feeling particularly satisfied any other way. There's been general ill-feeling all around recently. I blame the season, plus the economy, plus various other things. Plus Sveta hasn't been able to visit at all, damn it. Now I know she's got better things to do, and I support that completely, but I do miss the hell out of her. She knows that too.

I'm still hoping she'll email me or call me all excited and say she's finally gone and gotten herself a boy toy, but as yet, she's having to make do with orgasms in the shower. She bit her lip once, really hard, trying to keep from making too much noise because someone came in to use the toilet while she was in the shower. I said she should have just let it rip and seen where that took her, but both of us know that I was just joking, because chances are good I wouldn't have done it either, and I'm way more likely to do something stupid like that.

I've never been a huge fan of random sex scenes with absolutely no context. For one thing, I have no handle, so I find it hard to care about the characters involved. It's just another sex scene. But at the same time, I'm thinking of trying some more stuff like I wrote last week, just snatches of text, which have context because they'll be about people you already know. Not even complete scenes, just flashes, sensations, that sort of thing. Hopefully it'll keep me from being too clinical about sex, which I occasionally find myself being despite my best efforts. When it comes to writing fiction, I'm fine, but writing about things which are actually happening, that makes me more clinical.

Plus, there's 400 coming up, and I have no fucking idea what to do to top myself. It can't be pictures because I don't have any and won't have any way to take them forever. I can't think of any stories I haven't told that would suit the moment. I can't get people to ask questions or make suggestions. Maybe I'm just talking to the wall.

I suppose I could get someone else to write something. Maybe that's it. Maybe a guest host for 400. Or maybe not. I'll probably waffle about this a lot, and then I'll forget that 400 is the next post and post something stupid or banal, and then I'll feel stupid and banal when I realize. Meh, what are you going to do?

So this is an appeal to all the silent people out there. Feel free to suggest, or ask questions, or just plain say, "Hey!" I really, really don't bite. I'm not looking for ego gratification, I'm just curious. Okay, maybe just a little ego gratification.

It's the slow time of year. Things will pick up eventually. I hope.

TMI Would I Rather...

I'm going to over-think these, because that's the only way I can have fun with them. You foolish non-question-askers leave me no choice. Plus it's not much of a meme, but it's a meme anyway. As always, TMI provides the meme-itude. Although I've edited for copy because I'm anal. Yes, that way too.

Would you rather...

1. Have a relaxing vacation or an adventurous trip?

Oh my God, give me relaxing vacation. I am so going on one as soon as I make enough money. Sveta and I, some secluded place, just nothing to care about in the world besides us and a beach or a quiet town or something. We don't even need to pick up other people. We never need to leave the room. Just a retreat. Yes, I'm old and boring. But don't worry, because I also want to take her on an adventurous trip, since I think she'd like that. But I need to decompress a little, and I don't know if that will ever get to happen.

2. Get a perfect night's sleep or have amazing sex?

Sex. One night, I'd take sex. If the question was, "Would you rather get a perfect night's sleep for the rest of your life or have amazing sex every night for the rest of your life?" I'd be more torn. I haven't slept well in so long, I'd like to sleep well because I think I could then have amazing sex in the morning or afternoon. But still, I might go with sex. I know how good sex makes me feel. I have no idea how a perfect night's sleep would make me feel. Maybe I'd go all psycho if I actually got good sleep.

3. Be intimate with the lights on or off?

Depends. This is not a "looks" thing, this is a "how touchy-feely is Lexi feeling" thing. If I want to spend a lot of time experiencing with my other senses, I'll turn the lights off. Or if I have a headache. Or if my prospective partner is unbearably ugly. Just kidding. I think I tend to go for lights off in bed, but lights on pretty much all the rest of the time, including sometimes in bed. And sometimes one fucks during the day, when the lights aren't really needed, so I guess that counts as lights on too. And no one can watch with the lights out. I guess I go for lights on more frequently.

4. Have your sig-O be a terrible kisser who could always make you orgasm or an amazing kisser who could never make you orgasm?

That's like saying, "Would you rather fuck someone with bad breath or an STD?" I love kissing, don't get me wrong. And kissing is very important. But a bad kisser would have to be worse than any kisser ever to be so bad that it would compare with not being able to make me cum. It's like comparing a bad day with the Black Plague. Different leagues. That, at any rate, is my humble opinion. I know others disagree, and I don't want to launch a holy war about it. I just can live with some substandard kissing, but not without cumming.

5. Date someone much younger or much older than you?

This isn't fair, because until recently I would have automatically said, "Oh, older, that doesn't bother me much." But now, I'd rather be dating Sveta, who is younger enough that I think she fits this category. God, it makes me feel so old. Lucky, but old.

Bonus (as in optional): Which reality show would you be good at? Why?

The reality show where I get to blow up other reality shows. If Mythbusters counts as a reality show, I'd like to do that (and while I don't have some of the skill sets they do, I do have some very applicable skill sets). Other than that, reality TV can cram it with walnuts.

Another Comic You Should Read

Remember when I recommended Girls With Slingshots? If you do and you haven't taken my recommendation, why not? It's great. Read it.

But here's another one you should read. It's called Chester 5000 XYV and it's the sweet and romantic story of a robot in love. Not to mention that it's drawn in the style of the 1890s.

And did I mention that it was decidedly not work safe? As in hardcore? Because I probably should have at the outset. Sexy. Very sexy.

But a beautiful story, very nice artwork, and you can read all of the archives in a fairly short space, so give it a try. Plus, sex. Robot sex. But that's not all. Check it out. It's tasty.