discovery

"Well, look what I found."

It's not a terribly dignified position, perched on the very edge of my bed with my legs spread. The Boy was kneeling between them; he had been edging me ever closer to orgasm with his tongue and fingers prior to the point of his admission. The tone of his voice was either smug or proud, perhaps both. I was too much heat and urgency to properly decipher what was going on. I shoved myself up on my elbows and struggled to peer down on myself, soon realizing what he was talking about.

Under any ordinary circumstance, even in its most aroused state, my clit is fairly hidden. You don't see much of it unless you manually lift my hood in such a manner as to reveal it all, something I've done on many occasion as a means of self-exploration. This was precisely what the Boy had done, either a happy accident or as his own means of exploring his girlfriend. I emitted some sort of nervous noise at that point. I tend to be sensitive, and wasn't sure how I'd react to any sort of direct stimuli. Self-exploration or not, direct clitoral stimulation wasn't something I'd ever attempted.

He lowered himself again, finger still perched precariously on my hood. I was fairly certain I could see a smirk on his face as he paused, hovering for a moment. A moment long enough that my breath caught in my throat, my tension evident. Finally, he lowered, his tongue sweeping slowly and gently along the tiny and delicate thing.

The noise that followed, from my own throat, was the sort of moan one releases when pleasantly surprised. 'Pleasant surprise' is the entirely wrong term for how I felt at that moment; something very intense was happening, something gorgeous. Something I didn't want to ever end. He continued at a sluggish pace, as gentle as he's ever been with me, and it seemed to entirely contrast with what I was feeling. I fell back against the bed, back arching, crying out, rising towards something I so desperately wanted, and he was barely applying any force. He was doing something so simple, yet it was so much.

I screamed for the first time that day. I came, hard. Then, with my own fingertips moving over my clit and the Boy's cock being hungrily worked on with my tongue and mouth, I came again.

i missed you, blog

I've spent far too much time with this blog in a sort of hiatus. I have my excuses, none of them particularly noteworthy. It was the holiday season and my boyfriend came to live with me for two weeks; as a result I had more sex than I have had in my entire existence. The best sex I have ever had, as well.

I also haven't had much time at all to do any writing.

But, I now have a literal plethora of sexy stories to be told. Raunchy, dirty discussions to be had. And maybe a few insightful things as well.

Let's get this show back on the road, shall we?

"you and your sex blogs."

It does seem, as of late, that a pattern has emerged. Where once I spent hours situated with my laptop, watching movies or the few television shows I keep myself caught up on, I have recently uncovered a new hobby in which to partake. It's something even The Boy has noticed, as he recently remarked in an instant message, "you and your sex blogs." Which seems terribly cryptic taken out of context, but the context is this: I spend a large majority of my day reading sex blogs.

This is not to say I have entirely given up on watching movies or television, but it is to say that I spend a great deal less time with such things. Perhaps it's an attempt to broaden my too-narrow range of things to do other than spend hours roaming the job bank hoping something worthwhile would pop up or talk to my long-distance boyfriend on MSN.

I have always had a massive hard-on for erotica. I cannot describe how it is that text has always affected my libido more severely than the more visual aspects of pornography; it simply has. Even when I masturbate and my mind wanders, I am not viewing just a movie or just snapshots of sexual activity. There are words associated, a running narrative that collects and gathers itself, filling me with something incredibly penetrating and satisfying.

Sex blogs are an extension of my love for erotica, I think. At least, that would be how I rationalize my present addiction. When you locate a particular blogger whose writing style you adore, you are almost always guaranteed a good time. Searching through Literotica or Nifty.org, you don't always find what you're looking for in order to get off. Although, I must confess, I can be something of a snob when it comes to these things.

At times I wonder if I am, too, something of a voyeur, even though I like to think that I don't necessarily take everything I read at face value. This particular blog certainly taps into my exhibitionism -- or, at the very least, it will once I finally get around to writing smut.

mathematical equations you can't solve

I've always believed that where you come from should hold a certain modicum of importance in one's mind. Though delving into too much self-analysis and reminiscence can be harmful to a person's ability to properly subsist, it is nevertheless a good trait to every so often consider where it is you or aspects of you originated. We are all victims of our surroundings, victims of those who are around us, in that we are constantly being chipped away at. Like some sentient statue, we are ever being moulded and shaped into something wrought by influence.

Similarly, I have always had interest in getting to the root of things. Though I absolutely despise the subject of mathematics, numbers having never been a strong point, some measure of enjoyment has always been taken out of algebra. Calculating the precise nature of the X or Y was always one of the more enthralling aspects of any math course, and I always felt an immediate sense of accomplishment when the realization hit that I'd not only figured out the meaning of the letter in question but had also gotten it correct.

As it is, I can tell you that I get my passive aggressive nature from my mother and my quick temper is from my sociopath of a father. My figure, such as it is, is also a gift from my mother's side of the family, though my fat cells are more likely my father's. My spiteful nature and stubbornness are learned from my younger sister, as is my stiff reluctance to let anyone see me cry.

To say I am both enamored with and captivated by kinky sex would be a grave understatement. I adore it. I adore both endless hours spent on the internet researching kink and fetish, reading sexuality advice columns and stalking naughty blogs, as well as engaging in sexual activity that is, though not to grandiose amounts, quite distanced from any definition of normal. As far as specific kinks are concerned, I have far too many to discuss in one paragraph, though power and control are certainly at the forefront.

But where does it all come from? I don't have a traumatic sexual history. No one in my immediate family ever abused me. I didn't have a boyfriend until I was eighteen, and I lost my virginity quite late by this society's standards. I have, as far as I know, always been like this.

It all seems like some cosmic mystery, some mathematical equation of which I cannot solve. And I can't help but feel that the answer is something easily found, something I'm just overlooking ...

Maybe I'll come back to this later.