Three Times It Shouldn’t Have Worked – but it did

There’s been a lot of ways people (and we’ll stick with people because it’s boys and girls) have gotten into my pants, some legitimate, worthy and deserved and some, not. But of all of them there’s been some very cheeky ones that deserve a mention.

The guy who scaled the back wall and got in to my bedroom 3 floors up. If this sounds a bit threatening, it’s not. I knew him and I had slept with him before, I enjoyed him immensely. He knew well how to capitalise on this. I had left the club that night because I didn’t want to succumb to his charms. But when someone breaks into your house (admittedly not actually locked) and tells you they need your mouth around their cock? Call me what you like but I found that flattering and was not about to see that much effort go without reward.
I loved his cock. I loved sucking it for hours. I loved the subtle noise he made and the way he looked at me like he was going to devour me. Which was ironic really, given that our time together usually consisted of me eating him? He was the first guy who made a really big deal about how much he loved it, I was pretty sure I was good, I’d put in a lot of work, but the way this guy seemed to crave it, desire it? It was a new level. He told me that if I ever needed to be reminded that I could just call and say so, he’d know exactly what I meant and would reassure me.
Twice I’ve made that call.
And twice he was true to his word.
We won’t get into either of the farces that led to me needing to hear him say it.

The giant Viking of a guy who followed me to the loo at a party any time I went. It was very clever, the forced intimacy broke down my barriers. We weren’t even chatting he just managed to talk me into letting him in every time and promised he wouldn’t look. I didn’t let him the first time but he wore me down with gentle persuasion. I was there at the party with another boy, so I had no interest in this guy which led me to let my guard down, what did I care if he came to the loo with me, I wasn’t trying to impress him. But he was playing the longer game. They guy I was with was only ever going to be for that night and that night only – he was a tourist. But the Viking… he was interested in more and didn’t give a shite if that guy got me for one night, he wanted more and he lived in Dublin. And when we all went for recovery drinks the next night, he was straight over wanting details of how I got on with the tourist. I was happy to regale him still not copping on that this was all part of the wooing. I gleefully told him I’d had the arse ridden off me and was delighted with myself. He raised it, and countered that if I’d actually had the arse ridden off me then how I was sitting down so comfortably. Then added what it was that he would have done so that I really wouldn’t be able to sit down. (as if he already knew what I liked)
For everything I added to what he ‘could’ have done to me, for me to use the term correctly, he upped it. Until the language changed and he was promising to do this to me, should he ever get the chance? And at some point I reached saturation point of all the delicious, hard, forceful things he could hypothetically do to me and I actually wanted him to do them. He had worked on me for less than 24hs and there he was, in my knickers. It had gone from me having zero sexual interest in him to me unable to think straight, I wanted him so much.
(we actually ended up going out for a while)

I think the very cheekiest though was a young fella who tricked me. Yup. Tricked me. And in a way I absolutely do not want to encourage. I’m not telling you this story so that it can be imitated, it’s hardly likely to work again, but also it really could have gone quite badly, it’s awful actually – but I really feel like it’s a great story so I’m going to trust you guys and tell you anyway.
(If the first story upset you then this is when you should stop reading)
At some point over the last few years (let’s be vague on some of the details at least) I was advertising for a new housemate. I mentioned it on Facebook, but not my actual address. But from the way I talked about things a guy I didn’t really know, but who I chatted to every now and then and was highly entertained by, figured out where it was. It wasn’t rocket science, I talk about the same areas of Dublin and with even a tiny iota of determination you could find (from the top 2 accommodation sites) what might be my place. So, even though I have a fake name on Facebook*, I hadn’t given the address or anything if you had a bit of time you could figure out which ad was mine. Which he did.
But I knew his name, so he couldn’t just email me pretending to be interested in the room. So he set up a fake email address and contacted me pretending to be interested, and making himself seem like a prime candidate for perfect roommate. So of course I responded, asked a few more questions, started thinking this was a funny, cool guy that I think I would be very happy to show the room to.
Just to rewind a little bit, I have no idea how I was friends with this guy on Facebook, I know it wasn’t through anyone I knew, or at least wasn’t anyone I could remember, and he was a bit younger than me. But Facebook is like that you have loads of people in your book that you can’t remember collecting. Probably more pertinent to this story though is the fact that we flirted outrageously with each other. All the time. Ok not actually all the time, but when we did comment on each other’s stuff, it quickly got to flirty. His comments would have me peeing myself laughing. I found him the charming side of cheeky and I was sure there was some real smarts going on, the jokes weren’t obvious or trite, not everyone got them.
So, our email correspondence re the room to rent culminated in me deeming him worthy of an interview so I gave him a time slot of when to come round and …. my number in case he got lost. Poor naïve little me.

On the night that he was to view the room I had 3 other viewings – I was wrecked by the time he got there. I opened the door, welcomed him in and then – then I realised that I thought he looked familiar. He didn’t deny it, but he pulled out a bottle of wine and said you can throw me out or we could drink this and have a laugh about it. I cracked up laughing. It seemed hilarious and god damn did I want a glass of wine. This housemate search had been arduous. We drank the wine, we drank a second bottle of wine and I was being very entertained but there was nothing else happening. If he had other intentions he wasn’t being direct about it. UNTIL he asked if I wanted to see his penis. Once again, at this point I should remind people that this is not a tactic that I recommend and not a move I think will go down well and that’s not even counting the mild stalking. But I generally like being offered a look at someone’s cock – I like it even more if I think they plan on letting me touch it.
I should probably admit too that I’d seen it before. He was circumcised and had Snapchat-ed me a pic of it. Even so, this announcement was a jump in direction. I declined, I wasn’t sure whether any of this was a good idea. I wasn’t sure if I should be rewarding this kind of behaviour by making it successful. He asked was I sure I didn’t want to… and I hate to turn down seeing a penis from someone I might be attracted to, but we’d had a lot of wine. His next move was to say ‘Well, I think we should at least kiss’. And that was the end of my resolve. He was a phenomenal kisser and there was real electricity when we kissed. And so he was most definitely getting it.
I can’t tell you what happened after that because I don’t remember blow by blow. But I know we were both happy with it as it wasn’t the only time it happened.

If anyone wants to top that for outright cheekiness, please go ahead. Fortune favours the bold, or maybe Abbi just does?

*now completely defunct so feel free to waste your time looking for it

Things You Can Call Me and Things You Categorically Can’t

As with all of this, this being good sex that I enjoy and the other person does too, it’s all about context and understanding. Bitch, whore, harlot, tramp, filthy, dirty, girl, good girl, promiscuous in the right context you can call me all these words. In the wrong context you can use all these words, it’s just semantics.

I love semantics.
Call me a whore in the street and I might laugh or shrug fully bemused. Call me that in front of my parents and I might be annoyed. Call me that in the bedroom, in the right way. I’ll get wet.
For full effect I suggest pairing it with the word ‘your’ and telling me that you’ll do as you please. In fact, if you’re very lucky I’m likely to tell you myself that I’m your whore and that you can in fact get me to do as you please.
Again with bitch, say it at work and I won’t bat an eyelid, say it in front of my parents and neither will they. Say it when I’m being constructively helpful and I might get upset with you.
Calmly and confidently say ‘Get on your knees bitch and take this in your mouth’ and I will drop so fast I might kneecap myself. Grab me from behind and pull my hips to you, press me against your cock, then gently get a handful of my hair and pull my head back to whisper ‘Can you feel it? You’re gonna take this like the good little bitch that you are’…. Guaranteed to get you the response that you want, whatever that may be.

Filthy, dirty, tramp. These seem easy but they’re not. I am filthy and I am dirty – but compared to what? I might be the tamest thing you’ve ever come across, by your standards. I might be the most wanton creature ever, to you. But if you want to talk about me as being filthy or dirty then you better mean it as a compliment. Because I love to hear it. A lot of guys I know (none of whom know I write this) are more than happy to regale the group with stories of girls they’ve been with and how dirty they are; the girls that is. And a lot of the time I can’t shake the feeling that they are judging the girls for wanting and being willing to just do what the guy himself wants. It’s unacceptable to describe a girl as a slut or a whore when re-telling a tale but you can most certainly get away with saying ‘She was absolute dirt’ – and I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve heard that. And always, I get the sense that it’s not complimentary? Even though the guy is openly telling us how much he loved it. As if there’s something wrong with the girl for liking it but nothing wrong with the guy for wanting it? It’s as if he’s negating his own embarrassment at what he did by transferring it all on to a label for the girl. That’s just a theory for it, I could be way off. I’ve pressed the guys, gently trying to see what it is they mean, but they always insist that they don’t mean anything derogatory by it, that it’s all a joke; of course they respect the girl and are not judging her. Yet these never seem to be the girls they go out with so I don’t feel this rings true, I can’t shake the idea that when they say ‘dirty’ they don’t mean it the way I want. It feels like code for slut shaming. I know when it’s said right, I know when someone says ‘you’re a filthy little bitch and I’m gonna ride the arse off you’ the right way, because it feels better than ‘I love you’. Or at least the same.
When I describe a guy as filthy, it’s usually followed by the words ‘and I’m fucking loving it’. I’ve said it a few times, where I’ve genuinely meant it and uttered the words with glee and well, pride at having found it.
So sadly when some of my male acquaintances say dirty, or call me filthy, I don’t love it. But mostly when someone else does, I really fucking do.

Girl. Good Girl. Where to begin with this. So fraught so laden. I have always hated anyone saying ‘good girl’ to me. It has always felt patronising and condescending and as if the person saying it was superior. I’d say from about the age of 8 I have railed against it, getting more and more indignant at its usage, as I got older, it got more insulting, especially if it was said at work. Can you imagine anything worse? Until it’s said by someone who is telling me to do something to their cock. Someone who has teased me and made me do things, possibly until I begged for it, had the complete upper hand until they’ve finally given me their cock and started to enjoy my mouth working on it…. and then said ‘Uuhh good girl, that’s it, take it’. I love this because I hate it. Do you know what I mean? I love that it demonstrates more control over me yet at the same time lets me know that he’s enjoying it. It’s everything I would hate in a non-sexual context but is exactly what I want at that moment.
There’s only been one who’s said it and I never told him I liked it. Some things, delicate nuances like this, you can’t express a preference for in case they stop doing it naturally and overdo it or never do it again. It’s one of those things that has to be executed with confidence and ease, unforced, unaffected. If we were in the middle of sex and it was said for no reason I think I might laugh. Context is everything.

Slut. Hmmmmmm There’s not many words I don’t use but I think this might be one of them. I could of course be turned. I read it on other people’s blogs and genuinely get turned on by it. I’m sure if the guy who calls me ‘Good Girl’ said it, it would make my knickers slick or if he pulled my hair and said it in my ear as he fucked me from behind ‘You’re such a little slut for me, take my cock you little slut, take it and tell me how much you love it. Beg me for more of it’ Yep, I can certainly imagine that being more than effective. I suppose what I mean is I don’t ever use it in any context at all so haven’t used it in a sexual one. But! I hear you say, how can it be used in anything but a sexual context? Well, I would never call a girl a slut. I have heard it used against women too many times, I have shamefully spent too much of my life being either worried or angry that I could be called it. It hasn’t crossed the barrier for me completely yet. I will always bristle if someone says it in my company. Most times I’ll have to say something too, can’t leave it alone. Because a lot of the time it can be women castigating other women with words that we should be revelling in. If I hear someone call someone a slut I have to ask why, and what is meant by it. If there are any girls reading I would urge you to ask yourself: Is that what a girl calls another girl? Do you want to use that as a term of abuse? I suspect you don’t.

What you can’t call me though is the Problem or the Other woman or the Temptress, the Blamed. I am not responsible for your desires or your actions. It is not up to me to keep you faithful if you have a partner. You don’t get to blame me or point the finger. Unless I break into your house and crawl into your bed you can’t ever lay any of that at my door. And for the record, I don’t plan on breaking into anyone’s house and crawling into their bad to tempt them into fucking me (unless of course I’m asked).
I will sleep with whom I please. But I won’t help anyone cheat. Or maybe I will, I’m not an angel. I might not like it but I might not refuse it. It’s happened in the past. But I won’t be taking responsibility for that. That is up to you.

So call me what you like, it probably won’t offend me or upset or if it bothers me at all it won’t be for long.

Whore. Harlot. Slut. Dirty. Filthy. Bitch.

I am all and none of the words above at any given time.
But what I will never be is ashamed. I wish I’d figured it out sooner.

Can The Cop Be Topped – more adventures with anal

I’ve seen him 5 times. Just 5 and I think I’ve done something new every one of those times. I love that. not just because it’s new and it broadens my horizons but because I love knowing that I always have more to learn, discover and enjoy. I haven’t seen it all or done it all and I never will not until the day I die.

But I’m talking about a Monday night. Well, a Monday afternoon and a night. He drives to Dublin to spend a few hours with me and then gets up at 4:45am to drive back to start a full shift of work, securing the peace. Obviously.
His response when I said I couldn’t get to him? ‘Fuck it, I’m driving up, you’re worth it, I want it, I have to see you’.
No one needs me to tell them how flattering this is. He’s not being smart or sarcastic because I said I couldn’t make it to him. He just means it. This right here is another reason I am willing to do almost anything for him. In bed.
But this is about a new thing, the two new things that happened with the cop since I wrote this piece on anal (you might have missed it because I didn’t out right call it ‘All Abbi’s Anal Experience, which, on mature reflection, I probably should have)
So the cop is easing me into anal, generally with his mouth or tongue on, in or around my ass, a baby finger in it when he’s got 3 fingers in my pussy and his mouth sucking on my clit and my new favourite; two fingers in my ass when he’s fucking me, rubbing the head of his cock through my skin. I’m not sure why this sends me insane, it just does.

So it’s Sunday, I know he’s coming to see me the next day and I am busy writing Abbi stories all day. It’s also been almost three weeks since I’ve seen him or had any action. The writing is not alleviating any pent up desires I have. I give myself a time cut-off point to stop writing (I’d be disciplined like that), and when It’s reached I’m going to relieve myself. But not like I normally do, I’m very, very turned on and very wet – the writing was very hot on this particular Sunday. I know I’m primed so I think it might be time to see if I can get the small black dildo into my ass, while I’m working my clit with the vibrator (usually turned off – I don’t like the sensation with it turned on). I get them both out and the lube. I rub the small dildo off my lips first and get it wet, then I sink it in – it feels so fucking good, I’m surprised and I almost don’t want to stop. I take it out and realise that as wet as I’ve made it, it still won’t go in my ass. So I rub the lube on it, and reach around to my ass. It feels nice but it’s still not going in. My cunt is begging for something to touch it so I grab the vibrator, which is way bigger and rub that against my clit, again thinking it’ll only be for a second, but it’s not only a second, my pussy almost sucks it up I can’t help it, I push it in and work it in and out, going deeper. I have lube on both my hands so I reach around and work a finger into my ass; it slips in so easily, I love it. I’ve actually never done this to myself before, I cannot fathom why.
I still have the vibrator in my pussy and now I have two fingers in my ass. It feels sensational, I get the vibrator in deeper, I can rub it through my skin with the fingers in my ass. The vibrator model is a rabbit (it has an actual rabbit shape on it which is to massage the clit as the main part is deep in you), which I’ve forgotten about because I’m not looking at what I’m doing, as I push it deeper into me, the little rabbit at the front reaches my clit. Christ, just with me working it with my hand it feels great. But I want more, I want the dildo in my ass, I want to feel it. So I slide my fingers out and re-lube the dildo. I start to work it at my ass, more determined this time. It hurts, I go slower, it still hurts, but I know it’s lubed and so am I so I just take my time and keep going.
I have the vibrator pulled half way out of my cunt, so I can ease the dildo into my ass. They both feel so good. I’m so wet, so lubed and so close to ecstasy. I’m so involved with everything that I almost don’t notice that I have the dildo fully in. I’m slipping on both sides, I can’t keep them both in. (This is why you need someone to help.) The dildo fills my ass and I can’t get my head around how good it feels, I want to hold it there and I also want to move it in and out. And ditto with the vibrator.
But I can’t do both so I opt for leaning against the door (I’m in the bathroom) holding the dildo in there as I work the vibrator into me with the little rabbit head going at my clit.
I have the most spectacular orgasm I’ve ever had using two toys and I am fucking delighted with myself.

I can’t wait for the Cop tomorrow.
I know I want more.

He again takes an hour off the time he was supposed to be here. Jesus. I’m working from home so I’m available for him. What? It’s the least I can do if he’s going to drive for 2.5 hrs to see me.
He tells me to wear something he can rip off me. Then he rings me, asks what I’m wearing and tells me to take if off and put my underwear in my mouth. Then he tells me how he wants me to touch my pussy.
Can you see how good he is? This is on his way to see me, he’s an hour and a half away and he’s getting me ready from the comfort of his car.
Then he hangs up and texts to say continue getting ready and when I open the door, he isn’t going to say a word to me he’s just going to get me on my knees and shove his cock in my mouth.
He knows exactly what I want.

True to his word, he just looks at me, calm as a stalking tiger and walks into my house as I stand back from the door. He closes it behind him and locks it, not taking his eyes off me. He doesn’t say a word.
He stands into me and breathes me in, up my neck and into my hair. He steps back slightly and rips my shirt open. He takes a deep, half moan, breath at my exposed red bra. Then he gently slides a hand up my neck, behind my hair and gently brings me to my knees. Before I can get to his belt, he’s opening it. Oh god I think he might not give it to me? But he does, he lets me have it straight away.

But this isn’t a story of the sex we have there, just inside the door, or just upstairs or later again on the couch. Or the blow jobs where he finally tastes his own come or where I swallow his cock whole, back my throat. (Don’t worry; he’s aware he’s a lucky bastard) This is the story of the last thing we do before we decide to pass out.

It’s late by the time I reveal to him what I got up to the day before, he raises and intrigued and excited eyebrow. Nothing fazes him. He asks me to show him, show him exactly how I made myself come the day before. But that’s not what I want. He reads me and asks, so what is it you do want to do … to have me do to you? I’m not sure why I’m tentative about this but I eventually tell him; I want him to fuck me with his cock while the dildo is in my ass. He wastes no time at all and tells me to get on my knees, facing away from him so he can see, and show him how I started yesterday. I kneel in front of him first, rubbing my pussy with the dildo. He’s got his cock out and it’s rock solid as he watches me. It was rock solid anyway. I slide the dildo out of my wet cunt and rub lube on it. He once again tells me to turn around and lean forward over onto all fours; I do then reach around lube up my ass slipping one finger in. ‘Oh god this is great, you’re great’ he says to me. Slightly out of character, but exactly what I need at that moment. I work another finger in there and he lets out a moan as he watches me ‘Oh fuck yeah, that’s it. Jesus I love this’. Then it’s time for the dildo, again more lube, and I start to work it in slowly. It still hurts, even after I’ve had two fingers in there but I want this, I want it so fucking much. He’s still watching and telling me how much he loves this.
I eventually get it in and I love it, I love the way it feels but I need something at my pussy it’s aching for something in it. He’s kneeling behind me at this stage, with one hand on his cock still, he takes hold of the base of the dildo and moves it in and out of me while I go at my clit. I’m almost blind with how great it feels but I want his cock. He gets me into a better position and he eases his cock into me. I’m now actually blind with ecstasy as he works both my holes with all the control. I am whimpering and sobbing with how much I love this. He’s pounding me with his cock and moving the other one in my ass. I start at my clit and I think I’m going to scream the paint off the walls. I turn my head round to ask if he’s ok, ‘What! This is fucking fantastic, I’m great, I’m loving this. You’re great’.
I relax and I know I’m going to come soon. I bite down and come so hard, I’m making a noise only dogs can hear. He tells me it feels so fucking good, he thinks he could come. I beg him not to, not just yet. And he works me some more, whispers in my ear how fucking amazing I am again just when I want to hear it. I tell him that I came so hard, turns out I was making a noise inaudible to human ears as he missed it. Me telling him I came is too much, that’s the end, he says he can’t hold it anymore and I say that’s ok and beg him to fill my cunt with his come. And he does. I cannot describe the satisfaction. But I know we’re both feeling it. We were in it together.

‘Stay there’ he says. As he eases himself out, he then, slowly, delicately eases the dildo out of me. I love how he does everything.

It’s gone 1am and he has to be up before 5.
I think I was worth it. I hope I was.

*the other new thing was me swallowing his whole cock, actually swallowing it down my throat.

Bi or For the Boys?

I have been asked this a number of times but I was asked by this guy I chat to on Twitter. He was asking questions, I was answering because I always want to engage anyone in the chats about sex. And to his credit he was giving some good info back, so I was very happy to trade.
He was asking if I’d ever been with girls, I said I had. He asked how many, I’m not sure. He asked how far had it gone, I said I’d slept with a few – not with a strap on or fisting, but I’d had my mouth on their holiest of holies or their tongue in mine. I think that classifies as sleeping with? Either way it was more than just a Katy Perry kiss.
So he asked did I think I was Bi – he was genuinely curious and just wanted to know. As someone who had admitted to me that he had dabbled with same sex experiences himself I was happy to entertain the conversation. Maybe he was wondering about himself? I don’t know. I liked chatting to him, I loved his stories. But Twitter DMs are not the best medium for getting the real meat.
And I started to think about my encounters with girls and what I genuinely thought about them, really tried to answer the question that I felt I knew the answer to.

So I counted how many girls I’ve been with. 13 I think, that’s 13 that I can remember kissing and the experience being noteworthy, bankable if you will.
I didn’t sleep with all of them, I think I’ve only slept with three, four on a technicality. And one that I really, really wish I had but a really inopportunistic boy got in the way (I know that’s not a word but it should be, coined just for him, the idiot, he could have seen two hot girls at it)
I really wish it had happened because I liked this girl, we had so much fun together. We worked in the same bar, but she was still a student, we’d never have been in the same circles, we’d never have met. She was a structural engineer and I was arts. She was country and I was city. I swear all her friends disapproved of me. But this night she was just the right side of drunk and knew this was her only chance to kiss a girl. She’d seen me with The Very First Girl, she knew I was open to it. She wouldn’t have done it with any of her other friends, wouldn’t have been able. So she kissed me, that’s right, she kissed me it was great. She tentatively asked what it was like to kiss a girl, I told her it was soft and probably more technically pleasing than most boys, if she ever wanted to know I was happy to oblige, so she stopped being tentative and came and took it. And she was really direct, she said, outright ‘I want to make you come, I think I can, I think I’ll be able and I want to try’ I was also the right side of drunk and I was actually excited at this prospect, I don’t think any boy had said this to me yet. It was a delicious thing to hear. And then… ruined. We were spotted. As she led me towards the bed, and pushed me gently onto it and fell on top of me, the door was a jar, and he walked past. Just as she had shifted my tight dress up a bit over my hips he caught a glimpse and started shouting the odds. Ok, he was my boyfriend. And the manager of the bar. I’ve just never understood what he was so angry about? Anyway, that was the end of that, the spell was broken and the chance never presented itself again.

So what of the ones I have been with? That I did manage to get the knickers off or who managed to get inside mine?
I don’t think this counts but it was a girl that cleverly got inside my pants, now that I think of it! It was very well executed. She was not the type you would ever think had any leanings. She was the girlfriend of one of my boyfriend’s friends. Not a friend he liked or had that much in common with. She was brash and funny and made no apologies for anything, she was tiny and gorgeous but in a glamour model way? Which isn’t my look at all or what I would go for. But she was a ball of energy and fun and she had the tits I STILL wish I had. They turned up. I’m not sure we had anything but our boyfriends in common but I just liked this girl. She was always giving me compliments which I never thought anything of. Like, she used to tell me she loved the way I walked, the way I carried myself. If I went to the loo she would tell me that she had watched me walk off and that I swayed and she loved how my hips were. I just thought she was being nice. I was bigger than her and I loved her tiny perfect figure and was always saying so – I thought she was just reciprocating and struggling to find something to use, so she said this.
So one time we’re out, she’s asking how I am, we’ve had a few and I admit that I’ve just gotten waxed, she asks if it was a good job. Pretty standard enquiry, we’ve all had it go badly. I told her it had been a great job and I was delighted with it, it was a landing strip Brazilian, to be specific. So she tells me she’s just gotten waxed too, but she went for the Hollywood. And she asks if she can see mine? Again, this was very standard practice with us when we were first getting it done. I agreed and we went to the loo. We went into a generous sized cubicle and I leaned against the door and pulled my jeans down then caught my knicks in either thumb, kinda enjoying the reveal, and slid them down too. She was sitting on the toilet almost head height with my smooth cunt. She declares it a nice job and asks can she touch it, I agree, because I am very proud of how lovely it is. But she gets on her knees in front of me and runs a tiny hand over it. Then she looks up and asks can she give it a little kiss? I’m a little surprised I just never thought she would be into girls. Never judge a book eh? Of course I agree so she gives it a little kiss, but then she catches it with her tongue, parts the lips as she pulls her tongue just up to the hood where the clit is and it feels too nice so I, like an eejit, stop and say ‘show me yours’. She lifts her dress and it’s beautifully bare, she asks me to give it a kiss. I do and I want to do more. But I’m really thrown. Her boyfriend kinda scares me and mine is outside, we’ve been gone a while. This boyfriend is Don Draper and probably ok with this but still, I actually give a shit about what he thinks and this is his home town we’re in, a small town at that. So me and the tiny girl have a little kiss and we run out guilty, knowing looks all over our faces.
I straight away tell Don, he hardly blinks. He knows. That she’s had more girls than guys and he was pretty sure that’s what was happening in there. It didn’t faze him. He was so cool. It’s a shame we never got to have a threesome, he’d have been spectacular.
And that’s how she got in without me even knowing it was happening.

But that’s nor real sex either is it?
And this doesn’t really address the question does it? Do I think I’m Bi – honestly I don’t think I am. I think just because I’ve been with girls isn’t enough to create a definition like that. I like girls, I love to look at them, I am noted as the biggest perv in my gym, or at least I think I am, noted by me not because anyone has asked to stop leering.
Even just today as a female colleague was standing at my desk she turned around twice to grab something off the printer and I totally checked her out. She caught me too and called me on it ‘Do I look fat in these pants or something? You’re looking at me weird?’ No love, they look great, I was checking you out.
And I was, they were quite tight and she looked great. I’m glad I told her, people need to hear it, but I probably should have just said ‘I like your pants’ but I’m a perv and I can’t help looking.
But do I want to be with girls? Does it turn me on or am I doing it for someone else, am I doing it to get noticed, for a reaction. Am I doing it because it’s now expected?
Because it’s easy for girls, culturally sanctioned for us to experiment with each other?

So another girl I properly slept with was again an accident. But it was proper sex. I can categorically say I was rubbish. I was really drunk and excited and I lacked any finesse or skill or ability. I think about eating girls so much, I really do. I love the taste of my own pussy I want to taste other girls to see what they taste of, I imagine them in my head as tasting fantastic. I want to do to them what I want done to me, I want to tease them the way I want to be teased myself. I want to take my time, and spend hours down there. But I also want to be fucked while it’s happening. That’s it right there one of my ultimate fantasies, I get to eat a beautiful cunt, lap at it while someone fucks me from behind.
But that’s not how this happened. It was me, her and a boy. To give him credit he was indeed paying enough attention to both of us. But I didn’t know where to look, what to do or more importantly what I wanted to do or have done to me. There was too much to choose from. There was too much to do. I think I was just grabbing at everything and shoving my tongue or fingers everywhere. Not taking my time, not doing it the way I dreamt in my head not asking him to fuck me while I ate her. I panicked I think I tried to do too much at once not wanting to disappoint anyone but not knowing what anyone wanted. At some point she got up and said she’d had enough – possibly quite abruptly. Turns out she had started seeing someone and the guilt had come knocking. So she got dressed and I walked her downstairs. But she didn’t leave. We started kissing in the hall way. And then she leaned me against the wall and started to undo the top of my dress again. It got quite heated and we were really wearing into each other. It was exciting and fun – but was I fully turned on? Was it just because I could? I did like it, but I wanted cock. I always want cock. I’m not sure a girl by herself is enough for me. I don’t know if it ever would be, a girl has never made me come.
She wasn’t going to come back upstairs but we stayed there for ages, I went down on her trying to do a better job this time but we’d already opened the front door, and the realisation that the sun was up and I was on my knees with my face in her cunt was the end of it. It was time for her to go she said.

I like girls, I like kissing them but does it get me off? I’m not sure. There always seems to be an interruption or a third element to things.
Why was I still doing it?

I’d been with The Very First Girl a few times, but I loved her, still do love her. We are best friends and sometimes when it’s culturally ok to do something even though you’ve never consciously thought of it definitively like that, that you had society’s permission, you just want to kiss someone you love. And I think a lot of times that’s why we were kissing. And a lot of the time it was because we were young and bored and maybe looking for a reaction. But I don’t think we were ever doing it simply because someone wanted it or expected it?
But when it went to more than just kissing, when it was behind closed doors? It was more often than not: me, her and her boyfriend. Which was ok with me, we were a tag team and he had the wherewithal to realise this and not spook the horses! He just let happen whatever was going to happen. We mostly dominated him, took turns licking his cock, teasing him. The power dynamic was new to us. I enjoyed that, I liked the idea of him wanting us both and me and her being in it together. That was probably what turned me on. But I think she might have been doing it for him? I’m sure she enjoyed him watching us too but I think the main driver for her was for him to enjoy it.
I know I never made her come.
This threesome arrangement went on longer than it should have – I loved the idea in my head. We would wear matching underwear but in different colours and dance around in high heels or better, high heeled boots and tease him and make him beg for it. The nights out ended like this so many times I can’t tell them apart. And I enjoyed it, I enjoyed being open to things, getting to do stuff that I hadn’t before to see what it is I wanted. But it was never my show, I was always the guest appearance and so I never asked for anything.
I’m not sure I knew what I wanted. It always just seemed great in my head. Seemed like a great idea in my head?

And now. Well maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong? Recently while on a tough gym session with The Very First Girl – yeah that’s right we’re still friends, no longer interested in benefits – I was surprised how much I enjoyed weight training with her. She knows what she’s doing which is always hot and reassuring but that wasn’t it. It was because she was in control telling me what to do, directing things. I think that’s what I really liked about it, the surrender. I’m not saying that being in the gym turned me on, it didn’t per se although I was aware at times that we were the only two girls in there and she was leaning over me spotting me with quite a bit of hands-on correcting my form – maybe this was being watched by the guys? Besides that thought fleetingly crossing my mind I wasn’t there thinking about sex. I didn’t feel sexy, it didn’t feel sexy. It was the next day as I thought about why I liked it so much that I realised? I think I like giving in to someone knowing more than me, to relaxing and having someone else in charge, not having to do it all myself. And then it hit me – Maybe if I was with a girl that took control, like completely took it, would I be more into it? And now, thinking about the gym session right now, I am a little turned on.

Which answers none of my questions – once again I’m brought full circle back to the hypothesis that I like the idea and the fantasy of a girl more than the reality. I love it in my head. I love thinking about it, I wish I could have another girl, I wish I could play with tits in my mouth. Undo some knickers slowly, breathe in that gorgeous girl smell. But now I suppose I have a brand new fantasy, one that I know I haven’t exhausted or haven’t proven wrong. I am now thinking about a girl telling me what to do to her, telling me to get on my knees and eat her. As she stands over me in black underwear and heels (naturally), grabbing my hair and pulling my face into her, she pulls her knickers to the side and gives me her cunt almost sitting on my tongue. Using my mouth as she wants or telling me how to eat her and tongue fuck her. I’m wearing see through underwear and she pinches my nipples through the lace as she works herself on my face. The key here is that she is utterly in control and she’s doing this because she wants it, not for an audience but because it turns her on and is getting her off. This is my fantasy so of course anything I want happens which, without question, would be her producing a strap on and bending me over and fucking me after I’ve made her come. She would intermittently stop and eat my pussy then kiss me then flip me round and start fucking me harder. Eventually she would finish me with her mouth and then tell me that it was time I fucked her.
This would play in a loop – of her coming and me coming.

I like girls. The thought of them certainly gets me off, fantasising about them gets me off – but reality has yet to live up to it. So I’m not Bi and I’m not into girls because boys think it’s hot. It just is what it is – I love sex and girls are part of my fantasies.

I’d say I’m probably not done with girls yet.

All My Thoughts On Waxing

Whether prevailing cultural norms created my predilection for removing all the hair from my holiest of holies or whether it’s some inner desire of my own; the fact is that I do. On a regular basis I hand over a nice bit of money to have someone pour searing hot wax on the most sensitive area of my body and then rip it off.
Do I feel pressured; do I do it because I have to or because I am coerced? Well if I am it’s so insidious and stealthy that I don’t know about it because I’m pretty sure I do it for me. I like a nice neat lady garden. Even as a kid as soon as it started to be of a length that my underwear/swimwear couldn’t contain it, it had to be removed – that was just a necessity of common decency. Whereas now I remove it for a lot more reasons.
For one, I have a lovely cunt and I don’t want it hidden.
Two, I think it looks better with it all gone. And if it looks better then someone is more far more likely to be willing to spend more time down there. And, if I’m honest, I feel a lot more confident and sexy when I’m waxed. I feel confident that it’s somewhere someone wants to put their mouth and tongue because when I have a guy that’s all neat down there then I spend more time and can be more creative. Pulling a mouthful of hair out of your mouth is fine, I’ll do it and happily get on with the job but fuck me if it’s not at all sexy. So, I don’t want someone to have to do it when they are giving me all that gorgeous tongue action across the mound, up and down my lips and while sucking the hood. That just isn’t as enjoyable when there’s hair in the way. And by that I mean it’s not psychologically comfortable for me. And I’m all about my own comfort in the long run.
And in that vein I don’t want to be thinking that the guy is thinking about hair, I want to imagine that when he peels down my (hopefully) soaking wet knickers and sees my cunt that it’s exactly what he was hoping for, beautifully manicured and inviting, just waiting to be licked all over.
Now if I was between waxes and a guy showed even a hint of reluctance, or said anything about the hair? Dream on pal, those knickers are going back on and you can damn well wait then until I am waxed. Which by the way will be the 12th of never cos you’re never seeing my hole again. See, while I am happy to get waxed and present a beautiful smooth set of lips, it’s also my choice and a style statement as much as anything else. You don’t get to demand that it’s done and balk if it’s not.
Thankfully I haven’t encountered this too much. I usually get met with ‘Shut up woman, I don’t give a fuck, let me at it’ and then I swoon.

But waxing is fraught with so much anxiety and practically none of it to do with pain (I think I actually like the pain now, maybe because of what it represents i.e. that someone is going to fuck it and treat it beautifully and then pound it, either way I like the pain and I like the swollen tenderness afterwards. It’s almost like being swollen from being turned on. After I’ve been waxed I am uber aware of my lips no matter what I’m doing and I, just, love, that.) The anxiety though is caused by timing. You can’t always get an appointment when you need it, there are logistics involved: will you have your period, will you have enough re-growth, will you be able to be waxed in time before the sex. In case you didn’t know, and it’s possible that you might not, sure how would you when we rarely talk about it, but you can’t have sex for 24hrs after getting waxed. That’s right 24 long agonizing hours. Well, you can but it’s not worth the consequences. You also can’t sun bathe, or have UV light near it. Ditto, chlorine or fake tan. So if you’re preparing for a sexfest – as I so regularly am when it comes close to waxing time – then you have A LOT to factor in. Sometimes the stars do not align. And that’s when I will hands down chose the having of the sex over the getting of the waxing, and just hope he’s cool with it.

And sometimes, like buying a large box of condoms, it all gets jinxed. The person you think you’re going to have sex with is not available or they (and god forgive him this has happened) don’t want sex that night. Or worse, you stop seeing each other. All of these things have happened to me at waxing time.
I’m quite fair, my hair is light and it takes ages, aeons in fact for it to grow back to a waxing length. So when I am getting my downstairs hair done and I will finally have a beautifully smooth, can’t-keep-my-own-hands-off it cunt – well then I god damn want someone to see it, comment on it and give me the benefit of fabulous oral sex.

I’m afraid that this has led me to some very questionable sexual encounters. I swear there are some guys who have only gotten it from me because I’ve been freshly waxed and I wanted the sex that I enjoy only with that. I really hate to waste a fresh hairdo.

If I could take it all off permanently, I would. At least off the lips. That would be ideal.

My preference? It’s for an inverted triangle that ends with the point just at the top of the hood, almost like the tip of an arrow.
But I’ve been waxing for so long it never grows back thick enough for that to be effective anymore, it just looks like they missed a spot.

And if I wasn’t having sex, if I wasn’t planning on having it (not that I can fathom that) but if it was winter and I wasn’t planning on having anyone see it or touch it at all, what then?
Then I would still wax it. Not for any bullshit, spurious hygiene reasons but simply because I like it to be neat for me. I like to be able to touch it and for it to be lovely to my own touch. I want to look at myself in underwear and feel that it looks good not for anyone else but for me.
I see it in the same vein as any other part of grooming that I do to look well presented. Does that make me subjugated by society? I don’t think so.

Has anyone ever asked me to grow it? One guy, but I couldn’t make out if he was serious, I think maybe he was just demonstrating that he liked it whatever way I styled it.

Do I expect boys to be manscaped? No, of course not. But it is nice if they’ve tidied up down there. For the same reasons that I do it should be the same reasons he should want to. And to be fair most guys do make an effort to trim it. I do live in hope that I can get a guy to wax it though, I would love there to be no hair down there, none at all. As smooth and silky as only ripping it out by the root can get it! I would love to find that or talk a guy into it. Of course I would never demand or expect or coerce anyone into it. I would just like to experience it with someone who was willing to do it. Have a guy go as far as I regularly do in the pursuit of hairlessness.

Any offers?
Anyone out there actually had a back sack and crack?