Waxing Turns Me On

‘When are we having sex again?’

‘Next week  ..?’

‘No, when exactly? I want to be waxed. And I will want … specific things.’

‘Specific things! Tell me.’


I love getting waxed. I don’t think it hurts that much, and I like that little bit of pain, I enjoy it. And it makes my lips tender and slightly swollen; neither of which are bad things. But getting waxed is synonymous with having sex for me the two are linked even if I’m not about to have sex. Getting waxed turns me on. It used to be afterwards but now even the feel of the warm wax on my skin starts it.

But when I am waxing for someone or an occasion – then there are things I hope for. Sometimes if I’m really lucky I can tell the person what it is and ask them to do it. Ask them to treat it.

Rarely is enough time spent down there, sure most tongues are quick enough to go in and stay, but I want time elsewhere. I want time spent licking and kissing and sucking everywhere that has had the hair ripped out of it. All that beautiful, inviting, tender skin; so close to where you can taste the best of me that you can smell it. The mound above my clit, the sides down close to where the thighs join but not quite the inner lips. It’s so tender there, all over that area and when it’s covered in hair I’m not so keen for anyone to spend too much time there as it makes me worry about hairs in their mouth and I can’t relax.

But when I am hairless, I can finally ask for it. I can finally feel the cunt aching tease of someone’s mouth and tongue all over it. Not going for the main event, waiting it out, teasing me. Licking, kissing, rubbing the perfect soft skin and making me wetter and more desperate.

Not only that, I want it to be controlled and measured. I want him to do it so that he can see his control over me. I don’t want him to lose himself in the task. I want him to know that he is torturing me and to get off on that. To tell me not to make a noise, to tell be to behave as I writhe underneath him. I want him to lick the inside of the lips just enough for him to get the taste of me, enough to let me think that the torture is over, only to stop and kiss me on the mouth so I can taste me own need.

This is what I want. I want him to kiss it like he would kiss my mouth, just barely catching the edge of my cunt. Going a little further in every time. Slipping his tongue into me, then back out and kissing the edges like he is sucking juice out of me. Licking from the bottom to the top, pausing to watch the pain on my face, before doing it again. Squeezing my nipples as he goes back to just kissing the mound again. I will be whimpering and bucking and close to tears.

I want to be told to be quiet and be given fingers to lick that will gently part my aching lips, and then dip into my soaking cunt. This will feel great but again, it’s torture because all I want is for my cunt to be eaten.

And then it starts, a controlled devouring of my sex. Until I come on his tongue and beg to be pulled to my kneed and fucked.


That, is what getting waxed makes me think of.

When Are You Coming To Suck My Cock?

Do Not Fuck up My Makeup

You’ll be on the clock too, I won’t have much time.

That’s ok, I like the excitement, been a long time since I did anything in work during business hours.

And you can’t mess up my face so no deep throat I’m afraid

Maybe just a little

Nope. Them’s the terms, take em or leave em.

Take em


He works not far from my office and I put on my coat and skip the 5 minute walk to his workplace. He’s down stairs when I get there so I don’t have to ask for him – but I look out of place here anyway, I’m certain I was noticed.

He nods to the stairs and says that’s where we’re going. Up one flight, then another and then a third? Christ I’m out of breath when we get there. There are floor to ceiling windows with gaps that look out on to the street. They don’t bother me, we’ll be mostly hidden by big advertising boards. I look around, trying to catch my breath, wondering where to place him.

I am here to give him head. I can’t remember why he deserves a mid afternoon, delivered to his office, blow job but here I am nonetheless. I see the low table and the chair next to it and point. There, over there is perfect for you. And I smile  – I will be at a really great angle to suck his cock while he sits in the chair; no problems with sore knees or having to stop half way through.

Just a blow job, then back to work

He sits with his legs spread, and I hitch up my skirt, and sit on the little table in front of him. I’m between his open legs with my own legs open. I lean back on the table a bit, delighted with this fortuitous furniture placement. A lascivious smile crosses my face as he gets an eye full of my underwear. He has his hard cock out and is working it with his hand.

I lean forward and down and just before I lick the pre cum off the tip, I glance up at him and smile. And then I kiss it like I was putting my lips around the top of an ice pop. A quick sucking little kiss before I slide my hot mouth down over the rest of his fat cock.

He leans back and makes a low noise, just as I do; I fucking love this cock in my mouth. I work it with my hand and mouth for a while, then stop to kiss him. I stand up and pull my skirt up higher as I straddle him and let him taste himself off my lips. I sit back down on the little table and grin at him again before I go back down his shaft, I lean over and go as far down as I can. I lied about not giving him any deep throat, even though I know it’s going to make my eyes water and see my makeup run.

I lean back and pull my knickers to one side, and dip a finger in, he has the perfect view of this, and tell him how wet I am. Then I quickly lick it and go back to sucking him as he gasps, I can’t be sure if it’s the information, the view or return of my wet mouth to his dick.

But I’ve gone too far, sliding my finger into my cunt undid me and almost involuntarily I stand up to straddle him again. This time though I pull my knickers to the side and rub his glistening head off my swollen lips. Maybe I was trying to tease him, who knows but I didn’t last long I held onto his cock as I shoved the tip in, but I slid further and further down it until I let go with my hand and just sat on him.

This fucking chair, these ankle boots I’m wearing everything is at the perfect height to be able squat down on him perfectly. I can just grind with my arse or I can bounce a little or I can lift myself almost all the way off – I need to own this chair I think.

I start to lose myself and make a noise, he puts his hand over my mouth, I stop moving trying to calm myself, thinking I’m going to climb off him and go back to sucking his cock. But I don’t. 5 seconds it takes me to regain the run of myself and I start to grind back on him and I feel myself getting close.

I could fuck him like this all day, but he says he’s about to come so I quickly get off him and get him back in my mouth so I can catch his come. A few seconds of sucking the taste of myself off him and he shoots his load down my throat.

I am out of breath and heaving when I finally release him from my mouth and he leans in to get his fingers on my clit, circling it and getting me back to where I was. I tell him he doesn’t need to, as this afternoon was just about him, but he ignores me and pushes deeper.

Sitting on the table, with my legs spread, leaning back on my arms, he stands over me and works his fingers in and out of me until I come. It takes me a few minutes, and it looks like he was almost hard again from watching me.


My makeup is smudged and there’s sweat trickling down my back in rivulets; I point at the chair and tell him that I’m going to need that in my house.

Baby Breakup

This is a quote from Alain de Botton… well a recent tweet which is the same thing:


An Epidemic of loneliness created

by the misguided idea that the only

cure is a romantic relationship


I think I’ve written about this before, I’ve certainly mentioned my absolute and abject love for her. My best friend. I ache with it. I feel it as keenly as any romantic love and I know this through the worst way. We had a falling out a few years back (no answers on a postcard please, we don’t need to take guesses). So we broke up for a while in which time I had something pretty close to a breakdown, if breakdowns were milk let’s say I had UHT.

And I had this certified by a professional because I needed counselling. (To be fair I probably needed it before then but this was the catalyst)


So did she by the way, this is not unrequited. We broke each other.


But the point is not to shine a spotlight on the past but rather to understand the magnitude of emotion here. It’s visceral and tangible and life changing. And for a very long time I have struggled with the way this love is not championed or acknowledged or coveted. At least not on any comparative scale to how romantic love is. To the point where I can’t talk and will not be allowed grieve when she leaves Dublin.

Ok, I will be allowed talk about it, but I won’t be indulged or afforded the sympathy commensurate with what we would afford the loss of a lover.


She is leaving to start a family with her partner. And I am so delighted for her to embark on this new era – she has wanted it for as long as I know her without it being a driving factor in her life. She’s waited til it was the right time.

But new eras herald change, and this change will see our relationship as we know it – end.


Her life will be on the other side of the country and it will be far less about the banalities of the stuff we used to fill our days with. To say that things won’t be different is naïve and actually insulting. Which is of course what everyone is doing. Looking at me like I am crazy to be this upset, completely negating my pain.


I’m so in love with this woman and soon she will have a greater love, an exclusive one that will side line me just as it should. She will need to embrace her new life and grow her unit – just her, her partner and their child. And while I know this is right it doesn’t stop me from being sad about it. It’s a perfect storm of juxtaposed feelings.


But sad doesn’t even cover it. I’m heartbroken ever so slightly. Not like before, admittedly, but for a while she won’t be available to me, we won’t connect on the same level. She will be hundreds of kilometres away and will have an entirely new focus and direction. A direction I can’t share in as I’m not part of it for one. But also because I feel no driving desire myself to procreate and am unconvinced of the value of it. I won’t ever be able to relate to that particular desire. This in itself is a seismic shift in our experiences, we’ve never been so far on the other side of a fence from each other.


But that’s more about the metaphorical distance than the literal one. But it all adds to my feeling of separation and sense of disconnection. I feel left behind by her and by  …. well by virtue of the fact that I don’t see myself making that journey.





Now I know I’m not the only one who feels this, this is not novel or the preserve of me alone. In all relationships that the addition of another will threaten or upset the incumbent; siblings, colleagues, new partners, additional in laws. All of these upset us and make us feel our place in the pecking order is challenged. We don’t like to be usurped and we don’t like change. We want the feeling that we are still important and necessary and still  – loved. So some of my feelings are just that, but most of them are that I am losing her to something bigger.


And of course I know this and am aware of how god awfully churlish I sound. But I’m not trying to be more important than her child, or even her partner. I don’t want her to make any special effort to assuage my loss. I want to be able to acknowledge that her leaving is a big deal, that things will be fundamentally different and that in itself is valid enough for me to be very fucking sad.

I feel lost and without a partner. She was someone who I was allowed rely on, allowed turn to. I’m sure I still can but I feel like that isn’t appropriate any longer.



And I am likely to punch anyone who wants to tell me ‘It’s not that bad’.



I have relinquished the other half of our two person gang. And it is as big a deal as if I lost a romantic one and it makes me so much more keenly aware that I am by myself. Which is fine, and also not fucking fine at all.


Yes of course it’s ok to be single, but the honest unattractive truth is that I really don’t want to be. I want to rely on someone, I want to share things with someone who is contractually obliged to feign interest in at least some of the shit I like (I will of course return the sentiment, probably).



An Epidemic of loneliness created by the misguided idea that the only cure is a romantic relationship


It’s not the only cure, but when romantic relationships are the ones that people give precedence to then it’s very hard not to want that. It takes a better person than me to be able to shake off that yoke. And what’s more, platonic relationships can leave you lonely too.

Sometimes you can’t win.