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The end (for now) September 15, 2011

Posted by Leah in Gallimaufry.

A conversation with myself

“You gonna go?”




“For good?”

“Maybe. Nah. Maybe.”

“How come?”

“This semester is busy. My thesis clock is ticking. I need to think about jobs. I have been away for more than a year. I want a boyfriend. Not immediately. But soon. I’m gonna give this sex blog thing a rest for a while.”

“Was it fun?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then why don’t you keep doing it?”

“I don’t have the hours a week to spare. For sex, yes. For writing about sex, not really.”

“You don’t have to write about every single time, silly.”

“I’m not planning to do that ever again.”

“Do you have more to say?”

“About sexuality: yeah. About D/s: for sure. About sex itself: maybe. I worry the writing will become stale. Already, I feel like I am repeating myself constantly. I would rather end too early than too late.”

“You have an audience.”

“I know. Isn’t it amazing?”

“You’re going to miss this.”

“Probably. But there’s a lot of other stuff I want to do as well. Life’s short, ya know?”

“Seriously. You’re going to miss it. London, too. Fucking crazy sinks, crowded tubes, British cuisine, the infestation of tourists in summer, pints at the pub after work with your friends, the museums, the theater, the parks, all those orchestras including your own. Everything. You will miss it all.”

“I am going back at the end of December or in early January. I’ll see Amadeo. I’ll see Frank. I will be in the UK for a couple of weeks. I will write up whatever happens. It fits the theme of the place. Leah lays London. It will be like old times. This isn’t goodbye. I am coming back.”

“And then? Is it goodbye after that?”

“I don’t know. That’s an honest answer. I simply do not know. I have been pondering another blog. Something exciting and different. Fresh adventures. New friends. I have an itch to write. But I make no promises. Right now, I need a break.”

“The curtain goes down.”

“But the show goes on.”

“It always does.”

Connect the dots September 15, 2011

Posted by Leah in Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Repeated hookups.





I wrote the letters vertically in green marker down the underside of his shaft. Snapping up the swinging sac with my lips, I sucked each of his testicles. The tonguetip poked at them. My lips made a seal and tugged. I compacted the grip of my fingers on the scrotum, brought the balls together, swiped my tongue across, and sketched a smiley face underneath. Saliva smeared the ink.

I handed the pen to Frank. “You do me,” I said.

A scattering of small brown birthmarks populate my right shoulder. Frank played connect the dots with the magic marker. He kissed the blemishes and layered star shaped ornaments over the skin. He sketched a ladder between the hollows of my ribs. The stubby felt tip of the pen set me to giggling. Ink smudged. He drew a long line from my nipple, down the bottom of the breast, down the torso and the abdomen, down still farther over the pubis, finally terminating at the clit. He repeated on the opposite side, straighter on his second effort. Lips and tongue followed the lines to their convergence. He pinched the hood down and licked.

Juices dripped from my pussy in viscous, silver strands. His tongue collected my wetness. Palm facing up, he snuck two fingers into me, and spun his wrist while he nursed at each of my nipples. Frank alternated between them so that the one wouldn’t feel left out by the other.

When it was my turn to play, I flicked my thumb across Frank’s spongy glans. The mouth made faces at me as the heel brushed over it. Precome beaded in the eye. I spread it over the head. I stroked his shaft with my left hand and allowed the right to feather along the furrow of his ass. The minute hairs tickled the pads of my fingers. I verbalized a promise to rim his asshole later. I loved how he groaned when I said this.

He tilted his face and looked up at me. I covered his mouth with mine. A purple dildo clattered to the floor.

I compressed my tits together, and Frank wedged his cock between them. The shaft slid through the cleavage. Penis flat against the breastbone, the glans looked like a locomotive powering through a tunnel. Craning my head from the pillow, I extended my tongue to lick the choo-choo at the apex of its ascent.

I had him sit on top of me and petaled the labia open. The shaft pressed against the inner lips of cunt. It dragged, forward and backward, along the slick folds and became damp in the seepage from my pussy. The contact the stem made against the clitoris felt glorious. The nerves below ached in their want. I painted his balls with cunt wet fingers.

We sat on the bed. His thumb rubbed lightly across my slit.

“When were you last tested?” I nuzzled against his shoulder.

His lips pursed together as he considered. “February,” Frank said.

With superior strength, he flipped me horizontal and pinned my arms to the bed. I brought my legs around his and spun them over his calves. He pecked my lips. I clamped down on Frank’s tongue and held it between my teeth. It skated over the points as he extracted it from me. After a moment, his tongue darted back into my open mouth, as I knew it would. My hands lowered on either side of his spine. I gripped his buttocks and shook the cheeks. My tongue briefly slipped into his mouth. Frank dropped a series of soft little kisses over my upper lip. I licked the line of his smile, which persuaded his tongue back out to dance.

I broke the kiss and released a heartfelt sigh. “April,” I said, reaching behind me. My hand stumbled blindly over the nightstand for a condom.