Back to Blighty December 19, 2011
Posted by Leah in Bondage, Buggery, Craigslust, Cunnilingus, D/s, Electra complex, Fellatio, Fucking, Gallimaufry, Masturbation, Public, Random hookups, Repeated hookups.14 comments
I am in the UK again from December 31st to January 17th. I will be crashing with my former roommate and her husband. They are renting a one bedroom flat near Hampstead Heath. I get the plush new sofa in the living room. I expect I won’t be at their place every night. After all, I have friends to see and be done by.
Amadeo has proven to be a generally poor correspondent. We Skype now and again. Frank writes a long e-mail every couple of weeks. These arrive unexpectedly. The letters are warm and funny and inevitably make me wish I had considered doing an undergraduate degree at Oxford or Cambridge. His missives and my replies are interspersed with frequent text messages. The salacious SMS exchanges happen when one of us endures an incomprehensible seminar. I like to think of Frank growing hard in his seat in public and hiding the erection in his pants with A4 paper. In the back of the auditorium, I squirm in my chair from arousal. My panties become moist. I miss these men.
For the past six weeks in Boston, I have been seeing someone. In his early thirties, David is a newly minted assistant professor. I like him very much so far. We are still in the process of discovering each other, sexually and otherwise. I have no expectations for how long the relationship will last. We aren’t exclusive. My colorful sexual life isn’t a secret to him either. He has seen the marks that other men have left on my body. He disapproves only on aesthetic grounds. He is especially proficient at applying pain without leaving bruises. David and I met through OkCupid. Like my own profile, his indicates an interest in casual sex. Naturally, in the bedroom, he gets off on his dominance and my submission. He is adept with rope. I am his bondage whore. He has made my body contort in positions I didn’t know were possible for me and taken me hard while I was tied. Sometimes he wants a brutally fast orgasm from a skull fucking. At other times he has me between his legs worshiping his phallus for most of a lazy Saturday afternoon. The Venn diagram of our kinks overlaps considerably, but there are also significant exclusions.
Because we have common friends, the ex-boyfriend and I run into each other socially. We haven’t fallen into bed. I have only been back to the old apartment once, to pick up my stuff. It’s over. I think of him less and less. But sometimes, when I am meandering through an art gallery, for example, I play the conversations we could have had in my mind. The abundance of memories I have makes me smile. He is happy. I am also, in my own way, content with the rhythms of my days and nights.
I hooked up with both of my regulars from before shortly after returning to the US. Though we do not play often, the most exciting sex I have had was a gang bang with five men organized by one of these fuck buddies. One by one, I sat on the men’s laps, naked. Wearing business suits, they kissed and touched me. The men toyed with my breasts and fingered my pussy. They affixed clothespins to my body. I brushed my ass over the erections that tented their trousers. We shared bottles of wine. Because I wanted to walk comfortably the next day, we decided that only three of them would fuck my ass. The men conducted a lottery for the privilege. I was doubled up, back and front. Once, briefly, I was tripled. My openings were made watertight. I held a penis in each hand and stroked the shafts. The men tied me to the sort of bench that is typically found in the locker room at a gym. The rope knotted my wrists beneath the plane of the thick wooden plank. It wrapped over my back to hold me in place. My tits were squashed flat. Knees on the floor, my legs were held apart by a spreader bar. My ass extended over the edge. They took my anus and pussy. My chest rode hard against the oak. Frequently, I fellated a man who straddled the bench and fed me his cock while another fucked me. The sex was continuous. It went on for two and a half hours. My friend had me first and last.
A few other encounters may be worth mentioning. I had bareback sex on a single occasion. At a bar, I picked up an eighteen year old, who looked like he was in his early twenties. I didn’t know he was a virgin until he confessed his virtue in my bedroom after we were already naked. Probably, I should have guessed his inexperience from the way he kissed. He departed my apartment having come in a woman. To start, I gave him a blowjob to take the edge off. He erupted almost at once, filling my mouth with the consummation of all of his adolescent daydreams and night tremors. Despite obvious inexpertness, I liked that I was his first taste of cunt. When we fucked, I squealed aloud in ecstasy before he expelled his seed. While I thought of introducing him to my toy box, I ultimately decided against it. I have long fantasized about training up the ideal dom starting from a tabula rasa. He isn’t the one. I haven’t seen him again.
At the other end of the age spectrum, I indulged my Electra complex over Thanksgiving. On Black Friday, I posted an ad on Craigslist and hooked up with a man in his mid-fifties. He is over twice my age and, in fact, said he had a son a year older than me. We met for coffee and then proceeded to a no tell motel at the outskirts of town. The clerk gave us a knowing look when he handed over the key. The man palmed my ass possessively. I never learned his name. I insisted that Daddy place his great, big cock in his little girl’s tight, wet cunt. Fucking and sustained cunnilingus drowned the bedsheets in my flood. I asked Daddy to sperm on me to close because I wanted to wear his semen. He straddled my chest and, punctuated by small licks over the glans, masturbated himself. He blasted over my tits to make them grow.
Lastly, I went to a conference in Pennsylvania at the beginning of October. I took a rental car and drove from Massachusetts. Around two thirty in the morning, I needed a pit stop, coffee, and a bite to eat. I stopped at a diner along the highway. A man seated alone invited me to join him at a small table. Rather than eating by myself, I accepted. He was a trucker and got to talking about life on the road. Intrigued, I asked for a tour of the truck. The living quarters of the eighteen wheeler were claustrophobic. A bunk bed occupied much of the space. Neatly stacked plastic storage containers lined the top bunk. The bed below was immaculately made. He didn’t wear a wedding band, I noticed. I took a chance and kissed him. His tongue dipped into my open mouth. He leaned his weight toward me; my back bowed backward. My fingers worked his belt buckle apart. I shed my jacket and divested myself of clothes. The cab was chilly. He turned the heat up for me. I sat on the edge of the mattress and sucked his penis to hardness. When I was satisfied with how it shined, I tossed the condom I unearthed from my purse at him. He nursed at my teats and lowered his weight atop my body. My arms wrapped his broad shoulders. I spread my legs in the air. The bedsprings gave a metallic creak. The floor seemed to shift slightly, but I may have imagined this. I sprawled in his arms after sex. We had breakfast in the same diner in the morning. I bought a fresh box of condoms from the convenience store at the gas station nearby, and we had a quickie for the road.
These episodes are exceptional. The majority of the sex during the past three months has been pedestrian. Craigslist is less effective than I remember. It has gotten me laid, yes, but the men I have met in Boston through the agency of the casual encounters board have exhibited little promise. Random hookups still happen, but the frequency has diminished since London. Ideally, I want more than another one night stand. The unrepeated fucks are temporary expedients and stopgap measures. Save for David, sex constitutes only a physical release. It lacks an intellectual or emotional connection. The dildo is sometimes more satisfying than a man. I haven’t been on the hunt as regularly as before. This is just as well. Research and grading papers have kept me busy this semester. Marking exams is a bitch. I expect to defend my thesis in May. The dissertation needs much work this spring.
I still play flute when I can with a chamber group. We don’t perform. We rehearse challenging music for fun. Nearly every morning, I spend an hour at the gym. On Friday nights, I go dancing — usually at gay clubs. Liz and Sophie, two close friends, like making out with girls. We have done a fair amount of kissing and fondling bodies through club wear. It hasn’t ended with tongue circling clit and my mouth imbibing cunt or thighs clamping a head in a viselike grip with fingers pulling the roots of hair and making indentations in the scalp as my pussy fountains against the touch of lips. We haven’t tribbed. Perhaps one day we shall.
I will most likely be in a new city next fall. Where? I don’t know. The job applications are out. I enjoy what I can of Boston while I am living here. I keep busy.
Not cricket August 23, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Random hookups.6 comments
Over a month has elapsed since I enjoyed a new cock. This weekend, I had three.
~
Friday
I went clubbing with various friends from the orchestra. My halter dress dipped into cleavage and ended mid-thigh. I danced dirty with the guys, some of whom I knew and some of whom I met during the night in Soho. Around two, I left with a cute English boy, who invited me to watch him play cricket the next day. A tiny hovel of a basement apartment in Canary Wharf served as our destination. We had sex: half a blowjob, a bit of pussy eating, then his cock inside me. Inebriated as I was, I have little recollection of the particulars. I doubt that I came.
Spending a full day on a game whose logic I don’t comprehend while cheering for a guy I met while most of the way sloshed didn’t appeal to me. I tiptoed out of his room and, dressed wholly inappropriately for the bus and tube, made it back to my place early in the morning to sleep off the hangover in my own bed.
~
Saturday
Deciding to blow off work and other vexations this weekend, I replied to an m4w casual encounters ad from a dom looking for a sub. After a few e-mail exchanges plus the usual picture swap, we met at a wine bar in Covent Garden close to his hotel. As he didn’t look or act like a troll, I made a safety call and followed him to his room. Once he hung up the “Do Not Disturb” sign and closed the door, the first thing he had me do was strip naked. I placed my neatly folded clothes on top of the dresser. Then he had me crawl to the bathroom behind him.
The incipient erection made his trousers bulge. After I had unfastened the belt and loosened the top button, I tugged the zipper down with my teeth. The boxers and the pants descended to below his knees. He lifted up his polo shirt to show his penis, which sprung to wakefulness. I looked up at him, and without comment began to suck. I deepthroated easily. Though the girth of the erection didn’t increase, its rigidity and extension did. With fingers wrapping about the shaft at the bottom, the base of my hand pushed up against his groin and scrotum. The lips made a seal, and I bobbed over two-thirds of the penis. My head pitched to the right on the way down and straightened as I retreated. Tongue rasping along the underside of the cock, I filled my mouth up with spit.
His hand cupped the side of my head, above one ear. As I swallowed back the gag reflex and opened my throat to his knobby glans, the grip of fingers in my hair toughened. Saliva escaped my mouth and fell to the floor in a rope. He took his shirt off. The tiles of the bathroom floor bit my knees. This new lover groaned his satisfaction as I pushed one hand off each of his thighs and fucked my face over his penis.
“Look at me,” he directed.
The view from the floor was this.
From my vantage point below, his body was foreshortened. A wooly fleece covered his torso, the sparse white hairs contrasting with darker whorls, and thickened over his belly. He had a slight paunch. He looked down at me. Spectacles at the tip of his prominent nose distorted the features of his eyes. Both hands had an iron grip on the back of my head. They compelled me down to his root, then held me there. I struggled backward, spit the cock out, and took draughts of air.
He steadied my head, his perspiring palm against my left cheek, and slapped the right. He waved his cock at me, and I sucked him again. My jaws spread wide open while his pelvis did a twist. The cock rooted around halfway down my throat. My spit ran onto his balls. I made gulping sounds.
After this, he hauled me from the floor and propped me on the sink. Pausing for the condom on which I insisted, he entered my pussy. One foot dangling from his shoulder, he wrapped both of his arms around the thigh and used the leverage to pump himself into me hard. It felt good, but the orgasm came too swiftly.
What followed was tame. His idea of kinky was to blindfold me in bed. I did not orgasm there either. Neither did I spend the night.
~
Sunday
Since mid-May, I have been flirting with this buff, athletic guy who works at a café near campus. He gives me the occasional free drink and has lent me some of his music. Last week, when I mentioned that I was leaving London soon, he asked me on a date. We had uncommonly gorgeous weather and spent the afternoon at the Southbank. We found a tapas restaurant in Vauxhall for dinner. Rioja lubricated the conversation. It was light; it was convivial; my legs brushed his under the table. I thought his quick wit negated the myth about the Dutch humor gene, but it turns out that, while he did spend most of his life in Holland, he emigrated there from Suriname. By the end of the meal, the two of us sat on the same side of the small booth with his arm extending behind my back and shoulder. His head dipped to kiss me. I invited him back to the flat to mess around.
I had worn tight fitting denim shorts, a white tank top, and the usual sundries underneath. He had worn khaki trousers and a blue and white checked dress shirt whose cuffs he had rolled up to the elbows. Kind of Blue played on the stereo. A bottle of Lagavulin and two tumblers sat on the small coffee table. I hooked my leg about him and straddled his thighs. His hand caressed over my ass and stroked my leg from the shorts down to my knee. We kissed unceasingly.
He knew just how to do it. Our heads were in constant slow motion. Lips applied a perfectly judged amount of pressure. His tongue followed the line of my smile and, with its curling tip, teased out anticipation. My deep breaths took in but a little air. When I touched my tonguetip to his, we circled in a slow dance. A loud smack, and we moved apart a millimeter, then made contact again. He sucked on my pouty lower lip. Suddenly his tongue darted between the rows of my teeth. My forearms framed his head. Compressing the sides of his face, jaws nibbling, I sucked on his tongue and offered him more of my mouth to explore. As the kisses deepened, his fingers trailed along my spine.
With my eyes closed, I unbuttoned his shirt during the kisses that followed and sat on his lap frog like, thighs on the outside of his and flush with them, two hands at his waist, untucking the fabric from his pants. Then, fingers spanning the broad muscles of his chest, lips descended his throat. Down the line of the sternum they went, shifting laterally to his masculine tits. This excursion was fleeting. I could not long resist the allure of his eyes and mouth or the taste of whisky on his tongue. My lips fastened to his. His hand slid under the small of my back, snuck into my panties, and palmed my buttocks. The kisses continued unabated.
I crossed my arms and lifted the shirt from my shoulders. The bra was next. His hands touched softly over my bare breasts. I lowered my body onto him, and then I turned and sat on his lap. My back slanted against his solid chest. He kissed the hollow of my throat while his fingers traversed the expanse of my torso and reconnoitered my cambers and bends. The pads of his fingers skimmed the breasts where they rounded and slalomed through the valley between them. Their lightest touch sketched designs over the abdomen, where it indented. He skated along the depression of the navel, circling the border, hooked two fingers into the empty belt loops, and tugged my shorts up. When I sucked in a deep breath to collapse my stomach, his hand slipped under the waistband and wriggled between the denim and the satin panties. The other hand was a presence everywhere. He weighed the breasts. He tickled my flank, the side of his finger floating downward from the underarm to the waist and proceeding to the meeting of my thighs on the outside of the shorts. He fingered the slit through blue jeans. My cunt dripped.
My hands held the sofa back and the back of his head. I gyrated my ass over his pants, lap dancing to Miles Davis’s improvisations on trumpet. His hand stroked my neck as we kissed. My body undulated as I did my grind. His erection prodded me from behind like a tree branch.
He snapped open the buttons of my shorts one by one. His hand sunk into the gap and made an arch under the denim. He worked into the panties this time. The tip of a finger stroked the furrow. His tongue traced the shell of my ear. I spread my legs. My touch strayed to the midpoint of his trousers. While I clenched and unclenched my hand over his slacks, his fingers flicked over my labia as though leafing through paper. A lone finger reached inside me, extracted wetness, then pressed vertically over my lips, shushing my mouth. He silenced the unconscious moans this way. When I crossed my eyes to stare at his index finger, he crooked the digit past my lips. I tasted piquant and zesty.
I got off his lap and alerted him that he was overdressed. He did not take care of this problem at once. Instead he kissed me. He cupped my cheeks in his palms and pointed my face to his. The angle shifted constantly while we osculated. My nose hopped over his, and the kisses oscillated back the other way, slowly. His tonguetip sliced from side to side against mine, did a sudden twist below, then somersaulted back to the top, vaulting my tongue in the maneuver. I puckered my mouth and sucked.
I shoved his chest lightly to push him backward, stood, and squeezed my ass out of the shorts. Once I had kicked the panties from my feet, I bent at the knees, splayed my pussy lips open, and displayed my cunt. The clit stood at attention. My fingernails pinched the flesh and teased the hood down. I asked if he wanted to be inside me.
He regarded me rapt and groaned assent. Once he had wriggled free of his shirt, I snailed my tongue from the armpit to the nipple, then back up again, grinning as the low baritone moans informed me that this provided a direct linkup to his loins. Going to my knees, I undid the belt. He lifted his ass from the sofa and pulled his pants down. My fingers spidered down his abdomen. Taking the cock in hand, I placed a wet kiss over the glans. There was a slight tang of precome. I made a pathetic joke about the Netherlands. Deciding that the bed would be more comfortable than the sofa, we proceeded there. We sixty-nined. Because I wanted to fuck, I didn’t care to prolong this phase. But I was delighted to learn that his skills at kissing translated to amazingly proficient cunnilingus.
His cock pinned me to the bed as though I was an insect in a museum display. My legs started in the air, feet waving like tiny wings, but I lowered them around his buttocks and kicked my heels over his thighs. His arms on either side of me supported his weight. My arms wrapped his shoulders and compelled his body onto me. His mass flattened my chest. I barked each time that his cock bottomed out. This fuck sent me careening from one orgasm to another. On our second effort, I swayed on hands and knees while he pounded my pussy from behind. The pendant on my necklace swung pendulously and ricocheted from my chin. With his cock in me, I could not stop coming.
When we weren’t rutting, we were kissing, or I was slobbering over his penis to make it hard for my cunt. We punctuated the few hours of sleep with fucking. He said he had never been with anyone who orgasmed so much. I asked him to make me come some more.
I ran out of condoms. In the morning, we went out for breakfast, replenished my supply of prophylactics at Boots, and adjourned to the flat for one last round. He didn’t leave until noon, making me late for work. Though I am short on weeks in London, I want to hang out with Marshall again before I go.
Bad sex April 20, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust, Cunnilingus, D/s, Fucking, Masturbation.16 comments
It began with slobbering kisses, thirty seconds of foreplay while we undressed, thirty seconds of cunnilingus, and uninspired bedroom conversation that featured particularly inept dirty talk.
He reached between my legs and fingered my pussy while twisting a clothespin on my nipple.
He fucked me from behind. He tugged my arms behind my back and pulled me against his groin. The technique wasn’t lousy. He just didn’t last long.
He expressed disappointment at my lack of an orgasm. I bit back the inclination to apologize. I takes me more than three minutes of fucking to come.
He wanted me to masturbate myself. I used the handle of my hairbrush to accomplish this task. He had me sit over his chest as I did, a position of ascendancy that negated any submissive feeling that had been generated from being told to perform. It took ten minutes of penetration, the slide against the G-spot, and direct clitoral stimulation. The climax was small and inconsequential.
Declining another fuck, I made my excuses, dressed, and left after that.
The man sent an e-mail asking for a second meeting. I said no. He sent another. It went into the trash can.
Dog girl April 5, 2011
Posted by Leah in Bondage, Craigslust, D/s, Fellatio, Fucking, Public, Urine.8 comments
In his second e-mail, he sent a photograph of a buttplug that ended in a ten inch dog’s tail. He wanted me to be his dog girl. The scenario amused me far more than it turned me on, but I agreed to meet him for a cocktail Sunday evening and conversation. He was a charming man, a business professional, who was fully candid and disarming about his kink. We strolled through a park, both of us on our two feet. In a small copse of trees, he pressed his hands to my cheeks and kissed me. The touch of his lips over mine was tender and gentle. We negotiated play without the silicone tail.
Inside the apartment, he changed into a terry cloth bathrobe, and I stripped to my thigh high black stockings. He fastened a collar around my neck and attached a metal chain, and then I padded behind him on hands and knees while he took me for a walk through the apartment. While he sat in the arm chair, I crawled back to the bedroom to fetch his slippers and curled myself at his feet. He stroked my back. His fingers ruffled my hair and worked thoroughly over my scalp. He scratched behind the ears and then had me play fetch with a red chew toy. I nosed at his feet, kissed the tendons on top, tongued the ankle.
Drawing apart the bathrobe, I stuck out my tongue and pretended to salivate at the prospect of placing his stiff penis in my mouth. He had me lick his balls first, as dogs are wont to do, and then he pressed the glans to my lips. I was on my knees, with my hands resting on his thighs, while I fellated him. The soft tug of the lead told me when he wanted me to go faster and when he wanted me to slow down. His moans showed me what he liked. The blowjob lasted fifteen or twenty minutes, and I touched myself while I pleasured him. His semen tasted salty and pure.
As it was dark, he turned off the lights in the apartment and took me onto the balcony, naked, where he poured water for me in a dog bowl, and looped the lead around the railing at the edge. He set out food as well, but as this wasn’t my kink, I laughed and shook my head, no; he didn’t press.
Once he had regained his erection, we went indoors and fucked. He took me doggy style, of course. His hand wrapped the chain, and he tugged on the lead fiercely, as though controlling an unruly canine. The chain went around my shoulder, so that the jerk on my neck wasn’t too pronounced — evidently, he had given this fantasy some thought, or had previous experience. He had me bark and woof, which I did amid the guffaws. The man was almost as amused by the absurdity of the situation as I was, which was the only reason that any of this worked.
Elbows buckling to the ground, I moaned on his living room carpet while the erection sliced through the waters of my cunt. In it went the whole way, and back out again nearly to the tip. He slapped my ass cheeks and made me sweat. I scratched at the carpet and, on my own, howled while he fucked me. He lasted about ten minutes in my pussy before he came.
As I was cleaning up in the bathroom, an idea occurred to me suddenly. I summoned the man to join me and crawled into the tub, where I raised one leg and peed. He stood transfixed. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting this. The erection grew to prominence before my face.
He raised a bath and insisted on washing me up. I peeled the stockings off and returned to the tub, where he took a soapy sponge and wiped every square inch of my body. His attention concentrated on the most sensitive bits. After that, I had a boner to gnaw on.
Stairway to heaven April 3, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust, Fellatio, Fucking, Public.3 comments
His fantasy was to have sex on the stairs of his apartment building. As I get off on fucking in public, the idea intrigued me. We met for a drink at his local, which was conveniently located across from the tube station, and then, once I had determined that his looks and his personality passed muster, we walked parallel to the main road until we reached his place three and a half blocks away. I followed him into the lobby of the post-war building, and we stepped into the elevator. He told me that he lived on the seventh floor. I hit the number five, and we got off there instead. The stairway was accessed through a sturdy wooden fire door to the left side of the elevator. On entering, I scanned the ceilings and the walls for CCTV cameras and did not see any.
He unfastened his belt and brought his trousers down. I went to my knees on the concrete floor and brushed my lips against the cock until it attained a state of adamantine hardness. Holding the base of the shaft, I bobbed my head over him. The man’s fingers twisted in my hair while I sucked. Leaning his weight against the wall at his rear, he pressed his hand commandingly at the back of my head and forced me to take his glans into my throat. Once I had accomplished this feat, he responded by jabbing the cock at me with a movement of the pelvis that kept three-quarters of the shaft contained in my mouth. The penis glistened with spit and my chin was sticky when he brought me to air again. I smiled up at him and mouthed his heavy scrotum.
While I stripped from the waist, he sat in the middle of the flight of stairs and stroked his phallus. Extracting a condom from the pocket of my jeans, I threw it to him, and he rolled it onto the shaft. Clutching the cylindrical steel railings along the side of the stairway for support, I straddled his body, which had inclined backward against the unforgiving stone. The pussy lips stretched about the shaft and made a taut ring at the base when I had completed my slow descent. The walls of the vagina remained tight inside. As I bounced myself over the man, he launched himself up to meet me halfway. The thighs made violent slapping noises when our bodies collided.
Because of the angle, the penis kept falling out and having to be replaced. So we switched positions. Feet planted two stairs apart, I gripped the banister. Grabbing hold of my breasts through my loose fitting shirt, he took my cunt from behind. The groin slammed against my buttocks when his cock bottomed out, and the balls followed with a softer clap. The sounds of sex, the moans and grunts, my demands to be fucked harder, and how he named me cunt — these all echoed in the stairwell.
On the landing, where the stairs turned ninety degrees, I went to hands and knees. He positioned my shins far apart and knelt in the space between them. Gripping me by the waist, he fucked my pussy with punishing severity. The cock entered and thrust with velocity. Pistoning in and out, he used the shaft as a hammer inside my cunt.
My hands rested crosswise under my head. The curtain of hair swung wildly as he fucked. He gripped the bottom of my shirt and dragged my body backward against his prick. We must have continued this way for ten minutes, silent except for fuck and pleasure. We kept going until I let out a loud wail and shattered expressively in that empty stairwell.
After that, he lay on the landing, and I mounted the penis again. My hands pushed off the floor, and, compressing most of his shaft within, I raised and lowered my pussy over the bottom part of the cock, adding twist and torque with a movement of my hips and buttocks. Bracing one hand against the wall, I ramped up in turn the intensity and the tempo of the sex and fucked the penis in my pussy harder and faster. I sucked on his fingers while I wrung myself about the cock and persisted in this ferocious grind. I wanted his orgasm, and he gave it to me, his arms wrapping my back and hunching my body over his as the rocket cock blasted off at last. We shared our first and only kisses as he was coming in my cunt.
Rebound April 2, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust.6 comments
I am by no means over the ex-boyfriend, but it’s time for me to move on. I am satisfied that the drought ended last night. He wasn’t the unicorn of myth, but the sex left me sated. I feel more human, more happy, more feminine, more a woman for having indulged in a one night stand. My muscles have the agreeable soreness of a recent fuck. It is almost better that the man is nearly anonymous to me. I close my eyes and picture his face easily now: the buzz cut, the set of his jaw, the big bones of his cheeks, those thin red lips. Soon this memory will recede. He is just one more man I have screwed. His cock was as thick as my wrist.
I posted the following casual encounters ad twice and received 79 replies before the inevitable flagging. One of the men recognized my voice from the blog and offered his good wishes.
Rebound – w4m
I am an American woman in London who is 25 years old. I got out of a long distance relationship recently. My pussy hasn’t had a cock in what, for me, is an unusually long time. I will be exceptionally tight for my next guy. The others will have fun, too. I am looking for casual sex and lots of it. As I am submissive in bed, I am in search of attractive, intelligent, highly sexual, dominant men.
To start, I wonder if there is a fantasy that has been bouncing around inside your cranium for years. It’s something you deeply desire, but you have never found the right partner or the right moment. Tell me about it. Be specific! I am chasing the odd and the perverse; kink is good.
In your reply, please include a clear pic of face and body. No photos of erections please! I have seen them and know how they look. If both you and the scenario appeal, I will be in touch. Ideally, we would meet up this weekend or during the week ahead. I prefer if you can host in Zone 1.
I am consistently astonished by how many men can’t or won’t follow simple instructions. As well, a dearth of imagination that harmonizes with my own kinks vexes and perplexes me. Still, a couple of candidates have emerged. I hope for amazing sex in the days ahead.
Three hours in Zone 2 March 5, 2011
Posted by Leah in Buggery, Craigslust, D/s, Electra complex, Fellatio, Fucking.10 comments
An older man, he has a smallish prick, but he knows how to use it. He has me suck him for half an hour while he watches me and he watches porn and compares my technique to that of the girl on screen. He slouches on the sofa afterwards and has me ride his penis. I lower my breast to his lips.
He turns me around when his orgasm approaches. I hold on to the sofa back while he grips my hips and drags me over his groin. When we pause the sex again, I lick the juices from my cunt from the condom on his penis. He calls me his baby girl.
He doesn’t kiss me like I’m his baby girl. I run my fingers along his cock while I suck on his tongue.
I want him to take all three of my holes. I get on the sofa and crouch on elbows and knees, raise my ass, and present to him. He prises the buttocks open and spits. Saliva drips down the winking anus.
“I want you to—” I start.
He interrupts. “It doesn’t matter what you want. I will fuck your asshole because I want it.”
So he does.
Not an atypical date (unfortunately) March 4, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust, D/s.7 comments
A reader recently inquired about my reasons for declining sex after meeting a potential partner off of Craigslist. Here is the story of an unsuitable date.
I answered a CL ad over the weekend looking for D/s play. He wanted to meet me at once. I told him I was on my period and suggested that we talk first over e-mail and then get together later in the week.
His writing isn’t spectacular, but clear ideas for play shined through despite the imperfections in grammar and syntax. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He claimed to have proficiency with Japanese rope bondage. The aesthetic of shibari fascinates me. I asked him to elaborate. He sent photographs and wanted to know which images I found appealing. I liked the arms knotted behind the back. I liked circles of bright fibers wrapping the breasts and bringing them into prominence. I liked the rope bisecting the cunt, making it look like some strange flower. I liked the patterns the weave made over the nude female form. I wanted to be tied this way.
Yesterday.
I decline to proceed immediately to his place, so we settle upon a nearby pub. Though he lives less than a block away, he arrives ten minutes late, just as I am preparing to ditch, in fact. But he is there at the wire, and he buys the round, so I stay.
He speaks about himself and his experiences with domination. He speaks about himself and his experiences with women. He speaks about himself and his experiences with bondage. He speaks about himself and his experiences with the world. (He is widely traveled and urbane, you see.) He speaks about himself and his experiences with the financial markets. He speaks about himself and his thirty-nine years of miscellaneous other experiences. He is infatuated by the cadence of his speech. I am an audience paralyzed by his presence. I present an opportunity for him to listen to himself.
While it’s clear that he is less experienced than he believes, the sexual parts ring true, and he is attractive. We agree upon condoms and a safeword (newspaper). This man — let’s call him Angus, since he is Scottish — then tells me to take off my panties. I am wearing jeans. He doesn’t hand over a remote controlled vibrator to secrete in my pussy. The request makes little sense to me. Letting libido override the klaxons blaring in my head, I nevertheless excuse myself to the toilet and humor this whimsy.
For the next hour, we converse about more of his experiences. I am garrulous when I have drink in front of me. But I can’t get a sentence in edgewise before he is speaking about himself again. Sometime during the third round, he informs me with absolute sincerity that his ideal for submission finds its expression in the Gor novels of John Norman. He asks me if I know the proper slave positions. Angus recites them to me. He promises to teach me my place in sex.
Ever since he had asked me to open my purse to show the panties I am no longer wearing, I have the awareness that I would not sleep with him. Despite this knowledge, while Angus supplies the pints from the bar, I keep on drinking them. I should have abandoned the date earlier. I have spent enough of my evening on this tedious, dour man. It is time now to bail.
I leave the dregs in the glass and rise from the table. He stands as well. As I collect the coat from the back of my chair, Angus directs me to henceforth call him Sir, to keep my head lowered, and to walk an exact two paces behind him as he leads me to his dwelling.
I ask after his order of knighthood, which he hadn’t thought to mention during his many soliloquies, but he looks at me quizzically.
I offer that I don’t think we are compatible and wish him luck at finding a woman who is.
I ignore that he names me a fucking cow as I walk in the direction of the tube with my head held high.
May this evening’s date be less of a disappointment!
Morning quickie February 20, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust, D/s, Fucking.4 comments
Though I spent much of yesterday fucking Frank, I woke up horny and wanting. Breaking with my usual modus operandi, I answered an m4w casual encounters ad at 8:44 in the morning. After a flurry of e-mails, I met the man who had posted the ad at a café across the street from his place for a once over. It was 10:30 when I arrived; forty minutes were spent on travel. He was thirty-two and — a rarity — really as fit as his photo had indicated. The conversation was clumsy and inelegant, but I decided that as he was earnest and genuine, he would do for a one-off liaison. We agreed upon condoms and a safeword (lemonade).
In his living room, he had me strip and kneel on the small coffee table in front of the couch. Reaching over me, he carefully undid the plait of my hair, and then, reaching under me, he purposefully slapped my tits. He wrenched and contorted the nipples until my breathing became labored and I shrieked at the intensity of the pain. A thwack over my buttocks with the flat of his hand served to focus my attention below. Two fingers muscled their way into my pussy. He rotated them at the knuckles and fucked them in and out. I swayed on hands and knees. The incessant supply of degrading chatter lubricated my vagina. I agreed that I was a dirty slag for letting a stranger touch me this way after barely a quarter hour of acquaintance.
“Do you want me to slide it in?” he teased, showing his erection following the great reveal.
I looked at the cock, the solidity of it, the size, and I moaned over my shoulder in anticipation and desire.
“Tell me,” he insisted, the cock sliding between the cheeks of my ass.
I enunciated the words carefully: “I want you to fuck me with your rigid, thick penis.”
He entered from behind and slammed his length into me in an easy and fluid movement. His hand twisted in my hair, and the sharp tug of the reins arched my spine from the small of the back up to my throat. He gripped my shoulder and threw me around the room like a rag doll. My body weight was insignificant in comparison to his strength. I laid on the sofa with my head dangling off the edge while he splayed my legs apart with his powerful arms and stabbed downward. He compelled my knees about my ears until I was an upturned fuckpot for his penis. He half-crouched above me and used my cunt for his pleasure. I had told him that I wanted to be taken with force; he obliged, and I adored him for it.
“This is why you are here, is it not?” he stated, in awkwardly precise diction. “You came to be fucked.” His grip mangled my breasts.
“Harder, harder, harder,” I pleaded, and he made a herculean effort to comply.
He fucked me only the one time: the encounter lasted about as long as the tube ride — but, crucially, I was in a submissive place when he finished. Once we had dressed, I bent to tie the laces on his shoes, and he walked me to the elevator and buzzed me out of the building.
The man and I shook hands upon meeting. We never kissed or hugged during our time together. We didn’t have oral sex. He didn’t invite me into his bedroom. There were no endearments exchanged. We fucked on the table and the sofa, and then he let me use his bathroom to splash water from the sink over my face and pee. Though I didn’t come, I am nevertheless wearing a silly smile of satisfaction at this very instant.
The death of Craigslist January 22, 2011
Posted by Leah in Craigslust.25 comments
Slut for cock – w4m
I’m a submissive woman in search of no strings attached casual kink. I want a sexual adventure. Most likely, this will be a one night stand, but depending on how things go, a fuck buddy arrangement could be possible. I am uninhibited in bed. I enjoy rough sex and get off on pain. You should try to break me. You should use my body. Treat me like a rag doll. Play with your new fuck-toy. Put me through my paces. Exert your power and dominance over me. Claim each of my three holes for yourself. They exist for your pleasure. Make me work for my orgasms. In the process, have me believe that I am every inch your slut. I want to be taken. I want to be shaped. I want to be fucked.
Please send a scenario for a play date. If you have a fantasy you want to accomplish, tell it to me. Be specific. Be literate. Bad writing is a turn-off. If your indecent proposal resonates, I will be in touch.
I am looking for a partner who is intelligent, witty, and creative. To get into my pants, first you must get into my head. Impress me with your mind. It helps if you also make me laugh. Age, race, and national origin are not relevant considerations. Physical attraction matters. Include face and body pictures in your reply. You should be clothed. While I may want to see your genitals in my inbox, I don’t need to see them there right now. I will assume the plumbing works as it should.
I posted the ad with minor variations to the casual encounters board several times. Each attempt ghosted. Craigslist said the ad had posted and gave me the url, but it never appeared in the listing. I changed my dummy e-mail address and login and tried again. This time the ad appeared and stayed up for nearly two hours. I received fifteen replies in this time.
My post provided a template for a response. A third of the guys didn’t follow directions and either attached no photo at all or a penis picture. Two of these asked if I was for real. Another five were too brief to convey intent. Two more were form letters that I had seen before. One recognized me from the blog and offered good luck. The two semi-legitimate replies didn’t interest. I considered them briefly only because the other options were so much worse. I could have reposted, but instead I abandoned the effort.
An ad yielding no dates would have been unthinkable one year ago in Boston. Craigslist has been on a precipitous decline for many months. I am not imagining this. Liz Doherty, Amber Alert, and Bareback Grrl have also documented the sorry state of the list.
I suspect that some of the flagging is due to men attempting to kill a post in order to stave off competition after they have responded. It’s a counterproductive strategy, but at least there is a rationale. I think this is an effect at the margins, however. Possibly readers might mistake my ad for a professional service and report it. But I don’t expect this to be the case as the tone of an escort ad is quite different. By far the largest problem seems to be men who flag ads to prevent w4m classifieds from appearing at all. I don’t know whether this is some disgruntled guy who isn’t getting any and acts to prevent others from enjoying success. I don’t know if it is some moralist. London is certainly awash in m4m ads. Maybe the men looking for this are also the ones flagging w4m posts. I have heard anecdotally that the better written m4w ads suffer the same fate. This could be an instance of Gresham’s Law in action.
The fact is that I am being driven out. Other women are as well. And so too are the partners who we seek.
I am an opportunist. I can find casual sex without much difficulty. I employ Craigslist to acquire kink. This tactic is no longer effective. I need to try something else. But there isn’t an alternative that occupies the same niche. So I am at a loss. Advice is appreciated.
Leah Lays London 