Some of you may know, I have a love hate with Craig and his List.

It can be such a fun distraction, even though nothing concrete or serious has ever panned out (for the long haul) other than a hundreds–maybe thousands– of emails and the thought, the knowledge–of all the hard cock there is in this city going un–fucked. When this is realized, I know there is hope of finding the hard cock for me (or two).

Yesterday, from work, I posted an ad (or two), for a threesome. Fun! My Chicago guy is coming to town, and what better opportunity than to work on that grand sexual to-do list. Right? Right.

I posted in the MW4W, of course I got zero responses, which is a shame, because I think my Chicago guy would really enjoy that, as would I. It has been some time since I spent anytime with a cute mutual girl. I also posted in the MW4M section, which resulted in many fun naughty dirty day passing responses.

So much cock going un-used out there. Such a shame.

My work day flew by as I gazed at pictures of men and cock.

Sometimes, okay many times, my ads result in nothing more than a few days of full on virtual flirtations. Which is fine, I like that. An inbox full of filth and want. CL has the ability to fulfill my instant wants. It gratifies me quickly. Unlike other online “dating” services I continue to find myself back here time and time again. I have sworn it off, placed self-imposed bans on my use, and even entered into my own makeshift CL rehab, but eight plus years and I still come back to it. There must be something there.

It is random, hit or miss…and I love random. I have made a few lasting relationships, they may not be concrete and all together tangible, but relationships none the less. Relationships I do not want to give up or lose. So– as much as I hate Craig and his List, I love him too.

As for my Chicago man and our third party, stay tuned for all the messy girl details.

Two cocks, I want two cocks.

And yes, I am sporting a big hungry Vixen smile.

Can you believe I have never had any web cam action before?

Before this weekend–that is.

It had been several days since I had come, the days have been a bit hectic and I’ve not had the time I usually like to stroke the kitty. So– I was pent up, backed up. My theory on women, they can go either way. If they do not keep the frisky flowing it can disappear, and many women will be okay with that, some might not even notice. Some are okay with letting their lust lay dormant. Frisky takes work. Many of my women friends have reached that phase of no longer having or wanting sex, and there is quite a few of them. They no longer put the effort into this aspect of life. It has lapsed and they do not seem to mind.

I empathize with the notion of  “not being in the mood.” Being in the mood takes some work. For me I constantly try to maintain a thought of sex, of fucking, of cock, of cute girls in tall boots, of sweet hard dick passing across my lips….

While maybe many women think in this manner, they still do not perform the act anymore. Perhaps it is an age thing, I hope not–because I still hope to have many years of sex left. Mostly I think there is a defeat, a loss of interest– dui’s, work,  kids, the same man day in day out, or if single–like me, just that constant search for a true fuck, and just being with yourself takes work, but then adding in the factors of life–sex can so easily disappear. I know this, but I also know that if you start to play, let your mind open, your pussy is sure flow and follow. Basically what I am saying is– I had not come in three days, and that is not acceptable for a little cum slut like me.

I have been flirting with him for awhile, we discussed the idea of the mutuality of web cam fun, but really, you may not know this about me–but I’m quite shy. So, while I liked the idea, I simultaneously had excusing circling around my head. The absolute live-ness of it sort of freaked me out. There is no photo magic to hide behind, no edits I can make, no sound bites I cut, it is just me and he on the screen.  It has turn-offs, equally as it has turn-ons, but I love technology (when it is not fucking with me that is), it has done wonders for porn and sexuality, or maybe not, but fuck it–I love it anyway.

My camera goes on.

“can you see my toes?”  still in their Valentine red.

“yes”

Big smile.

I push back with my feet that are propped on the desk, the view of my legs and thighs spans the screen. My knees slightly bent. I know I am wet already before I even begin to run my fingers through my silk.

Your cock, that has been in state of tease is now pointing at me, being stroked for me. I like that. The impersonality of machine to machine becomes personal. Momentarily at least, just like everything. Moments are just that, moments, it is on us to take them.

His words begin to flow, odes of beautiful filth just like I like. I taste myself and report back on the sweetness I suspected.

“I taste good, you should be between my legs.”

Innuendo has gone. It is me my legs spreading for your view. Your cock being stroked. Your so hard, throbbing, shades of red. Ready. You could come anytime.

But you want to watch me come don’t you?

It does not take long for me. The moment I slide my wand in, I feel the flow surround my fingers. I get so wet, so quick, it has been days, I am ready, to be fucked.  The first one comes quick.

“oh that felt so good, I want to come again.”

“I want you to come again, you naughty slut.”

You may not be able to see it from the camera on your screen, but your words make me smile and drip at the same time. There is something about being called a slut, that turns me on. It is like my duality being uttered into the world and I like it, accept it, own it.

I am a slut, fucking you online on our web cam. Coming and dripping all over myself. While one watches the other.

It symbiotic.

Even when flesh to flesh, I like to watch you stroke, I like you to watch me, the way I react to my own body as your eyes take me in.

I come again for the third time, hard, I bring the wand to my lips and taste myself off. Sweeter than when I started. Sliding the wand in and out of  my mouth, lips caressing, longing for it to be your cock, watching you from slit closed eyes, as you long for it to be your cock. You stroke.

“I want you come. I wanna come at the same time.”

“You just tell when you are ready naughty girl.”

I love coming at the same time, which actually may be easier to do online. It’s  a great electric charge. I thoroughly enjoy that fourth come. It sends me over the edge, exhausts me, needles flying out of my brain plunging into my skull then exploding into a pleasure release unlike the three before. Release from all access point.

Plunging and slow grinding that curve of the wand into my spot, dripping all around.

“come for me, come for me…”

Messy girl in a pool of her own cum, messy boy in a splatter of his own. Separated and together.

someday it will all be
smooth as Rhapsody

someday it will all be different
stand-up bass
sounds off into the night back ground

loneliness changes my mind
I just wanna change my mind
like so many times before

I cannot look back
track the lack
of contact

map the loss
create a legend
Northeast
Southwest
the West is where I lay to rest

that past that binds
chains that link
genes that create
tears that stain

the hidden emotional maneuvers
between lovers
“love chess”
leaves me
Kind of Blue

nonlinear deformation
my wrecking yard rebuild
beautiful smut

infinite filth
transform want

ingredients earth and bone
architecture cheaper than a dollar bill
should we pretend?

layers run

Thursday’s at the library are my worst day.

We are always understaffed, but Thursday’s are the worst. The level of being overworked and the intense amount of public service required zap my usually sexy friskiness, like no other days do.

When I find myself drifting into mean library woman mode, I try to step back check the room out and scope someone to drift into a library fuck fantasy with.

Yesterday this was even more difficult. But, not impossible, I just had to focus attention on my mind and pussy.

But sometimes, at the library, good fantasy material is few and far between.

There has been a new patron lately, who is wheelchair bound.

He is all there mentally, good looking–a bit off, but most are at the library–he moves well for being in the chair, good sense of humor, and he could not keep his eyes off my tits. Sometimes I wear blouses and tops that make it impossible to look anywhere else. I began to trip into what it would be like to fuck around with him. I imagine he would have to lick a lot of pussy, and fuck me with something besides his cock–that probably doesn’t work. Or maybe it does work. Even better.

I began to think how would he get off if his cock didn’t work, and do I really even care if he does get off or not? I thought about standing on the arm rests of his chair, my legs spread in that inverted V, my pussy looking down at him. Taunting. Teasing. Making him pussy willow hungry. I thought about lowering myself to his nose, his lips, I thought about coating his face in my gloss.

I thought about his cock functioning properly, his chair becoming and aid for me, a prop to better grind into his hard cock, my legs straddling his lap my hands grasping the handles of the chair as my pussy engulfs every bit of him.

I drifted into his hands grasping, mashing and devouring the tits he loves so much. Filling his mouth with mounds of flesh, biting at my nipples, making  hard little cherry pebbles on top of the scoops of ice cream, pulling and twisting to his pleasure and mine.

And soon enough, I began to get wet an d drift away from the library into fictional fuck land. I think it  was a combination of the control I could have with this man, his leering stare at my tits, and the the lack of fantasy material in the library. But, I could see he was hungry for me and it made my crappy Thursday a little better.

I mentioned the other day that love is not as easy as sex–I would like to amend this statement. Love is easy, I fall in love all the time, daily even.

Because love can come easily, and while it may not be that love some think of, that… I want to marry you, have your children, buy a house, get a dog, wash your underwear kind of love. It still is love and it is the kind of love that makes the sex, the fucking– all the sweeter.

It is simple, while being complicated at the same time. It can happen quickly without notice–in fact it usually does. But it can also be temporary, momentary, fleeting. Transitory love.

Last year I fell in love twice, maybe three times, and the sex was memorable. The men are gone. We get to this point in life where obligation comes in many forms, men can’t stay, and I cannot have them stay, but I loved them while I had them, even if it was only two days, two nights, two months. Because I loved them it made the sexual– more powerful– than the ones I had/have on a regular basis, but did/do not love.

When we fucked we fucked, his cock stabbed me and I felt it with every part of me. Electric mind threads and strands of bodily fluid connect and we made love. You bent me over, my palms to the floor, body in half, open. You plowed me, grabbing on with each thrust,  stopping abruptly because the heat of my pussy, the center of my core was pulling everything out of you. Everything. Your cock dripping with lust.

Your eyes lost.

I fell in love with your eyes first. Can you fall in love with someones pain reflected in their face?  Because I think I did. The short time together was full of passion, poetry and lusty nights of rain and the smell of cock to cunt. Sometimes we connect in solace to people. Life brings many things to us, including a whole lot of pain. Like the songs say– you can’t sun without the rain, and your can’t have the laughter without the tears. Life is struggle and these pains and joys are what make up our beings–it’s what makes people fall in love with us, even for just one night. I saw it in his eyes before I tasted it on his cock.

But… when I tasted it on his cock, all inhibition melted away and spilled into some form of love. We find love, comfort, two drunken stones warmed themselves side by side –until those transitory waves takes one or the other away. Until then the nights were full of your hard stone. I loved the way you fucked me. The way my pussy surrounds you, when I pull up and squeeze you inside of me, then slide back and down your solidity, leaving your trunk coated in a varnish of my love. The way your eyes become slits as your hard beam slides between my lips. And I loved the way you taste, salty lustiness drives down my throat in attempts to lock out the daylight. I open wide to drink you in and for the moment my search is ceased, I found love and am I fucking your like I love to fuck you, like I fuck to love you. My mouth loving your cock. My eyes do the talking, because I have nothing left to say.

Sexuality charged becomes pumping and fast. Love. We spin, pant, buck and moan. I gasp in pain with each permeating stab that I love. You fill me with your come, draining your swell inside of me like only someone I love would. Spent– we collapse, want quelled,  liquid spills and your cock is glossed with me. My other me runs her fingers through your hair. Softly I fall in love.

Ok, after all my trouble with the law– and boy am I trouble, my randiness is finally returning. Thank goodness. Now just need to get back into the cock hunting mood and get some cock need fulfilled.

Last night–ok all day yesterday, I was cock obsessed.  I even missed my exit because I was thinking about hard dick. I should really stop driving and thinking about sex, that is exactly what gets me speeding tickets.

Anyway,  after my night out and my cock dreamy drive home, cock crazy and kitty full, plump and ripe, ready to be plowed,  I decided I needed a little quality kitty time.

I turn back the bed, prop the pillows for my comfort and angle. Remove my cute valentine outfit, down to bra and pantie. Lay back. Mashing my tits, I love the way that feel sometimes, but it is so much better when you do it.

I stroke my full lips over my panties with my fingertips. Pressing into me,  I can feel them getting wet already– absorbing my excitement.

My mind drifts into your cock, as it did so many time throughout the night. Oh–what I want to do with that hard beam. I begin thinking about sliding around on your shaft, not in me yet just rubbing into me, my wetness. You know, the hard cock meeting the soft pussy, my slide sort of turns into a grind, I cannot even believe how hard you are, my clit is popping and sliding on your rigidness.

My panties must go. My hips rising off the bed, slipping them past thighs, off one leg, I am too anxious to feel my folds of flesh and skin and the heat I have to offer, to bother taking them all the way off.

You ascend my body, your cock teasing, your hand wrapped around it controlling every move, teasing my clit, bouncing that big round head on my full, so ready to be fucked, lips. You keep climbing, I smash my tits to surround your glossed with me cock, you are so hard you barley feel like flesh. Further up, I open eagerly, but you like to tease me, keep me on the edge, I think you enjoy hearing me beg for your cock. Brushing your round head across my lips, again my mouth drops open in anticipation. My tongue slide out , an offering, pleas–give me my communion of cock.

Finally you let have it, filling my mouth, feeding me the only thing I have wanted to eat all night. You smell like my pussy, you taste like my pussy. Thrusting into me, looking down at me. My cunt thumps away, in a rhythm of need and mouth sucks you in.

I am so slick and beyond wet. Ready, cock ready. My fingers fill my need, your dream cock filling my mouth.

You turn me to my side–grabbing my ass, straddle, flanking my thigh and slide in. My sweet moans can no longer be contained.

“fuck me fuck me.”

Do I really say that? Apparently I do.

“right there, ohh right there…”

Apparently I say that too.

You feel good, even if it’s not real, but it is, my mind makes it real. When I come and it is a rush, a build up from the day and night, the trips of mental cock, explode between my thighs.

Release is mine, and yours across the miles that separate us. I lay there in the post come state, body shaking, slight jerk wave through, thinking about your release. How would you cum on me? In me? On me? Leave it dripping down, finding its way into the creases that make me a woman? My mouth, my hair? Would you be my messy man?

Round One : Turn Up the Sound

My friends tell me I need to know what I want before I can actually get that.

What do I want?

It is not an easy question and I doubt it to be valid argument on their part. It may be true–my hesitation, suspicion, set in my ways–ways–are all factors that may have lead to this lack of a “traditional” relationship.

In my own mind, I know– I don’t know what I want (exactly), but I am truly not convinced that have to know. Do I?

I know– I want throbbing hard cock pointing in my direction, brushing against my lips. Yes, that pre-cum lip gloss, I so often reference, Yes I want that.

I want a cock I can use for my riding and grinding purposes, a cock for my use. And let’s not forget a mouth for me to ride, a noes to nuzzle my kitty into. Muffled anticipation.

But what do I want deeper than this? Well maybe deeper is not the right word. Deeper, faster, harder, oh yeah that’s what I want.

Sex.

But, one really should not put all their worth into their sex. What happens when that goes, when I have placed so much time, emotion, pussy–into, well…my pussy?  Do I put all my worth in my sexuality, into my fuckability? And when I do this, because my answer in all likelihood (to some extent) is yes, were does this put me?

The dichotomy comes when love wants enter the picture and mind.

Now– in no way am I insinuating I put all of my worth on my sex, but a great deal of my thoughts, energies and want are based in it. I would much rather be fucking than discussing the merits of traditional preservation over digital preservation and don’t get me started on metadata.  Even what I consider a passion to me, art/art history, cannot compare to what I feel with sex. Consuming.

So? Love is the question. Is love the question?

How do I get both? Life is complicated, I am complicated. Love is not as easy as sex. It is true, I want both. I want to fuck the person I love. There it is. I want to fuck the person I love. And this is exactly the problem, if matters of want were as simple as just putting it out there in the universe, then we would all have what we wanted. Just because I want to fuck the person I love, does not mean it will ever happen again. I am a realist damn it. I know this, you know this.

Do I have to know more than that. More I want to fuck the person I love? I mean really fuck them.  Isn’t that enough?

Anyway…
love love love
fuck fuck fuck
I love to fuck
I fuck to love
I kill everything fuck
I fuck everything I kill

Happy Valentine’s Loves!

Don’t forget about the The Great San Francisco Valentine’s Day Pillowfight. At the ferry building at the strike of Six, let the feathers fly. Come down and let me whoop your ass with a pillow, let me show you just how much I really love you.

xoxo.
Vix

The rain came down all night, it felt good blowing in my window–the crisp cool air combined with the muggy heat inside my bed. We very rarely get the opportunity to behave like true lovers, mostly we just fuck. But last night– we fucked the outside away–lost love, those dreams that have warped, ideas of what true love is, reality, life, work–the bullshit all faded away with each thrust.

We let it all go, whatever it is that we all hang onto that keeps us holding back from the true fucking, the true conduit of man to woman. The mind has to be nearly erased for some of us to reach this point. It can happen with the right lover, but more often it never does, or it does and then that spirit takes flight again–leaving one or the other–wounded and scared and back on the run.

Last night, there was none of that. It was pure. It was late when he finally made it over from his day, I was already in bed–half  sleeping. I left the door unlocked for him. Not moving, but sensing his presence–he moved around me almost like an lost animal or a child trying to get in bed with his parents. I rolled over, eye to eye, and in that instant everything around us became completely irrelevant. Our breaths, our lips–the room heats up quickly, the rain our soundtrack.

He wastes no time getting out of the day and into the night. I watch him begin to remove his clothing. Motioning him to the bed, I take pleasure in unbuttoning his proletariat man shirt, with each unbutton his scent fills my nose, circling my brain–intoxicating me with smell. Sitting up further in bed, I place my cheek to your chest taking you in–your undershirt still keeping me from male flesh. Backing off a bit, I roll over in the bed, turning, an invitation for you to stroke my backside, my shoulders, my spine–delineated under my plum colored tank top– my round ripe ass–covered by small simple, white cotton panties– and the back of my thighs, that shiver under your touch. Your fingers meeting  my skin, then your lips, your hands begin to take me in. I love the feeling of your lips and breath on my neck and shoulders.

Shifting. Standing above me, removing your shirts, you glance down, insinuating your cock toward me. Stretching out I run my legs up your strong standing thighs, my toes– painted in their February red–begin to slide across you heavy branch. Twitch. I know I let out I sigh. Every time I first touch your cock I let out a sigh. When I feel you grow it makes me so insatiable and hungry and slutty and not there. I become the other. Almost jolting up, taken over. My thighs flank your body, my chest on you, my mouth dripping. I rub my tits onto your cock, still so trapped, yet somewhat safe. With my hands I mash them together caressing and enveloping your stiff tucked away cock.

Unbutton. Set it free. Slow–you are revealed and your rise sets me on fire.

“Do you want this cock?”

Pleading and begging with only a nod and that look, that look of pure fuck me.
Taking a slight step back, you unbutton. I watch your slow and torturous movement. You tease. Grabbing onto the back of my neck, into my hair you pull me in. The scent of jeans, clean laundry, male musk, and cock fill me. My breath hot upon your cock, through fabric. The sultrienss of two mingle. I need your trunk. There is nothing else. I need you in my mouth, I need to know, I need to know your cock is mine–at least for now. My lips parts, running the legth of your branch, catching on the fabric. I am  a hungry slut, I am about to burst out in tears, I want your cock so bad.

You push me down and away, your force making me ache. Ache to feel you, taste, devour.

” You such a slut. You want this cock so bad. Don’t you?”

I lick my lips and a whimpering  “please” escapes into the world.

“Get on the chair.”

Grabbing my wrist, you help pull me up, one hand around my wrist the other palm feeling my ass. Kneading cotton covered flesh.

Directing my body to the chair, your hand comes to the front and your fingers press into the folds of my pussy the cotton absorbing all the juice from my lips. But the more you rub, the more liquid pours out.

“Sit.”

To your knees you go, lifting my legs, propping them so my thighs spread as you continue to feel my puffy full pussy willow. My breath has come to almost a complete stop, so heavy, lusty as I watch your head lower between my open thighs. Your nose first, smells deep, breathing me in, then you breath me out, the heat of your breath fills my pussy and swirls, trapped my panties. Dropping your mouth open wide you, my whole pussy in you, but you don’t move you just take me in. Take my core, my center, me for me.

Raising to look at me, my head hanging in desire, eyes slit and lost. I feel your fingers slip into the band of my panties. I hear your sounds of discovery.

” Such a wet kitty.”

Droping,  licking up all that has seeped out, your fingers then sinking in and find me, hit me, that spot–that sweet sweet spot.

I don’t hold back, I want it so badly, I want you so badly, I need you to make me cum. Sweet release. Two fingers, barley moving–your forehead drops on my lower belly. Moving so slow, I cum into you, onto you. My cunt coos and moans like an animal. When you feel my release into your hand you have no more options.

With a force and determination of a man who must fuck, your pull my thighs into you. Not even taking your pants off just down–hard dick is mine. Pre-cum has formed on your crown, you rub it into my panties, your cock dragging across the fabric leaving a new wet spot. Yanking the white cotton aside, where your fingers were just filling me–you finally fill me. You fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me and fuck me and your cock makes everything else disappear and there is no you, no me. There is no rational, no logic.

Just true fucking.

relying heavily
on words—that will somehow
link
tie
bind
connect
Me to You

oblige Me–and I you
power shifts

grab Your gear
smoldering blaze
oozes from my thighs

hook Your chain
bonds fixed and fluids mixed
drive it home

lacerate me with your bone
forced plummet
scathe past lips
parted in foreseen ambitions