I have bounced around beds with my fair share of men (and a few girls), but truly only shared my bed with two men– the Husband and the Gangster.

The past week  much time was spent in bed with NYC. There is something about sharing a bed that solidifies a relationship. It breaks boundaries, it surpasses aspects of being human that fucking will never do. It is an essential moment in daily existence a moment we can only be lucky to share.

The warmth of a body next to mine, the breath (good and bad), the smell of our fucking and sweating surrounding us like it’s own blanket, the way bodies lock- tangle- separate and then connect again. Limbs twisting and interconnecting, your cock soft and spent or hard and nudging on all parts of my body–awake long before either of us.

I realized how much I miss the early morning sex, when the city light is just changing from black to dark blue and opening into that quintessential gray San Francisco morning, the kind that constitutes staying in bed a little longer, especially in someones arms.

Roused from a sleep by cock–the 4 AM fuck is amazing to me. There is little of my mental capacity functioning at this time. I am free from those thoughts of the day that begin to weigh the mind. My pussy still needs coaxing, but very little. Some fingers to wake me up, your tongue to arouse me–to make my pussy bloom and drip. Easily I am ready to feel your cock fill me.

My thighs spread wide, accommodating to you, sideways we lock, your cock plunges deep and my pussy surrounds. The thought process that fucks with me when I am awake and fucking are absent. I am lost, all pussy, all needy for dick. Pulling at your thigh trying to get more of you in–I can feel the engorgement of my lips–I can hear the wet plunging sounds we make together, my eyes never open, my head is still asleep.

The sex was slow and fast all at once. My pussy tight around your cock, I could feel every push and pull, the skin stretched and surrounding. I like using both of my hands to feel my full of blood lust pussy–so puffy–my clit buried in the mound of flesh my cunt has become–between two fingers I manipulate the pearl that is so deeply hidden in flesh, still in a deep sleep.

Some of my best orgasms happened during these sleepy fucks, no toys, no thought, just cock to cunt. The rush filling my lungs then radiating out of my body–culminating in a pouring out of my pussy on to your hard cock. We often came together at these moments–a hot wet mess and then we would fall back asleep you filling me and I surrounding you.

My pussy really is a cleaver contraption. She rules the party, opens and blooms when she wants–and how she wants. It’s often different every time. My pussy has the ability to get really wet and stay that way–or she can just close up and lock your cock right out. Sometimes even lock right on your cock. Clamping down tight, until you have no choice but to get out– if you can that is.

The pussy really is a complex flower. I refrain from calling it delicate- perhaps some women do have a delicate flower-but my flower can withstand a good solid pound if you bring to the right place before hand. My pussy can make you very happy man if you put the time into understanding what maker her so clever.
NYC is good at understanding my pussy. When we fucked in NY there was a wild frenzy of sex, which I connect to us meeting for the first time–my pussy was ready at any moments notice. I was extra horny–not a lot of coaxing was needed.

This time with NYC there was more familiarity–a familiarity that equated into his  further understanding of my body. Although,it could just be my bossy ways.

I directed, dictated how I wanted him to coax the lips of my pussy.
“I want you to make my pussy puffy.
Kiss my cunt like it’s my mouth.”
I  like it when a man takes his time, I understand how your cock is zealous for the cunt, but it is so simple to just slow it all down. If you take me slow, follow my cue and leads–I am sure to coat your cock in all the liquid gloss I have.

Kiss and rub my full lips with your palm, slip the tip of your tongue in between my folds-begin to split me.
“slow down, slow down, slow down.”
The fucking cock can be so damn eager.
I get so wet with just a small slip of your finger- slick, needy–truly wanton of more. More…tongue, fingers, mouth, and of course that thick cock.

The slower you go– the longer I fuck. The slower we start, the more my pussy opens and the wetter I will get. I do not even want to feel your cock on my lips until I feel drops of me dripping from my cunt in between my ass cheeks–into my ass hole and onto the sheets below. Take a step back and the more your cock will strain and drip to get into this pussy.

Let’s take it slow before we take it fast.

Don’t look for me at the Library for a few days. I have plans. Juicy, wet, filthy, naughty plans.

You won’t find me in the stacks, you won’t find me assisting patrons with their informational needs. No, no, no. Not this week.

NYC comes to SF. Coast to coast fuck mashup.

A nice long long weekend of fucking, sucking, eating, drinking, and a lot more fucking.

First a blow job at the Ocean. That sounds like a perfect West Coast good morning greeting.

Then on to the fucking. I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.

Since returning from my mini wild wild west vacation–I have for some reason have been hit far more than usual. Typically I am not the type of girl who gets hit on often–I think I scare a great deal of men and the others are just not into what I have to offer. But, don’t get me wrong neither of these are a problem to me. I actually like scaring men with my zealous confidence and those who are not physically into my curves, my round ass, my globe tits and woman belly well there are that many more who are.

I have a theory about when men hit on me and why. First which is proven science by strippers everywhere– is fertility. Men, the dogs they are, can smell when I am primed to fucked and filled with cum. According to Psychology Today strippers make $20 more and hour when ovulating. Men know this, they sense it, they smell it–and are willing to pay for it.

In my own experience this is certainly true. On that oh so special week before my period– I feel like an animal with men’s nose s glued to my ass seeking a sniff, burrowing into my pussy. I like it, it makes me feel powerful. It makes me want to feel cock filling me up. I become more aggressive than usual–it makes me want to push you down on my bed and crawl the length of your body–letting my pussy feel all parts of you–with lingering attention paid to your throbbing branch– until I am straddling you face with my strong thighs flanking the side of your head and my cunt ceasing the flow of your words.

My second theory, not proven, is that men can sense when I have just recently fucked. Differently than those men who can tell I just fucked myself–the effect of fucking ones self are brief compared to being fucked by another. The bliss shows on my face, my walk, my smile and my attitude for days even weeks after–depending on the cock.

It is not that the sex I had on my camping trip was the best most explosive sex ever, it was that it came unexpected. I was not hunting for cock, just having a good time. It was a simple mutual drunken attraction–and this is what I think has caused the residual fruit of male flirtation this week. The men folk have sensed I like to be fucked.

Whatever it may be, I certainly have been enjoying it and it has left me cock hungry and in state of needy pussyness.

It just dawned on me that we are now over half way through 2010. Though it is only July– I feel the summer sun slipping away–the longer days are becoming shorter-darker again.

Taking  inventory, cataloging my mid-year point I realize I have been considerably less slutty than last. I have not even been on Craigslist  once this year, that is sort of astounding. Selectivity has played a larger role, than in last–which is great–if weren’t for all this sex I need to place somewhere–I have a lot of fucking to give and get.

I read in in an issue of Cosmo, that some robo-gym angel left behind–allowing me to subdue the slow death of riding a stationary bike to nowhere, that the average number of sexual partners for a heterosexual man is 7, and for women it is 4. This not an accurate source–a more accurate source, states men will have 20 and women 6. I think the women are fibbing a bit.

Six? That seem surprising to me, I certainly had more six just last year.

How does a slut decide when to fuck and who to fuck when attempting to exercise some selection in their life? This year there has only been four, or was it five, and I am really counting only three–but if I fuck New Years Eve guy one more New Years Eve, I may have to start counting him.

I feel pretty good about my sexual choices this year, far better than past choices. There was only one I should not have fucked, twice, but sometimes it takes twice to know. I think the key is to know before you actually fuck them–I’m working on that one.

So I am not average, according to the polls I am a super slut. In the last year and a half I have lived the sex life of two average heterosexual women. Lucky me.  So, do lesbians have more sex partners than straight women? Probably and probably have a better quality of sex than the average straight woman. I have not been with any women this year.  A route perhaps I should explore before years end.

Sadly the same poll showed that with each year of life we stop discussing our fantasies. I wonder if that extends beyond sexual fantasy? To me, this is worse than a lack of sex, without the fantasy, the hope, that anticipation of fucking–we die. In all my sex and all my love and all my lack of both at times–I have never stopped fantasizing about fucking,  and have never given up hope of finding and having great, rich, romping fuck life with the one I love and who loves me.

The search continues, the loneliness for cock and love remain–but my legs still spread and my mind still runs wild with all the possible ways I would like to fuck and be fucked–and I hope this doesn’t change anytime soon.

Fleeing the gawking, aroused and shocked stares of those who had just saw me getting fisted from across the pond to the sinews of Andy Goldsworthy’s wall, we ran like children who just heard the words “ready of not here I come,” we had to hide and quick.

I felt innocent and wild, like he was the first boy to ever get a feel of my pussy, even though in actuality it was his whole hand that was filling me up.

From the bench we tried to stroll like we were only appreciating the art, the show was over, then we ran. Andy Goldsworthy took refuge on us. Behind the carefully placed stone by stone wall we hid–we laughed–astounded at our own blatant behavior. We kissed, our lust fueled again. The smell of earth and stone and my cunt were everywhere. I needed cock.

The wet panties had to go.

Slipping them off shoving them into my tiny hand bag, I hike my soft skirt up–bend in half and show you my ass, from behind I run my fingers into the swell between my thighs. Turning toward you, lowering to my knees I begin the undo, the the belt the buttons, give me that cock already.

The head of your cock pops out from the hole of your polka dot boxers– the thickness fills my hands and then my mouth. I suck with earnest–I am that woman who wants to make your cock hard as possible just so you will fuck me with it. I am not sucking for you, but for me. To make your cock mine, to make it where I need to it be– so I can truly feel it when you plunge into my cunt. The fisting, that verge of orgasm has me focused on one mission–to feel you fill me up.

Sloppily I get you slicked up, my knees into the earth, the sticks, pebbles and dirt sticking to my knees–the lack of comfort  is no deterrence for my want of your thickness. Your ready, and I was ready when we were back on that bench.

Again, in half I bend, my hands steadied by Mr. Goldswothy’s sound construction and the soil below me.  Your hands grab my ass plowing your root into me, the rhythm and the cadence grow, my pussy tightens and locks onto you. We have no choice but to slow down, my cunt has locked us together. Deeper is the only answer.

Fuck me growls out of my mouth.
“Fuck me.”
“Fuck me.”
My cunt forces you out of me, she does that sometime, I turn back around your dick dangling hard in front of me –irritated, coated in a mucus cream from inside of me, anxious and dripping from its tip. To my knees I fall and mount your branch with my mouth. When I look up the sunlight from the trees glistens and filters and glints through the the green lenses of my sunglasses, looking at you from below you too appear to be lost in the sunlight.

A jerk from deep inside you cues me, I give a nice slow flat tongue lick along the back side of your cock–from balls to tip, swallow you down, hold you there. Backing out of my mouth willingly and unwillingly–you stroke while I watch, it only takes few measured pumps in your hand until silver clear strands fill the air, landing on my waiting tongue, and hair and fingers. Looking up at you I smile show you the cum on my finger on tongue then drink you down.

I love the way you cum.

It was rather late already, I’d been out, a few drinks down, feeling good, not sloshed, not drunk–but good. I could have easily drifted into sleep, but then I heard the ping. I knew exactly who it was before I looked, all day long I had this feeling I was going to see you tonight–in fact the first thing I thought of when I woke up that morning was the taste of your cock.

The flirts, the 140 character poetry– had been making me wet and frisky all week. I didn’t want to wait, I didn’t want to flirt, no game, no chase–just cock to cunt. Plug to socket– your branch the conduit to my core. It had been too long. It’s simple, no bullshit, more fucking. Down with the girl and up with the cock.

I asked you if I could stay the night, something I normally do not do, but after the drinks– and I knew–after the way you would make me come, I would not want to go home. I wanted to be spent, I wanted you to fuck the thoughts of the day right out of my mind, driving, pounding and all those other violently delicious adjectives I love so well.

Soon enough your door was opening to me, your tall lankly willow tree frame, the opposite of mine, stood in the door way–your long tree limb branches draw me in. Kisses full of life, an incandescence I cannot ignore. Only brief moments pass until I was stripped–standing in those barely there panties, your fingers pressing into my full lips, the triangle fabric patch sticking to me and grinding into my forming wetness.

All I want is all I do–dropping to my knees I feel that trunk sway, and I want it, I need to have you in my mouth, I need you to have my mouth around you, taking as much and all of you I can deep down my throat. I can’t breath and I like it. Wrapping your long fingers into my “fuck me” hair, both hands, my indication that I want you to be the controller, to pull my mouth into you. To make me feel like I cannot take it , but both knowing I can.

I worship, making your cock grow from a swaying branch to a solid stick of stone. When the time finally does come, when you pull me up from my knees, bending me in half–my pussy open with no hesitation, wet and sticky slick. Sucking on your cock makes my inside flow out. You fuck into me. I let you know, with my body, with my ass–that I want more tonight, I need more, I need it to stab and hurt and make me feel–I am built up and want you to take me down with cock. Down with the girl and up with the cock.

You fuck me so well, I’m open and pulsing– flesh wounds of cock love. Ass up you drive into me. I come, one of those comes that make my thighs and legs shake.  Flipping me to my back, my knees are pushed into my shoulders my thighs holding the weight of your body, the curve of your cock making me wince in pain with each thrust, I shift and make you hit me in slightly different spot. Wrapping my hands around my thigh–my fingers finding my pussy,  I feel your shaft sliding into me and back out. The lips being stretched, full of blood and life– and cock.

Pulling out–you slide between my thighs for my round of worship–and you are so devotional as you slurp me in, your fingers deep inside eliciting that flow of fluid, which you devour. My limbs wrap around your back, around your head–I want to keep you in my pussy forever. You eat me so well–I flow and come and my body jerks and spasms. I love the way you lick me, and I tell you so as you continue to drink me in. You take your time and thoroughly enjoy the life between my thighs, the miles between, that electric energy that seeps out, as your mouth, lips and tongue fuck me.

Again–you take my cunt like I need you to. Slamming. Our parts colliding, impacting and absorbing into one another. Cock to fingers to tongue you treat me right all night, and we fade, and we drift, we chatter, I stroke your body to varying degrees, feeling your contours, your ridges, bones, my fingers into your wild man hair. We end up under the covers. Sleep.

At one point in the night, your leg lays heavy between the two of mine and your arms wrapped around me, I wake and think how nice that feels the closeness of after, our bodies once tangled and locked in activity are now tangled and locked in rest.

Morning shines in, I wake, and drift back and forth between some sort of sleep state. When the alarm goes off my hand reaches for your cock, I am hungry. You are asleep, your cock is asleep–but not for long. I absolutely love turning your cock from soft to rock. My my mouth works under her own agency, run by my pussy. Giving you a nice combination of lip service and hand work, your balls filling my mouth, finger running you length.

“Are you gonna give me some that cum this morning, baby?”

Your moans filter into our space, your cock soaked in my spit, my bed head hair sticks to the wetness, pulling it back I continue my ascertainment of what makes your blood flow. I can feel the your cum building, your balls tighten up, your cock jerks inside my mouth. Twitches of desire.

“Come for me.”

One last jolt of solidity takes over your shaft,  I can feel the blood boiling up and out as you fill my mouth with your sweet and salty cum. Gently keeping your cock inside the warmth of my mouth as it jumps and shudders it’s last few time. I raise my head showing you–my mouth full of you– letting a little bit slip from my lip to your softening crown and then I suck it back up and swallow it down.

Satiated for now.

It’s been awhile since anyone was so bold, I am sure there were many before him, I’m sure there were those whose cock I wasn’t even grinding on  that wanted to.

The last man who did it, did it anger not in sexuality, it sort of felt the same though, but different. His cock was figuratively deep inside me, while yours was literally filling me when it happened.

The first guy who ever did it I asked him to, made him do it.

But this time it felt like a release of everything in one slap across my cheek. He said he did it last time we fucked, but I didn’t recall that.

When his lumbering hand barreled across my face I was in shock, my pussy soaked instantly–and I was pissed off and turned on like crazy–all at the same time. I wanted more, but l like the way I can’t tell when it is coming. It was sort of a sick game, played in a healthy way. A give and want. A shock and surprise landing across my jaw, as I rode your cock, lost in the sensations of being filled–eyes slit in fuck lust, then slam, a convergence of pain and sting stemming from your hand connecting to my face hits. My eyes open a bit, I know I flash a look of fuck you and a look fuck me simultaneously, as the wave of heat surges through my body being released through my pussy and on to your cock in a rush. Culminating in clinch and pulsation from the flesh inside my core. Connections of an electric pussy.

I didn’t have to ask. You knew what I wanted from you.

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.

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.