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Archive for the ‘Extreme Naughtiness’ Category

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At 2 am I was awoken by a text message from Type Geek that said, roughly, what I typed above. Feeling dirty, I texted back, “Did your penis just text me?”. “Pretty much”, was his response. He was restless, couldn’t sleep, and so he rolled over and grabbed the phone and in doing so, accidentally sent me a gibberish message. I told him to take a hot shower to get back to bed, and then I changed my approach and sent him a nude photo, because I was feeling frisky. He responded excitedly that,” masturbation would definitely help.” So, I followed that an idea of what he could think about while doing it. Apparently he woke up a horny girl. He apologized for waking me but I insisted that it was a nice surprise, as now I was able to deal with some business of my own while imagining him dealing with his.  

It definitely is feeling like things are moving in a positive direction with him. I know that he has trust issues, so, baby steps and no expectations, but counting my blessings each step of the way. Especially the late night dirty ones.

While I slept soundly the rest of the evening, I awoke with the flu. Yes, sick again. I was awake long enough to put the laundry is in the washer, consume an orange and take my temperature. Alternating hot and sweaty, then cold and shivery, I spent the remaining part of the day in bed, except for a brief moment when I crawled out of bed to write this post. Ugh. I am not pleased with the germ girl at my new work. Every time I work near her, I get sick. It’s almost reason enough to reconsider this job.

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Do things ever happen that make you scratch your head and go, WTFJUSTHAPPENEDCAUSEIMNOTSURE? This happened last night…into this morning. The sit down talk with Type Geek? Turned into one of the best dates we have ever had, as well as some of the best sex we have ever had. Catiously optimistic, no expectations, no assumptions, but JESUS! This may be the shortest post I have ever done, at under 100 words. But sometimes, what is left to say but … ?

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He finally removed the photo from OkCupid. The one I had taken of him on our trip up to Maine. Finally. So, why now? He didn’t do it after I told him that I was in love with him. He didn’t do it after we decided that we would go forward with our seeing eachother, each of us clearer on where the other stands. He did it after a 5 day trip to the mountains of wyoming with a friend who just lost his wife to cancer. I don’t understand him, but at the end of the day, I love him and that my friends, that is the most important thing. I know he cares about me or he wouldn’t be here. I might even say that he could love me, if he allowed himself. Knowing that it is possible, that makes me smile. That gives me comfort. I do hope that when he goes to sleep at night, he does so knowing that he is loved and that it makes a slight difference.

With that, it is 3:12 am and I have another full day of packing before me tomorrow. He flies out of town fora business trip so I don’t get to see him until he gets back. My new apartment is closer to his apartment than my condo, I hope the proximity increases the likelihood of intimacy, cause I am horny as hell most of the month and this 3 times isn’t cuttin’ it. He best be buying me a rabbit for Christmas if he doesn’t plan on stepping up to my box more often.

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I know that I sometimes make it sound like I NEVER get laid. That isn’t entirely true. I get laid about once a week, UNLESS it is “THAT” week. What makes it seem so tragic for me is that I am seeing TWO men, so I am averaging every other week with each of them. Sex with Cooper Fiennes is ALWAYS hot. Sex with Type Geek has it’s surprising moments, however it had been taking a nose dive into boring routine married sex. Brushing teeth in the two bathrooms and doing our end of day grooming routines and then meeting in the bedroom. 99.9% of the time he was tucked in bed when I would join him a couple of minutes later. It made me feel like he was more inclined to go to bed than get busy. I guess he just isn’t a big initiator. I can be the initiator, but, I REALLY like when someone else takes charge.  Sigh. So, it’s been a sexually frustrating past month.

Last Monday I texted Cooper Fiennes asking if he would attend a Bastille Day soiree at a local bar/restaurant. The parties there are always quite fun and I thought it would be a great excuse to drink, flirt and dance. Do we really need excuses to do that?  Well, C.F. never responded to my request. It wasn’t vaguely put. I said, quite pointedly, that there was an event on Wednesday evening that I was attending, would he please be my date. I heard nothing Monday, nothing Tuesday. Tuesday evening I asked Type Geek to go with me. Now, Type Geek had been frustrating me because he kept canceling things and showing lack of interest. Or what I was feeling seemed like lack of interest. So, I left him a message stating that my feelings were getting hurt and I was growing more and more disappointed each time we made a plan and it was rain-checked or canceled. That I understood his job can be demanding, and that is more than acceptable, but that perhaps he needed to think out the validity of plans better BEFORE asking me to do something. After I said that, he suddenly became more affectionate and attentive. So, I gave him another chance and decided that I would see how things would turn out after the party, if he could attend. He eagerly said yes and we agreed to meet at the venue at 8 pm the next day.

The next day I had some training at my new job and had only a few hours to run home, deal with my pooch, and look fabulous. Since this wasn’t just any date night I wanted to look extra hot. I showered and did a quick, yet thorough, shave/wax combo and started to think about what I was going to wear. Inspiration hit when I found my charcoal colored tweed pencil skirt. Pencil skirt- check, white men’s button down- check, sheer black camisole and black bra and tanga panty-check, black garter belt with nude colored back seamed stockings-check check. Finished off with 4 inch vintage styled heels and hair up with red stained lips and dark eyes? Of course! Now, as I am running around getting ready, who calls me? None other than Cooper Fiennes. I didn’t answer it. I was annoyed. I did however check his voice mail. His message said that he knew we had plans tonight, but he didn’t know what was going on and that he really wanted to go for a jog, to let him know. I laughed out loud. I texted him back, still annoyed,” Go for your jog. We don’t have plans. I invited you and you didn’t respond therefore I made other plans. I don’t assume that we have plans just because I ask you to attend something with me. Have a good night. P.s. I look amazing, you should have responded.” A few minutes later I heard the text alert go off, ” YES! Next time I will respond. Have a great time tonight.” I think I am trying to distance myself a little, emotionally. That is for another post however.

At 8:15, because I am always late, I meet Type Geek outside the venue. If you have never worn a pencil skirt, let me tell you, maneuvering in/out of taxi cabs is difficult when the top half of your legs are bound so closely together. Type Geek smiled and obviously made a mental note of my outfit but refrained from saying anything. A half hour later, while at the downstairs bar, he finally told me how great I looked. I smirked and thanked him, then I let him in on the garter secret…by inching my skirt up a bit and running his hand along the top of the stocking. I know he has a stocking fetish, so this was done for his benefit. He didn’t shake his smile for the rest of the evening.

The event was fun, except for the obvious fail on their part to plan for the rain. They had anticipated French street fair style food carts outside with no food running from the kitchen. Unfortunately, it poured. My gluten issue left the single option of baguette sandwiches highly implausible, and after 2 strong cocktails, dinner was a necessity for both of us. We wandered out at 11 pm in search of something open in this godforsaken town. The reality of NOT living in NYC anymore means that dinner after 10 pm MOST nights is as impossible a find as is the holy grail. We did remember that there was a French Brassiere a few blocks away that served a late bar menu. Score! Beets and Frites and Croque Monsieur, Belgian beers and vodka cocktails, then a question, “So, do you want to go back to the party or should we go back to your place and get naked now?”  He quickly hailed a cab for his house.

Sex that night began in the kitchen and continued backing up through the hallway into his bedroom, shoes came off, pencil skirts pushed up, and suddenly we were behaving like people who are dating, not a married couple. The highlight of the evening… I got off. That doesn’t happen often. The plus for him? Besides my getting off? He got off twice in 5 minutes! Now, THAT is what I am talking about. Amazing how after a night of sex like that, you can sleep for only 3 hours but wake up incredibly refreshed.

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The World Cup game on the 7th was intense. We all gathered at a local Irish pub and with beers and ciders in hand, stayed glued to the screen for over 90 minutes of tension, until finally, the match was called and Spain was declared the winner over Germany.  Cooper Fiennes and I had discussed going dancing that evening, however, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He decided he wanted to get some work done that evening and sleep in, so perhaps no dancing. Instead, we planned on some dinner and then I was going to head home. Only I didn’t make it home any sooner than if we had gone dancing.

I brought him to a local seafood and barbeque place that is known as a foodie’s paradise. He ordered barbecued beef ribs while I had mussels and french fries. We chatted in our normal friendly way and then, after our meals were finished, I moved over to the banquette and sat beside him. His hand ran up my skirt as we drank bad sangria and looked around the room to ensure no one saw what he was doing. After we left, we walked around wondering where we could go make out. There were no parks, no alleys, no where private. My place, dirty, was too far away. His place, new flat mate, wasn’t cleared for overnight guests yet. So, dilemma, what to do?

Cars by the hour, cars when you want them…. rental cars are the saving grace of horny people everywhere! I made a reservation over the phone and picked one up about 20 minutes later. As I drove, panties on the floor board of the car, his hand was between my legs. That makes it really difficult to concentrate on the road, in case you are wondering. At one point I pulled off the road into an alley because I was going to crash or cum. Unfortunately, I didn’t do one, and fortunately, I didn’t do the other. I did, however, ask him to stop so we could get somewhere that I could park the car without risk for arrest.

20 minutes later we were parked behind a warehouse with a waterfront view of the city. After ten minutes of grinding my knee on the passenger door as I was grinding myself on him, we decided to move to the back seat.  it was a remarkably roomy car, allowing for extended foreplay, three sexual position changes, and some post coital cuddling. Not bad. We looked at the view of the night skyline and listened to the radio pump out old Cure songs. I was strangely content.

I made him return the car, it was in his neighborhood. Since we fucked behind a warehouse in mine, I figured he could return the car to his. Only fair, correct?  The only truthful negatives to car sex? Upholstery burn on my knee, a bruised nipple and arm. Are these wounds a fair trade for hot sex with my Spaniard? Always. Viva Espana!

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I heard the most hysterical song today. With a nod to, and the deepest respect for, the Arctic Monkeys, I reprint these lyrics from their song Flourescent Adolescent:

You used to get it in your fishnets
Now you only get it in your night dress
Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness
Landed in a very common crisis
Everything’s in order in a black hole
Nothing seems as pretty as the past though
That Bloody Mary’s lacking a Tabasco
Remember when he used to be a rascal?

then later:

Flicking through a little book of sex tips
Remember when the boys were all electric?

Now when she tells she’s gonna get it
I’m guessing that she’d rather just forget it
Clinging to not getting sentimental
Said she wasn’t going but she went still
Likes her gentlemen to not be gentle
Was it a Mecca Dobber or a betting pencil?
 

Jesus Christ, I hope I don’t become so ho-hum about a great shag in the future. I hope I can still get great shags in the future. How depressing. I need to go listen to Bruises by Chairlift. It makes me happy. Even though the lyrics are a tinge sad, there is a bittersweet quality about it that I adore. Maybe because it’s strawberry season right now? Maybe because I would love to have such a silly crush. Here is the video for Chairlift’s  Bruises.

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