Tech - Font

Based on several comments, I increased the size of the font. Anyone using Safari or IE (gah why?) has any problems, let me know. Anyone else has any problems, let me know.

-- The Bastard

Nonfiction - Down "There"

Under the previous entry, L'il Ms. Dangerous Curves posted the following comment:

<..[I'm] a woman who can't understand how and why men love to go there [with their tongue and mouth].>

"There" being in-between a woman's legs. I've spent most of the day thinking about this topic, and I wanted to address a couple points.

This isn't the first time a woman has confessed such a thing. Given that so many men and women are uncomfortable with the act (giving and receiving), I guess it's understandable.

There's a couple different topics I've been thinking about:

Why (some) Men Don't Do It.
Why (some) Men Do It.
Why (some) Women Aren't Comfortable With It.

Taking into account the comments I've heard over the years, I think it's safe to assume that blowjobs are more common than cunnilingus.

So. Why don't more men go down on women?

There's a kazillion reasons, but a couple stand out.

- I remember the first time I ate a woman out. I got her off, but it wasn't the most successful of evenings. I wasn't able to repeat the act, and she ended up getting sore. I really had no idea what the fuck I was doing, I had just gotten lucky.

I'd imagine that ignorance is near the top of the list of reasons why men don't feel comfortable going down on women. Let's face it, there's a LOT to know: What to touch, what to stroke, when to suck, what to use the tongue and fingers on... I mean, really. There should be little signposts and streetlights down there, pointing the way.

All joking aside, it's important to remember that Every Single Woman Is Different. Just go find some pictures at one of the million websites, and you'll see what I mean.

The knowledge and ability to perform oral sex is learned, not given. That's why you've got to have open communication with your partner(s). If you can't talk about this kind of thing, you're not going to get anywhere.

- Confidence is sexy.

There is no price tag on giving the impression that you KNOW what you're doing. Sticking your shaft in a woman is easy. Getting a women off with your tongue require work. And given that many women don't feel comfortable letting a man go down on them, regardless of your intentions, you need to make them understand that you CAN do it, and they WILL like it.

Now, it's easy for me to be confident, because I'm arrogant prick. But, I've spent time learning about it, and working towards improving my skills, so the confidence is earned.

I think a lot of guys give it a shot, but aren't always successful. Maybe they're overwhelmed, or feel that "we tried it, it didn't work, let's move along." No no no no no. Don't give up. Ever. The only thing worse than losing is not trying in the first place.

Confidence can be -everything-. How a woman reacts in these cases, is important. Be supportive, and make sure he tries again tomorrow. Or do it with him. Because once you lose your confidence, it's hard to get it back.

- There was a Sopranos episode, where it was revealed that one of the older Sopranos (Uncle "Junior", I think) regularly went down on his girlfriend. Apparently, in that culture, men going down on women is neither appreciated or respected. Specifically, the character was laughed at.

Madness. I shook my head in disbelief. Maybe it's a "male pride" thing? Well, that's a load of bullshit if I ever heard it. Who gives a crap what other people think? If you can get a woman off with your tongue, you'll be appreciated in a kazillion ways.

The thing I like about going down on women, is that they always seem to enjoy doing naughty things more. It's like a slippery slope, of the best kind.

- Then there's fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of looking like a fool, fear of Not Being Able To Get A Woman Off. You add any of those factors with male pride, culture, ignorance and a lack of confidence, and you've got a home-brewed recipe for misery and shame.

No man enjoys looking like a fool.

--

Then there's the flip side.

Why DO guys do it?

- Well, I know why I do it. I'm a kinky motherfucker. I love the taste, the smell, the flavor, the softness of it all.

(Quick note: There are a lot of things that influence the flavor of a woman's pussy, and I'm not qualified to speak to those factors. I will say this, though: Being shaved/trimmed has always made a difference to me. Hair adds a tangy, sour flavor that makes it difficult to enjoy. So, if you're trying to get your man (or woman) down there, consider that.)

Surprisingly, I enjoy the power issues attached to it. Which is odd, because when you think of the image of a guy getting his shaft licked by a woman, you think the guy has the power. Well, I don't know if that's true. In the typical Male/Female scenario where the guy orders the girl to blow him, all the girl needs is a strong jaw, and that guy's going to be pissing out of a stump of the rest of his life. Even if the guy is pushing her head on his dick, who's REALLY in control?

But I know that when I'm going down on my woman, I'm in control. Pure and simple. She might guide my fingers or whisper "Slow down", but I'm the guy leading the way. When my mouth is gently french-kissing her pussy, I've got the power, make no mistake.

(That entire paragraph should come as no surprise to anyone who's been reading this blog. :) )

So, there's the power aspect. That's one reason.

- I get off on pleasing women. Feeling a woman shudder and explode on my face is a pleasure NO man should ever be denied. The knowledge that something I did, made a woman twist in delight, makes my cock throb.

- There's something kinky and forbidden about the act of cunnilingus. It feels dirty, but good.

- I said it before, but it deserves repeating. I love the taste of pussy. I like the softness of the flesh. I like the way it trembles and twitches when I touch it. I like the way your thighs wrap around my head.

Mm.

--

- As to why women don't feel comfortable with it, well... that's trickier. I think part of the reasoning comes from the biological importance of that area of the body. So many things going on down there (I can't even really imagine what dealing with that is like) that women are protective, and/or unwary. Many women don't let men do more than penetrate, and haven't spent enough time exploring it themselves!

I can understand the reluctance. More than once I've been told they think it's "icky". It's NOT icky. It's beautiful, and sexy, and soft, and delicious, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

There's a mental block for some women. Maybe a conservative upbringing or overzealous parents? The Sexual Revolution came and went, but there's still a reluctance to embrace our own bodies and sexuality in today's culture. Fear and shame have something to do with it, but a lack of education about our own bodies is a serious detriment to enjoying the pleasures we've been given.

--

I told the girl I've been dating that I hold lust to be one of the key ingredients of a relationship, alongside trust, communication and love. She's a little minx, and she agrees. I wish people were more open about this, and felt comfortable talking about it. I just want to scream "There's nothing wrong with talking about it!" but than people get more uncomfortable talking about it.

--

I've totally gone off-track, haven't I.

Look, I could go on and on, about why I love doing these things, but here's the short version.

There's more to life than missionary. Or doggie. Or standing in the shower, with one of her legs wrapped around my waste.

It's fun being kinky. Why deny ourselves the pleasure of trying something new, especially when it can be so absolutely explosive?

Sex and lust are our way of sharing with the people we care about and being intimate; Oral sex is a method used to make your body soar, and let the stress bleed away. Why not take advantage of the millions of ways we can do exactly that?

I love pussy.

End of story.

-- The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Inappropriate

I love the way you taste.

I know, I know, I shouldn't say it quite like that. I can be uncouth, and crude, and talk about inappropriate things, at the most inappropriate times, but, still... I love to taste you.

Maybe it's the way your legs spread on command for me (or the way you do it automatically). Or the way your thighs squeeze my skull, when my tongue is inside you. Or the way you breathe.

Yes. The way you breathe.

It's such a little thing, really, but when your breathing turns to a series of hard puffs, then I know where your body is heading. And I know that I'm helping you along the way.

But listening to you breathe hard, on the edge of moaning... It's such a turn-on. Why? Because you know that I get off on you getting off.

I get turned on.

I know, it's inappropriate for me to talk about these things, but still... When I feel your flesh on my lips, I get excited. In the good way, and the dirty way.

Tasting you is just... Heaven? Maybe? I know, I know... It's such a cliche...

But I love licking your pussy. The way your flesh has it's own contour, and special spots, and the way it gets wet. Yes, when it gets wet, and I can slide my fingers in you, then it's glorious.

Absolutely glorious.

And that's when your hips twist against my face, and your arms grab me in multiple locations. All of which, I love. Because the more turned on you get, the more turned on I get. Watching you get closer and closer to eruption, from in-between your legs, is wondrous.

My tongue pulses inside you, occasionally pausing for me to swallow the random juices and moisture that are covering most of my face.

You're panting. I'm licking.

I look up to see your eyes closed, and mouth half-open. I dive back in eagerly, and...

Your body flares and bursts like a nova. Your back lifts off the bed. I can see your erect nipples.

Mmmm. I love the way they taste, too.

My face smells like you. I love it. Your body continues it's rise, and then slowly falls back down.

...

I love the way you taste.

-- The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Literature Tag

I'm it, apparently. I don't usually go the meme route, but DTG sent it my way, and she's a friend, and I love me the books, soo.....

--

1. Total number of books I've owned - I have to admit, I couldn't say for sure. Upwards of 4-500, I'd guess. Probably many many more. I still have some in boxes, and I sold a large deal of my YA collection when I was back in high school. Silly me.

2. The last book I bought - Foreign Affairs: Erotic Travel Tales

3. The last book I read - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

4. 5 books that mean something to me - Hmm. In no particular order:

It by Steven King - One of my favorites of all time. The "young kids stop the bad guy, and make a pledge to come back home, if it every happens again" struck a chord with me, for lengthy reasons. I have a nostalgic attachment to 6 other students from my youth, and seeing the televised version of the novel (which wasn't that fantastic) led me to Steven King for the first time.

Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman - If, during the process of working on his legendary formula, Einstein dreamed about Time, what would his dreams be? Each "dream" is several pages long, detailing a world where time worked differently. I've always had problems wrapping my head around certain theoretical sciences, but playing with the concept of time has interested me enough to try to work past my confustion.

Foundation by Isaac Asimov - One of the great sci-fi classics of all time, and the first time I ever actually enjoyed a book of short stories. This isn't so much an anthology, as it is a number of tales set in one universe, detailing the end of the First Galactic Empire. It mixes several themes, including dystopia/utopia, different government structures, and hyper-mathmatics.

Patriot Games by Tom Clancy - Before Clancy jumped the shark with his Jack Ryan character, there was this book. Technically, Hunt for Red October was my first Clancy novel, but Patriot Games has always been my favorite, and thoroughly entrenched me in the spy/action genre. Unfortunately, Clancy has been the only major author in this field to keep me entertained.

The Witching Hour by Anne Rice - In all honesty, I'm not a fan of Rice's works. I really enjoyed the screen adaptation of Interview of a Vampire, but when I finally sat down to read several of the Vampire Chronicles, I was unimpressed. Much flowery prose, not enough content. The Mayfair Witches trilogy (of which The Witching Hour is the first) started off very strong, but turned into a mess at the end of Book 1. Books 2 and 3 were far more confusing, and it was obvious that she didn't really know where the series was going when she started it. Boo hoo, I say. Anyways. This book is relevant, because it has one rough-sex scene towards the end, hat was (to my memory) the first time I ever consciously enjoyed a sexual scenario of that description. It was also the first time I ever masturbated to a book. Ah, good times. The rest of the book is nice, but knowing how craptastic the rest of the triolgy is, makes it unreadable.

-- The Bastard.

Fiction - Join me

I open the door slowly, being careful not to disturb you. Several feet away, your naked silhouette relaxes behind the curtain. The steam obscures my vision, but not my hearing.

I can't see you properly, but I know that your back is against the wall, with your legs apart. Your finger is moving up and down over your clit.

When I hear you quietly moan my name, I reach down to my naked cock, and stroke quickly.

There are days when my lust and need overwhelms you. Then there are the very-rare moments, when a morning-fuck isn't enough. For you.

When I think of how repressed you used to be, I just get even more turned on. My fingers tighten around my shaft as a smile broadens across my face.

I hear your breaths come quicker. You're very excited, I can tell. My wrist moves up and down, trying to catch up with you.

Through the mist and curtain, I see your hand move. Oh, you're grabbing your tit. God, I want you so bad right now.

No. Nononono. I need to let you finish.

I imagine your eyes closed, mouth open, as you pant louder. My name echoes again, as your moans get louder. I keep my mouth clamped shut; I don't want to interrupt.

Your moans increases, as your voice goes shrill. You pant, moan, and almost-scream.

Then you scream.

I hear you beg my name, and I can't stop my balls from releasing my lust. It comes spewing out, mere seconds after your own body erupts. I look down to see my cock spewing outwards all over the bathroom floor. I really couldn't care less.

I hold the doorframe with one hand, as my body weakens and relaxes. I hear you pant, and watch as your body turns to stand under the shower, letting the water rain down on you.

I pull away, and go sit on the bed.

From the shower, you unexpectedly call out.

"So, are you going to join me, or what?"

I laugh, and run back inside the bathroom.

Minutes later, we're both moaning again.

--The Bastard.

Nonfiction - A long time ago...

(With a title like that, I'll bet that some of you thought I was going to write about the new Star Wars movie. Shame, shame, shame on you.)

(... *Sigh*.)

(Yes, I saw it.)

(It was okay.)

(...)

(Okay, I admit it, I always wanted to be Han Solo. How could you NOT? He gets the chick, and he's got the fucking blaster, and the cool ship, and... )

(/nerdgasm off)

--

Ahem.

I'm going through my 200-carousel cd player, for the first time in forever. I came across an old Extreme album. Um, yikes. It's funny the things you find ten years later.

So, I threw on a couple of the songs, while doing some other work, and had a flashback.

I thought I'd share.

--

Note: I have this annoying tendency to associate songs with certain incidents from my life; to the point that, 11 years later, I remember a very sad car trip.

--

I was home for thanksgiving, during my freshmen year. I invited R. and E. to come with me to the hospital.

I remember the drive, through the boonies and across a couple mountains. I was driving my mother's 2-door Buick. It was a beast of a car. But, it had a cd-player, and always smelled that "new-car smell". I loved that car.

There was always a certain amount of tension between myself and R. We were friends, but he had become a first-class dick during our last year at high school. Years later, the details seem so incredibly un-important. Isn't that always the way?

Of course, I'm a certified first-class asshole, now. Funny, that.

We pulled into the parking lot, and E. was nervous. Her first trip to a hospital. Lucky her.

We walked in, got directions, and went upstairs, where we met my ex-girlfriend's parents. See, my ex- had gotten into a car accident, 5 weeks after I left for college. Which was 5 weeks after she dumped me and broke my heart.

Man.

That was rough. A decade later, I still remember being depressed, for months. I loved that girl, and she completely destroyed me. I was that mythological fucker, 'Humpty Dumpty', but with few friends to put me back together again.

Every relationship since, has been affected by M. dumping the fuck outta me. I've dumped girls, before I could get too attached, been an asshole, ignored them, and ran from the few who could get close to me.

...Anyways.

She was in a very nasty car accident, and got a concussion. There was brain damage, and broken body parts, and... well, it was as bad as it can get. She fell into a coma. She hadn't woken up, yet, so I kept visiting. When you're madly in love with someone, you do that.

This time I brought friends.

Yeah, that was a stupid idea: they tweaked pretty bad. R. uncomfortably talked to her parents for awhile, and E. cried. Rough night for all involved.

That was one of the last times I saw M. And I've hated hospitals since.

.. Hm?

No. She's still in a coma. I spoke to her mother last year. No change.

11.5 years later, she still hasn't woken up.

...

--

I was going to write a post about my orgasms, and you got this instead.

What a strange day it's been.

--The Bastard.

Fiction - Whore II

I order you to put both hands on the wall. You nervously acquiesce.

My fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back. If you could only see the smirk on my face, or the glint in my eye. I'm in one of those kinds of moods.

You feel fingernails drag down your back, tugging on your spine. "I'm going to make you beg for my cock," My voice echoes in your ear.

Shirt already on the floor, I unsnap your bra, reach around to your chest, and squeeze your breasts. I press closer against your panty-clad ass, and rub my shaft against it.

You groan out loud.

"Whore." I mutter, squeezing your tits harder.

Your head shoots back, ass grinding into me.

"Yes," you pant.

"And whose whore are you?" I growl, smacking your ass with one hand.

"Uh!" You moan. "Your whore... Your whore... Please, I'm begging you."

I smack your ass two more times.

"Begging me? Already?" The mockery in my voice would shame most, but
not you. You are a craven whore, and you feed on it.

"Yes. Please... I want your dick."

I smack your ass harder.

"Say it again."

You inhale slowly.

"I want your dick. Please."

I smile.

"Take off your panties."

You pant, and slowly reach down to the waistband.

"Too!" I smack your ass.

"Fucking!" I whack it harder.

"SLOW!" My voice snaps against you, palm beating your ass.

I reach for your panties, and with one strong pull, rip them off you.

"When I say do something..." My hand pulling on your hair again, "You
fucking do it. Got it?"

You breathlessly nod your head.

"Good girl." I smirk. "Now, spread your legs."

You swiftly move your legs apart. I reach down in-between your thighs, and slowly rub your wet flesh.

"You liked when I smacked your ass, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yes." You whisper quickly.

"Good answer," I smile, pushing one finger up your pussy.

Your body arches, and you let out a gasp. My fingers pulls downward and push up into you again. Increasing the tempo, I watch with glee, as your body eagerly awaits my fingers mashing into your pussy.

Your lips throb around my fingers, as they fuck you relentlessly. I wonder how long it will take you to cum.

"Do you like when I fuck you like that, whore?"

"Yes!" you pant hungrily.

I laugh, and smack your ass again

"Why are you...?" You start to ask.

I pull back your hair, and ram two fingers up into you.

"Because I can."

Two fingers become three. Oh, so tight. So deliciously tight. I wind
them around each other and thrust faster. Your hips bounce against my
wrist.

"Please..." You beg. "Your dick."

"Please."

I contemptuously laugh.

"I am begging you to let me cum. Please..." Your hoarse voice pleads.

"No, oh no... I don't think so."

Hearing you beg, it's just... yum. Your panting, and moaning, your naked heaving body. I pull my fingers out of your pussy, reach around to your chest, and wipe them on your breasts.

"I am going to lick your pussy off you, very soon."

"Oh god..." You moan.

I pull your hips, back, push my dick down, and slide the tip inside you.

Your body attempts to push back, but I hold you in front of me.

"Say it." I order.

"Please... fuck me." You cry out.

I smile.

"Whore."

I ram my dick inside you.

"Fuck me. Please..." You call out again.

My sadistic side takes over completely, as I mercilessly begin ramming into you. I watch as my shaft disappears inside, your ass sliding backwards.

"Please let me cum," You beg.

I laugh.

With each thrust, I begin smacking your ass again. As I continue pounding away at your wet pussy, my hand pounds away at your ass.

"You love this, don't you?" I pull back on your hair, my hips ramming into you.

"Yes... Yess.. " You moan. Your mouth is half-open, sweat dripping down your face.

I love it.

My hips fuck you faster. My dick continues throbbing and thrusting inside you. I can feel your pussy embracing it, holding on, trying to keep me inside you.

My lust will not be denied.

"Beg for me, Whore." I order.

"Beg."

"May I cum? Please...I need to cum...oh fuck...I wanna cum like a good little whore."

You feel one hand slide around to your waist, slipping down to your clit. My fingers rub your clit up and down, quickly following the rhythm of my dick fucking you.

"You love this, don't you?" I growl.

"Yes, yes.." You pant.

"You love being fucked like a dirty little whore, don't you?" My finger pushes down on your clit.

"God, YES." You shriek, body getting closer.

I push my dick inside you, and grind my body against yours.

"Beg for me again." I order. "Do it."

"Fuck... PLEASE... Please let me cum."

I pull my dick out slowly, and ram it back inside you.

"Cum for me whore." I moan.

"Now."

Your body shakes, as your pussy contracts. I broadly smile, watching you cum., like a whore.

You moan, and writhe, hips bucking wildly. My finger rides over your clit, while you cry out and curse.

I keep fucking you with my dick, as your body continues exploding, until the shaking begins to subside.

I pull out slowly, and order you to turn around.

You look at me for the first time, naked and sweaty. I grab your hair, and kiss you
hard. My lips mash against yours, as you surrender willing to me.

I pull away and look you in the eyes, watching you pant.

"I could make you call me Master, and you know it, don't you?"

Wordlessly, you nod your head in agreement.

"Good answer. You know what I want now, don't you?"

Your head nods again, as you fall to your knees, and press your lips around my cock. My approval is given in two words:

"Good whore."

-- The Bastard

Nonfiction - Retrospective

I skimmed over the entries I've written since X-mas. Compared to the pre-holiday stories (The 'X' series listed on the right), the tone is much darker. There's hints of sadness and melancholy. And quite frankly, not a lot of sex.

I'd say I don't know why, but I'd be lying. Part of it was the wintery-mellowness that I feel every year. The other reasons are a bit more personal.

But I'm aware of it, and I'm going to try to write more, and leave some of the melancholy behind. It's not easy, but noone ever said it would be.

--

While typing this entry, I got my first piece of hate mail, by someone who can't spell the word "fiction" properly.

Yay. I am blessed.

--

This probably won't surprise anyone, but I have a slew of unfinished stories for the blog (not to mention in my mind). The reason they haven't been completed is three-fold:

A: I'm a perfectionist of the worst kind. I can see the scene in my head; I can see what the people are doing, and what's happening, but finding the right words, is so very tricky.

B: I'm a stickler for a good and proper ending.

C: I often get so turned on by the thought of what's going on in the story, that I masturbate. Upon reaching my post-orgasmic state, I take a break for a couple minutes to, um, clean up, and usually end up doing something else.

-- The Bastard

Fiction - Early

4 am.

You're asleep. I love when you sleep, and you're at peace. I worry,
when you stress too much; that's when I start to get on your case,
about having enough free time. Which stresses you out even more. Which
leads to us snapping at each other, and...

Sigh.

I know what you need to relax. Sleep helps, but what you really need... is me.

More specifically, Us.

So, I'm glad you're sleeping in a thong. It makes things so much easier.

You sleep on your side, which causes some difficulty from
time-to-time. Tonight, it's perfect. You're all curled up, so sliding
one finger in-between your legs isn't too difficult.

Rubbing your pussy without waking you up? A whole 'nother beast entirely.

But, I'm successful. My finger slides through the thong, and over your
lips, and...

You're already wet.

I'm impressed, and immediately aroused. Any doubts I had before are
erased. I know what I want. And who I want to do it to.

A small "uhh" catches my attention. Good, you're starting to wake up.

You let out a small groan, and try to push me away. No... I don't think so.

I pull your thong down. Your legs lift slightly, helping me. It's
possible you think this is a dream, but I doubt it. Your body knows
what you like. And so do I.

I push your legs up towards your chest, putting you into the "L"
position. I run my fingers over your pussy again. It's wet, and
accesible.

Excellent. I pull off my boxers, and smile at my hard-on.

I slide up behind up, and gently rub the tip of my cock against you.

You moan louder. I push inside you slowly, and your body awakens,
pushing back against me.

You say nothing, as I slide inside you. Your legs open, pussy
swallowing me easily. I do know your body, and I know what you like.
And your body like my cock. A lot.

I withdraw slowly, letting your body come to full consciousness on
it's own terms. I push in you again, and watch as your breasts push
out from your chest. You're breathing hard.

You're awake.

I pull closer to you, one arm wrapped around your chest. My fingers
squeeze one breast, as my hips thrust my cock in and out of you. With
each passing thrust, your body reacts more and more.

One of your hands reaches up and grabs the headboard. Your face turns
into the pillow, as I hear repeated muffled moans. Good. You've from
wanton to aroused.

I move faster. I love the hard fucking we do. The way your body
responds, the way your eyes beg me for more. Sometimes you'll talk
dirty, sometimes you won't.

Tonight, I'm giving and taking, without a word from you.

It's what you need. The dream-like fuck, that I'm putting you through.
The way your wet flesh sucks me in greedily. Feeling the moist juices
on my shaft is a jolt of adrenaline through my body.

I can't stop my hips from bucking against you. I love doing this to you;
with you. I feel a hand on my forearm, but if it's to get me to stop,
it's too late. I'm beyond stopping now.

My head clears for a moment, and all I hear is wet fucking. Moist
sounds of contact, heavy breathing and flesh. It's a surprise, when I
feel you cum before I do. Your body contracts, and pulls me in.

Your pussy, sucking on my cock, is too much. I explode, my balls
pumping through the shaft, and into you. You feel spurt after spurt
coat the inside of you. Your ass pushes back against me, your flesh
still holding me tight. You won't let go, which is fine with me.

We pant together, as we relax. I start to slide out of you, but you
speak for the first time.

"No." You whisper. You pull my arm back over your chest, and relax.

I curl up behind you, and relax. Our bodies shift slightly, as we fall asleep.

You know, that if I stay inside you like that, I''ll end up waking you
up in a couple hours to do it all over a-...

Ah. Of course. I smile and try to fall asleep.

I'm going to need my energy, it seems.

-- The Bastard.

Fiction - Glorious Slut

I run my fingers over your naked body.

Glorious.

If you were to look down, you'd see the erection in my pants. I know,
I know... black pants hide cock easily. But when I see your
post-concert, naked body writhing, it makes me Want To Do Things.

Your eyes beckon to me, hoping that I'll give you orders.

You like when I tell you what to do.

"Spread your legs." My quiet voice commands.

A look of relief crosses your face, as you give in.

"Touch yourself." I order calmly.

You don't ask. You know where. Your fingers press against your folds,
and move up and down slowly. You let out a small moan.

"Please," You beg.

"No." I rebuke, pulling on your nipple in response.

You know better than to tell ME what to do.

"Put your fingers inside your pussy."

Your face flushes, but you do as you're told. You know better. Your
wet fingers slide in easily as your body writhes for a moment.

Excellent.

"Fuck yourself." My hoarse voice betrays my excitement.

Your fingers betray your lust. Hips meet joints as you screw yourself.
I watch eagerly, hand rubbing my crotch.

Your fingers slide in and out quickly.

"Faster." I snap.

"Uhh." You moan, your fingers now smacking against your cunt.

I pinch both your nipples, and you let out a small shriek. You body
starts to convulse as your pussy quivers and explodes.

"Yesss." I moan, grabbing my cock through my pants.

I pant as you cum. Your head turns to stare at my pants as your orgasm
subsider. I unzip my pants quickly and watch as your mouth opens.

"Suck it." I order.

Your lips greedily wrap around my cock, as I smile and moan.

Good girl.

-- The Bastard

Nonfiction - Catching up

- First off, thanks for all the birthday greetings. It was much appreciated. Turning 30 hasn't had too much of an effect on me, but I feel more like an "elder stateman" around my friends than before; if I wasn't the old guy before, I am now. Ah, well.

- I started this back in October, and belted out almost 20 stories in 2 months+. Since then, I've written maybe half as many. It's always been more difficult to write in the spring, versus autumn; I always have more going on in the spring, and I'm always less motivated, due to the lack of sunlight.

My poor mood is one of the reasons you've seen stories that are a bit darker. The "Alone" stories (and I want to play more with those) are really fucking dark, and the last ("Sleeping Dragon") was a bit sad and lonely.

I'm also running into a problem which I feared from the beginning. In my mind, I've put a block around certain sexcapades or ideas I've had: I've refused to use them here. Some are personal, some are a bit too kinky(not really, I'm just being a schmoe) and some I've never done.

*chuckle* Yes, even I haven't experienced everything.

- I'm not good with happy endings. I know, I know, that's a really sad thing to hear, but it's true. I was explaining to a friend the other day that it's easier for me to write fucked-up endings, than to write happy ones; my happy endings always feel forced, or cheesey. It's very difficult for me to convey a sense of peace or joy, without resorting to cliches or familiar phrases.

Also, there's enough stories with happy endings in the world. We could all use a little more "fuckedup-ness" in our entertainment, methinks. It might just also be the bitterness and cynicism that dwells inside me. Hrm. Food for thought.

- I finally told someone about the blog last week. She already knew about the stories, because I had sent some her way. She hasn't see it yet, but I'll probably be sending her the link soon.

I guess I should also admit that she and I have been, um, getting involved. We're taking our time with things, but I'm looking at the possibility of getting entangled in a serious relationship again. It's been a number of years, since I met anyone that I thought I could really make things work out with.

But, we're both being careful. It's complicated and there is a tremendous amount of baggage to work through, on both sides. You never know what will happen.

Plus, she's got an inner slut, and I've been helping her embrace it. Heh.

- I want to thank all the people who send comments or e-mails about the stories. I know I'm always promising to write more, but it's difficult for someone who's never been good at self-discipline.

That said, I love writing. I was asked last week by a gentleman who I've worked for in the past, and whose opinion I respect greatly, "What do you want to do?". He was referring to my music career, but it almost slipped out:

"I want to write."

It feels good (and bad), to finally know what I should've done with my life. The hard part is how to make it work. I feel like I've been drifting around the truth for years, but I never realized it. It shouldn't come as a surprise, considering it took my mother 40 years to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. My father, also.

Of course, the fact that they hated each other, and had three kids, didn't help matters.

Anyways.

All the positive feedback and comments have helped. Thank you, one and all. I know I've promised to write stories left and right, and I'm going to try to get to them, as soon as I can, I promise.

Thanks,

The Bastard.

Fiction - Sleeping Dragon

“Hey.”

“Oh. Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Um… good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You just caught me off guard. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“So, I’m coming into town.”

“Okay.”

“I’m coming into town. I thought we could get together.”

“Um… I don’t know. Where are you staying?”

“I don’t know. Hotel, I think.”

“…”

“You still there.”

“Yeah. Why don’t you… you can stay with me.”

“Um.”

“Yeah, look. I’ll crash on the couch. You can use my bed.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be good, I promise. And it'll save you money.”

“… Okay.”
--

This was not a good idea. Talk about awkward, what was I thinking?

She’s asleep on my couch. Funny, I thought I was going to sleep on the couch. But, we watched a movie, and she passed out. She did the whole “I’m not going to fall asleep. No, really” line, and then… Boom.

Out like a light.

She’s still beautiful. I mean, beautiful in a million ways. All the ways that I remember, and a few I had forgotten.

And after a long day, she was exhausted.I told her to go sleep in my bed. But, of course, damn stubborn girl that she is, she didn't listen.

We tried to make it work, a while back. We did all the things that two people in love do. We talked, we worked through things, we planned, and then…

And then we did the thing that people who aren’t meant to be do. We broke up.

So, here she is, looking nothing short of extraordinary, and I’m thinking about it, at 1 in the morning. I don’t know what it is about her, but I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. I’ve been out on dates, tried to make a connection with other women, but in the back of my mind, I always compare them to her.

She stirs, and I wonder if she’s going to wake up. Maybe I –should- wake her up. Talk to her, maybe? Try to work through the awkwardness?

No.

No, we tried this. It didn’t work.

… But I miss her. And Sweet Christ, does she have great tits.

Okay. I’m not going to put myself through this again. Once (several times, really) was enough.

I walk over to her, and pull a blanket over her body. Her hand reaches up for mine.
Her eyes are open. Wide. Open.

“Hi.” She whispers, fingers gently grabbing my arm, eyes pleading with me. I weakly sink to my knees.

“Hey.” I smile, running my fingers through her hair. Just like I used to.

Oh no.

“I’m sorry.” She said, sitting up.

“It’s not your fault. These things happen.” I said cautiously.

She pulls me closer.

“Don’t.” I beg.

“I’m sorry.” Tears glisten in her eye.

“Look, I-“

She kisses me.

Against my better judgement, I melt.

Only her. Only with her, could this happen. Everyone else, I’m the guy who calls the shots. Only with her, does my world tremble, and fall apart.

And with her, I love and fear every minute of it.

-- The Bastard.

Fiction/Travel - Simple Glance

5 days and 4 mornings later, my curiousity has gotten the best of me. If I hadn't been looking across the street on my 1st morning here, I might've missed them entirely. But now, after several days of acclimating to the heat and humidity, I realize that I'm obsessed. I must know more.

On each of those mornings, at some time after 9:30 am andbefore 11 am, a ritual has taken place. It took several days before I really believed what I thought I was seeing.

But I know lust. And I know it well.

So on that first morning, when I saw the man and woman glance at each other, I almost thought nothing of it. But it was such an odd glance. Longer than normal, but shorter than two people who knew each other. Or so I surmised.

But the next morning, at around the same time, it happened again; they passed each other and gave just the barest looks of recognition. I watched as they crossed the street, then headed down the block, in the same direction.

It wasn't until the third morning, when it happened yet again, that I became suspicious, and had thoughts.

Why do they never say hi? Why do they cross from opposite sides of the street, and continue going in the same direction? What is it about that glance, that fascinates me so?

They don't acknowledge each other, but they do. They see each other, but are afraid to be seen with each other. But why are they afraid to...

And that's when I realize how dumb I've been.

So this morning, my eyes are peeled. They always come from the left of the motel, cross at the light, and continue down to the right. At 10:11, he shows up on my side of the street, and waits. By 10:25, it appears she's not going to show. She's usually here by now. He's looking at his watch, and keeps looking up towards from where she normally arrives.

They cross, and I see their hands briefly touch.

I toss down enough money for the bill and tip, and stroll out of the cafe; leisurely, but determined.

I have to see where they're going.

I follow from a distance, for about a block. I chuckle when she almost trips, because she was staring across the street at him.

I'm caught off-guard when she turns into a building. At first glance, it looks like a museum. But, no, it's a hotel.

A very swanky hotel.

I stop myself from following her inside. I slow my pace to a crawl, and wait for him to cross the street. He walks inside, very quickly. From behind, I watch as he crosses the lobby, into the elevator.

And then he's gone.

I watch the floor numbers climb on the display. It stops at 3rd floor, then comes back down. I ponder whether or not to indulge my voyeuristic tendencies (not an easy decision, by any means), and choose propriety over kinkiness.

I sit down in the chair in the lobby, and wait. For almost two hours, I try not to think about what they're doing; instead, I concentrate on why.

I'm fairly certain at least one of them is married or in a serious relationship. The shy glances, the elaborate set-up. Why do they cross the street like that? Is that a signal? A ritual? Part of a game?

And if one of them is seeing someone else, why not just end it? Why is it easier to cheat, then to commit? What's wrong with that relationship, that drives this man and woman together, like this?

And this is not the kind of hotel where one pays by the hour. Is one of them staying here? Are they in town for the week? Does one of them work here?

Why do they-?

The elevator 'dings', and she struts forth.

Holy , there's a woman who just got laid.

Her skirt is wrinkled, her hair is tussled, and her shirt isn't composed well. And she's glowing, sweet christ, is she glowing.

I watch her stride out of the hotel, and back onto the street.

Moments later, the elevator dings again. A weary, but sated gentleman follows. I get up, ready to follow. I walk quickly to catch up, and tap his shoulder.

He turns to me, a sad smile on his face.

"Yes?"

I want to ask so many questions. How. Why. When. Who. Why.

Why?

But the look that crosses his face, is one of guilt. Ah, the price of our conscience. I won't burden him. I just can't.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." I say.

"Not a problem." He tips his hat. "Good day."

"Good day." I reply softly.

If I followed him, I could probably figure out who he is, and by extension, her. But, I leave them to their life. They don't need someone else judging them.

Let alone me.

-- The Bastard.