Kinky Bastard

JJ

2008-06-24T15:12:00.002-04:00

Jenna:

Got bounced. Came back. You were gone.

Use e-mail on the side. Need to finish conversation with you.

Nonfiction - The greatest trick the devil ever pulled...

2005-09-26T01:09:00.000-04:00

Every so often, I am filled with the urge to pack all my belongings into storage, and disappear for a few months. New England, Europe, Hawaii, Ireland, California, Greece... Anywhere but here.

I never do. I always stay, and sort through whatever dilemma is making me wish I was somewhere else. My usual method is to hone in on the things that are important to me, and re-prioritize everything else.

This blog is now a casualty of that re-prioritization.

Originally a vehicle for my writing, Kinky Bastard has become an unwelcome burden. I'm a bit surprised by my lack of sadness at letting it go, but the truth is this: It feels like I've stopped writing for myself. I feel like I have to churn out stories, and that they have to be different, but more of the same. There are things I want to write about, but I don't feel like they have a place here.

It's uncomfortable. And I've almost wrote personal details and things going on in my life, into the stories. THAT'S not something I want to be doing, either.

So, I'm going to keep writing. I'm just not going to do it here. And I'm going to work on writing better. I'm looking at taking a class or two in the spring.

Thanks for all the kind words. It's possible I may start up another blog, at some point. I may even re-open KB, down the road. No guarantees, though.

The stories and archives are available for you to browse at your leisure.

Be good.

-- The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Links and Life

2005-09-19T14:07:00.000-04:00

- Chelsea Girl informatively expounds on the topic of anal intercourse. For those who haven't indulged (and for those who have), there is a great deal to be learned here and here.

- Lex has written in several spots about the unwillingness of certain individuals to believe that his lifestyle, and subsequent writings of such, are true. Never having met Lex or Leslie, let alone knowing anyone who actually knows them, I have chosen to be optimistic. I see no reason NOT to accept that Lex has the poly- lifestyle that so many men wish they could have. I am neither envious nor credulous regarding his life. I am merely entertained by it.

I am often bothered by the inability of people to approach subjects with an open mind. It seems more and more(and I think it's prevalent in Americans) we refuse to actually go into a debate with the possibility that there is something to be learned.

This is what I get for watching The West Wing for years and years: I've become an idealist. My parents must be proud.

- I've got to finish a three-year, three-part story at Lit, by Thanksgiving. I think I know how the story starts, and maybe how it ends, but the middle... eh. And surprisingly, there's no sex in it yet.

I know, I know. Shocking. I'll work on that, I promise.

- I'm not a big awards show fan, but I watched The Emmy's. It wasn't horrible, unsurprisingly. Kristen Bell singing Fame, David Letterman honoring the legacy of Johnny Carson, Lost winning the Drama category, James Spader and William Shatner winning awards in their prospective categories, Jon Stewart winning several categories and his hilarious pre-taped bit, and the touching three-man tribute for Brokaw, Jennings and Rather made for a warm and
pleasant evening.

I didn't know that Ossie Davis and Brock Peters had died, though. I've enjoyed both their careers over the years, and I'll miss their gravitas and style.

- Up until recently, I was seeing a beautiful woman from a nearby state. It ended peacefully, and we are still in contact. But the last several months with her, have forced me to question many of my motives on a personal and professional level. I am proud to say that I did not let my self-destructive relationship habits get in the way of what we had. It just didn't work out between us, even though we tried.

There is a part of me that feels like I lost something special; Worse, that at some point down the road, I will regret letting her go. I have loved few women in my life. I feel like I should've tried harder, even though I know it just won't work right now.

I want to say something schmaltzy and inspirational like "know what you've got, don't let it go", but I think I'll just recommend a stiff drink, a smoke, or a good movie with a friend. Some combination of the three always works for me.

So, if you detect a certain sentimentality to any upcoming stories, you know why.

-- The Bastard.

Fiction - Breasts

2005-09-01T21:42:00.000-04:00

I want to strap your down, and bind your wrists and ankles, on my oak 4-poster bed. I'll use a blindfold, of course. Why let you know what's coming?

Add two pieces of ice, run them over your nipples, and wait for them to become erect.

However, I'm not a patient man, so it wouldn't hurt to insert a vibrator in-between your legs. I press my knee against it, watching you thrash a little bit. I must admit, watching you twist and turn, at my beck and call, feels empowering.

So, when you hear me chuckle, and feel the clamps close on your nipple, you can only imagine my joy at being a sadistic sonuvabitch.

Of course, they clamps are tight.

Of course, they hurt a "little" bit.

Of course, I love every minute of it.

For no other reason than it amuses me to do so, I begin fucking you with the vibrator. Moments later, I cease said action.

You're panting a little bit. I can't help but smile broadly.

I release the clamps, grab both your breasts with my hands, and squeeze in a fashion considered "not delicate". I twist, watching your jaw drop in pain. I twist them again, your body screaming for... release? For more? It doesn't matter.

Reluctantly, I cease, and watch your body recover.

I reach over for the flogger, and let the leather straps run up and down your chest. Your breasts glisten in the candlelight. I'm struck with the idea of sliding my cock in-between them, while your tongue licks eagerly, hoping to catch a taste.

Instead, I bring the straps down on your breasts. You cry out, as that line between pain and pleasure gets blurred.

I reach in-between your legs, and give the vibe a twist, then several hard thrusts. I grab the flogger and whack your chest a little harder. Again.

And again.

Following several more strokes, I open my mouth and lick each nipple slowly. I hear your arms struggle against the straps. It drives you crazy being tied down, doesn't it? The kind-of crazy that is both arousing to you, and enticing to me.

I can't stop my teeth biting your nipples hard, and twisting them against your breasts. You squirm, as your back lifts off the bed. I laugh into your chest.

I love being a bastard.

I grab the flogger, and assault one breast with a quick snap of the wrist, then the other. Alternating back and forth, I watch small red marks form on your luscious tits. They'll be there tomorrow; a reminder of your godless slut-self.

I straddle your chest, cock stretching in my pats, and slide it out, placing it in-between your breasts. I push them together, and thrust forward several times. The combination of ice, saliva and sweat acts as a natural lube.

I reach behind and push the vibrator back in, increasing the speed. Your hips thrust, and your mouth beckons.

Your mouth shall be denied, though. I smack each tit tenderly. A lovetap? Perhaps.

The word "slut" whispers my lips. Your body agrees.

I pull back, after several minutes of tit-fucking, and order you to beg me to come on your chest.

You eagerly respond.

I eagerly explode.

I laugh as your tongue sticks out, my cock shooting all over your naked body. You aim for a taste, or the sensation of it hitting your lips.

No matter.

I lean back, panting.

Then I pull out the rope, and wrap it around your breasts.

--The Bastard

Fiction - Wet Dreams

2005-08-31T13:41:00.000-04:00

I thought of you today in the shower. I had my hand wrapped around my cock, and I could feel the power flowing from you. To. Me.

In my mind, I saw you submitting to me. The things you would do for me. The things (oh so many) I would do to you. The look of lust in your eyes, when I did them to you.

The way you would come for me. The way I'd come on you. The way your naked body would writhe and glisten.

The places I'd put my cock. The way I'd tie you up. The way you would scream in orgasmic bliss.

The way you'd take it all, and always be hungry for more. I would replace every waking thought you have with sex. Nothing more, nothing less. You would be a slave of lust. To lust.

To me.

Touch yourself. You and I both know you're wet. Aren't you, slave?

-- The Bastard

Fiction - I remember...

2005-08-29T22:31:00.000-04:00

... How she smelled, when I kissed her shoulder. The mix of perfume, hair product, and her scent was delicious.

... How she struggled at first, before sinking back into my arms. My hand wrapped around her chest, eagerly squeezing her breasts.

... How she quickly pulled away, shedded her clothes and helped me remove my own. Her hand grazed my cock. I like when she does that.

... How her ass swayed from side-to-side, enticing me to join her. She was bent over the bed, clad only in a black thong.

... How quickly she went from tease to vixen.

... How it felt to hover over her chest, globe of flesh cupped in my hand, lifted to my mouth. I can still taste her nipple, weeks later.

... How easily her thong was pushed to the side, and how moist she was. She normally is wet on the inside, and then juices flow out onto her (with a little help). This time, she was drenched.

... How she tasted, the first time I licked her.

... How she tasted, the second time I licked her.

... How her fingers tightened in my hair as my mouth affixed itself to her skin, tongue tenderly licking her clit.

... How her hips buck when she gets excited. They twist and turn, and make it almost impossible to hold on. But I like a challenge.

... How her legs wrapped around my head when she exploded. I can still feel her thighs pressed against my ear.

... How I kissed my way up her chest. Her stomach trembled a little bit, as I kissed around her stomach, and up to her breasts. Oh, how I love her breasts.

... How I entered her, and her legs wrapped around me, eagerly holding me inside. She gasped, surprised by my action. Her eyes closed as she wrapped her legs around me. She loved it.

... How our bodies moved back and forth, until she came again.

... What happened next in the shower.

-- The Bastard

Nonfiction - 2 months later

2005-08-23T20:30:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm alive. I've been itching to write for two months, and haven't had the time. The summer was far, far worse than I expected, but I made it through in one piece.

Let the debauchery begin, again.

-- The Bastard.

To Be Continued

2005-06-21T02:41:00.000-04:00

This is frustrating for me, but I have no choice. I've decided to suspend blogging here for the duration of the summer. It's a combination of stress, responsibility, and some serious "life changes" (isn't there a better phrase for that?) that are going to be taking up the brunt of my time.

I hate posting "I'm not here right now, but will be back soon", but I'm just letting everyone know that I won't be posting again until the beginning of September. I figure that I'll be settled by then, and back in the saddle. 'Cause right now, I'm on the ground watching the horse gallop away, chortling all the while.

Like I said, it's frustrating.

--

I had asked a couple of you to write some stories for the 'blog, for later in the summer. Due to everything that's been going on, I've decided to shelve those plans. Thanks to all who agreed, and apologies for any inconvenience.

--

I'm leaving all the stories intact. I'd like to go back and revise a few, but I don't know if that's realistic. The demands on my time are overwhelming, so that's probably a pipe dream.

I wish you all the best. Thanks for the feedback. See you in 2 months.

-The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Blockage

2005-06-13T21:37:00.000-04:00

I went back through the archives last week, and found a lot of posts saying "Sorry I haven't written much, been busy", and all that crap. It all felt the same. So, I won't make you read that again.

I don't have writer's block. What I do have is anxiety. I got caught up in a few things at the beginning of the month, and they haven't settled down yet. I think, by the end of next week, life will have returned to normal.

And when life returns to normal, then the Bastard gets to finish his 5 or 6 stories that He can't seem to Finish.

ARGGGGGH.

You'd think it be easier, to write. I mean, there's thunder and lightning outside. Those are two of my favorite writing conditions. The energy in the air plus the darkness above... it just gets my juices flowing.

However, the anxiety persists. So, I'm hoping to get these stories finished, and get more to you soon.

Thanks for your patience.

-- The Bastard.

Tech - Changes

2005-06-09T18:23:00.001-04:00

I've been playing around with the colors and fonts again.

Things will be returning to normal, shortly.

-- The Bastard.

Tech - Font

2005-05-29T16:14:00.000-04:00

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"

2005-05-27T18:18:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-24T23:49:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-24T22:16:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-22T11:56:00.000-04:00

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...

2005-05-21T00:47:00.000-04:00

(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

2005-05-18T00:38:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-14T00:39:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-13T14:18:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-12T18:50:00.000-04:00

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

2005-05-05T21:30:00.000-04:00

- 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

2005-05-04T13:30:00.000-04:00

“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

2005-05-02T11:31:00.000-04:00

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.

Fiction/Travel - Searching for...

2005-04-25T22:08:00.000-04:00

Some of the people walking through the renovated streets are tourists, and some are locals. You can tell the difference by the way they walk. The locals are at ease, and comfortable; The tourists are in a rush.

I'm somewhere in-between, I suppose.

I wave to the bartender as I walk in. She's rather adorable, with her dark hair and inviting hips, but she's not quite what I'm looking for. The not-so-innocent flirting has been fun over the last couple days, but there's something missing there.

Which isn't surprising; my writer's block is why I flew halfway across the world. Something is missing inside me, too.

For what seems like the millionth time, I pull out my book, and start writing. Words form, and pictures start to present themselves, but it's not the same. The energy and heart is there, but it's soulless. Whatever is missing, it's been gone for months.

And now, with the breeze from the Mediterannean blowing through my hair, I'm still searching for whatever it is I'm looking for.

The bartender brings over a cold drink, and I smile in return, while my fingers itch to write. I need a subject, an idea. I need inspiration. The words I've thrown onto paper in the last week are just that; empty, soulless words.

I look down at the bright blue water and sigh. It's gorgeous, and powerful; I could watch the water hit the surf until the end of time, and still feed bad every time I blink and miss a millisecond of light. This may not be heaven, but it's pretty damn close.

And yet, I still can't take a sliver of the beauty beneath me, and turn it into a story. I close my journal in frustration, and wonder how long this is going to take.

I lean back, and relax. If I can't write, I might as well enjoy the scenery. Over the next few hours, I watch the sun set. This is 5 days in a row of perfect weather. Not a drop of rain, or an overly-cold breeze. I love it here.

The sun lingers halfway over the horizon, when I realize the bar is starting to get crowded. It's almost time for me to move on.

A swath of blond hair over a naked back gives me pause. Leaning over the bar, she's having a chat with the bartender, and...

Hmm.

I grab my drink and walk over to the bar. The blond flips her head and watches me approach.

"Bon soir," She says delightfully.

"Francais?" I ask in surprise. Around here, french is not the most popular language, but I'm not disappointed. It's that or english for me.

"Oui," She smiles.

Look at those lips.

The bartender comes from behind, and casually wraps her arm around the blond. The dark-haired beauty has changed into a far more-revealing outfit. She whispers into the blond's ear, and they giggle.

"So," she says, "Do you have any plans tonight?"

A part of me awakens, deep down inside. It's the primal scream from my loins, the one I never deny. Two pairs of eyes shine, as they watch my face light up. In-between my legs, a different response begins to brew.

I hold out my arms, and we link up, strolling out of the bar to the envy of every man in there. As I feel their soft fingers brush again my skin, it hits me.

I know what I've been looking for, and I know why I came here; to Greece.

It's not sex, I was getting laid back in the States. So why come here?

Because there's an ancient pull to this part of the world, that I've never been able to deny. And when I finally ran into a brick wall, my unconscious ordered me here. Because this is where I can find... them.

In a wry moment, It occurs to me that I must be greedy. For most men, one would be enough.

I didn't come here to find a Muse.

I came because I needed two.

-- The Greedy Bastard

Fiction - NiN II

2005-04-21T23:21:00.000-04:00

You don't ask how I got the key to this room, and why no one else is in here. The band has started their second set, but we're far enough away from them and everyone else, so as not to be bothered. I can tell you're not impressed by the dim light, and shoddy furniture. Such uncertainty doesn't stop you from pushing me down onto the couch, though.

The loud bass rattles the walls as I sink back into the plush. You spread my legs apart and run your fingers up the length of my body. Legs, crotch, torso are all fair play as you hover in front of me.

You lean down, and nip at the side of my neck, mouth moving up towards my ear. Every time you do that, it drives me crazy, and you know it. So I reach up for your shirt, hoping to pull it off you and return the favor, but your hands catch mine, firmly placing them on the sofa..

"Uh uhh." You purr. You straighten up, cross your hands over your chest, grab the top, and pull it off. I see my favorite pair of breasts, clad only in a black bra. My cock is pushing up at my pants now.

As you lean down to continue working your magic on my neck and mouth, I hear the zipper to those tight pants go down. I don't see them slide off your sultry body, but I hear the soft leather pants fall to the ground.

The combination of the muffled words being sung from one room away and seeing you float over me in nothing but a bra, makes me want to screw you right then and there. You're a dirty angel in the darkness.

You push my legs together, and raise one leg onto the couch. You slide over my crotch, and settle your hips directly over my hardened dick. Your mouth presses against mine eagerly. Your fingers entwine behind my neck, as our wet lips meet. Kissing you is always a challenge; We both want to win so bad, we'll keep fighting until one of us gives up.

The band has started their second song, but it's background music at best. The kissing is hard and passionate, as our hands move over our cheeks and necks. Two tongues entwine while our heads move back and forth

You press your body down, hips swiveling deliberately. You body moves towards one eager purpose as your mouth slides across my chin and up to my ear.

A guitar riff sings as I inhale and exhale slowly; I sink into the bliss of having my ear nibbled until something changes.

Abruptly, my mind is pulled away. Something's wrong. My eyes shoot open and flicker across the room. So intent on devouring my neck and ears, you don't notice my attention being draw elsewhere.

A brief flash catches my eye. Over in the corner, I see something sticking out in the darkness.

A slight curve of yellow. No, not yellow. Blond. Yes.

Blond.

Blond hair.

Someone else is in here with us.

This isn't good. What do I-

The curve of hair becomes a full head of hair, as a shape takes form. Her locks surround her face, as she leans forward. A single finger presses against pouty dark-red lips. It takes a second for the message to sink in.

Shh.

Hmm. Okay. She wants to watch.

...That works for me.

I turn my attention back to your ministrations. Our mouths still fight, but we're beyond caring who wins. We're in it for the lust, now.

You pull away, and push your sweaty hair away from your face. You lean in, and breath on my ear for a moment before speaking.

"I want you in me," your husky voice demands.

I can think of no other words I enjoy hearing come out of your mouth, besides those. I don't know what's gotten into you tonight, but I don't care.

I reach up, and unsnap the back of your bra. You respond by reaching in-between my legs, and unzipping my pants. Like an automatic lever, my cock pops up.

You slide off me, grab my jeans and pull them off quickly. You glide back down my legs, and hold your body over my erect dick.

I look across the room, to see the blonde girl's mini-skirt hiked up to her waist. One hand is pressed against her wet flesh, and her middle finger is inside her pussy.

Damn.

Your fingers wrap around my shaft, reminding me of what's going on in front of me. When I feel the tip of my cock push against your lips, all I see is you. My dirty angel.

For one moment, there is nothing but the blood racing through my body, one chord echoing from the band, and the feeling of you being there with me. Our bodies, impatient as ever, decide that there's been enough waiting. In one swift move, I push upwards, as you flow downwards.

You impale yourself. Your head rolls back, as your fingers dig into my shoulders, holding on for leverage. Your aching pussy sucks on my dick, and contracts several times.

It is delicious and wonderful, the way you rest on top of me. You shudder and emit a series of long breaths. Your body starts moving in small circles as you use my cock as a drill.

"More," my voice croaks out.

Your feet curl under my thighs, as you push up off my crotch. I open my mouth, and pull your chest closer to my face. You lift one breast up, nipple pointing towards my lips. Your fingers wrap around my head as I begin hungrily sucking on your tit.

Your hips quickly increase their tempo, as your body slides up and down my shaft. You gasp when my mouth tightens on your breast. My teeth bite gently at your nipple; you respond by dragging your nails across the back of my neck.

I pull you tighter against me, and move my hands to your spine. I grab and pull at your back, as your arms wrap around me.

My eyes shoot open, remembering the blond-haired girl. One of her hands is grabbing her tit, and.. jesus.

Two fingers thrusting in and out of her pussy.

One hand moves down to your ass and smacks it.

And then again.

You moan, and press your teeth into my shoulder. A sharp stab of pain jolts through my body. My fingers dig into your waist, and begin forcing you down on my dick.

The rhythm is frenzied, as our bodies wrap around each other, and the band's finale pumps throughout the room. The blond is finger-fucking herself into oblivion, while we fuck the hell out of each other.

Small, hard moans escape your mouth, as your pussy glides up and down my shaft. My hands alternate from guiding your hips, and spanking your ass.

The moans get louder as you fuck me faster. I can hear your wet pussy smack against my pubic bone, and feel your juices drowning my thighs. I smack your ass again, and you emit a loud "Uh."

I raise one hand, and drag my nails down your spine, just as your pussy tightens on my shaft. Your body stiffens, rises up several inches, then crashes down on me. You yelp as you lift off again. My cock strains and boils over My balls tighten and pulse upwards. You feel me shooting inside you, just as your body convulses happily.

Your let out a series of hard, short breaths, while my mouth clamps down on your breast. In the dim light, I can see the blond writhing on the other couch, as she, too, cums.

Your body writhes frantically; your arms hold me so tight, I wonder if you'll ever let go. Your arms slowly relax, and your breathing slows to almost-regular, while my dick continues pumping inside you. You continue grinding your body into mine, as you slowly start to come down.

You let out a small, weary laugh.

"That was," you pant, "Unbelievable."

I nod my head in agreement, unable to speak due to shallow breathing. Our arms are like tentacles, wrapped around each other.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the blond awkwardly stand up, and raggedly adjust her clothing. She looks over at me and mouths two words.

"Thank you."

I wink wearily in response, and carefully watch as she pulls back into the darkness. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of metal scraping against wood, and a slight creak.

"What was that?" You ask, turning your head slightly.

"Nothing important. " I answer honestly, "But I think we should get going before we get caught in here."

"Yeah," You mumble. You stand up slowly, and stretch. I watch you put your clothes back on. Your body is covered in a film of sweat, and seeing your breasts stand straight out makes me hard. God, I want to fuck you again.

"Y'know," I say casually, "I can probably get us tickets to tomorrow night's show. But only if we do this again." I run my fingers across your stomach.

You grin up at me.

"Mm, okay." Your laugh is wonderfully dirty.

I smack your ass as we leave the room.

- The Rhythmic Bastard

Nonfiction - 30

2005-04-10T08:59:00.000-04:00

I turn 30 next Saturday. I've actually been contemplating the "where am I, what am I doing with my life" thing that people do when they hit "important birthdays".

I don't really care too much. Although it's true that I'm taking stock of things, and asking myself where the years went, I don't seem too bothered by the answers I'm coming up with. It's nice when you realize you've gotten somewhere, y'know?

As for the 30th b-day celebration itself, I think I've got my plans locked up. Dinner with friends, followed by a trip to the new strip club in the area. Depending on how things go there, we'll end up downtown, in a state of complete inebriation.

Viva la 30.

-- The Almost-Slightly-Older Bastard.

Fiction - Angel

2005-04-08T22:33:00.000-04:00

“We should take a shower,” You murmur hypnotically. In the background, a soothing guitar accentuates your request.

“Mm hmm.” I mutter, leaning down to kiss your neck.

“Mmm. No, really.” You try to pull away, but my arms wrap around your body. And you know how I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

I hear a soft voice coo deliriously, as I reach up and push the tank top off your right shoulder. You let out a small groan, and make a feeble attempt to push me away.

Nuh-uh, nice try.

My mouth glides over your shoulder as the tune works it’s way under our skin; It’s hot, and there’s a luster to your flesh tonight. My lips drift up to your ear, as my fingers firmly slide the rest of the tank top off your left shoulder. Your arms huddle against your body, as it slowly falls halfway down your chest.

“Wait.” You mutter, stepping back. Your eyes flash as your reach down with both your arms, and whip the flimsy top off.

Seeing you in only a bra and shorts, I can’t help but wrap my arms around you again. Our mouths meet in a rising attempt to devour one another. Our tongues swirl hungrily, as my hands reach down to your shorts, and push on the waistband, letting them slide to your knees. You kick them out of the way, as your body presses into mine.

At this point, my hands are on automatic. Electronic chimes reflect my urgency as your bra falls to the ground, followed seconds later by your underwear. I gently move you back to the bed, where you sit down, hands fumbling with my pants.

I watch as you skillfully strip my pants and boxers, and gently grasp me. Your fingers work their magic, as you stare up at me, a playful smile on your face. You lean forward, and gently lick the tip of my dick.

I moan, and push your head away.

“Lie on your back,” I whisper lustily. You sink backwards, as I pull your hips to the edge of the bed. I spread your legs, and bend my knees slightly.

“Perfect height.” I mutter. I lean forward, hands gripping your waist. The bulbous head meets your flesh, as your hips open up to me.

Your back arches, as I sink into you slowly. Your fingers reach for me, digging into whatever flesh they can find on my arms and chest. Your nipples harden, and point upwards as your neck pushes your head into the bed.

My thumb slides down towards my shaft, gently teasing your skin; It barely finds your spot, and gingerly presses against it.

Your body shifts, and you let out an audible sound. The bass rumbles in the background as I withdraw slowly, my attention draw to your heaving breasts. I slide out slowly, inhaling and exhaling with great effort.

There are no words to describe the sensation of sinking into you. The wet grip you surround me with, the way your body shifts under me. I want more.

I have to have more.

Caught in a spell of lust, I bury myself in you again, thumb stroking you gently. My hips match the rhythm of the sounds pumping through my ears, but I’m barely conscious of it.

My consciousness is tuned only to you. I can feel your body giving itself up to me, beckoning for more; I acquiesce to your needs. My body increases it’s pace, the shaft throbbing inside you, while your body twists and turns.

You writhe on the bed, fingers digging deeper into my arms. Your lust drives me forward, as your body heats up. Your cheeks are flushed, as you writhe without abandon. Your eyes shoot open at me.

You want more, too.

I move closer to you, as the tempo desperately increases. I close my eyes, as I enjoy the ecstasy running through my body. My eyes squint tight, as I bottle it inside me. Holding the lust in, I hold it close to my chest, before opening my eyes, and propelling myself forward as fast as possible.

The sound of two bodies smacking against each other is swallowed by the moans of delirium and sinful bliss. The temperature rises to a blistering inferno as my thumb’s manipulations have pushed you right to the edge.

With a gasp, and a crack of the spine, your back nearly lifts off the bed. Your nails grab me with a grip that I know means I’ll have bruises tomorrow. Your hips clench once, then again, as your legs lock around my waist. Your body stiffens, then slowly begins to relax.

Still consumed with fervor, I watch the inner embers of your body smolder, cooling ever-so-slightly. You pant with desire as you pull me to you, kissing me thoroughly.

“More…” You pant.

-- The Delirious Bastard

Inspired by Massive Attack and their song, Angel.

Fiction - NiN

2005-03-31T20:05:00.001-05:00

We're both surprised that the room isn't very large. Like a small theatre, kinda.

It's an odd-shaped room, with numerous black fixtures jutting out from the the dirty white walls; An number of round floor-to-ceiling pillars, and a small black bar, help create an awkward atmosphere. This isn't our scene. We're the "sit at the bar, and chat with friends" kinda people. Not this. It doesn't help that we think people are staring at us. And jesus, do the people look strange.

You're all decked out in black, small hints of goth-like makeup (because you know it turns me on) applied under your eyes and to your lips. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes off your leather-clad ass. I don't know if it's the way you intenionally sway your hips, the two shots we've knocked back, or just the way your perfume smelled on the way here, but I can't seem to keep my hands off you.

You don't mind.

The opening act thankfully finishes, and the set-up for NiN is done quickly. We plow through another set of drinks, just as Trent and the boys get on stage to thunderous applause. From underneath the balcony, we can see them fairly well. Through the mess of drugged-out, goth-looking men and women and the fog machine, we catch occasional glimpses of the band. The first song is something off their new album, nothing special.

The second song, though... Ah, that sounds like something we know, doesn't it? As the familiar music takes off, I close my eyes, and just let the bass ride over me. The words pour out of his mouth like the best kind-of sins; It's all about the things people want to do to themselves, and to each other. I open my eyes and turn to you.

I need to touch you.

I grab you by the arm, and pull you backwards against the wall. The room is full of crevices and holes where two people can hide if they want. Add in the drugged-out concertgoers, and heavy fog, noone can see us.

And I wouldn't care if they could.

As my hand slides over your stomach, I lean down to kiss your neck. Your body shifts backwards, ass pressing into my crotch. Between the alcohol, the music, and the setting, it's as if noone else is there. My fingers move under your shirt, rubbing your stomach slowly. Your body stiffens, as you decide whether or not to let me continue with my molestation of your body. When you feel my fingers gently graze your bra, you attempt to put the brakes on.

"Stop." You hiss.

"They're all drunk, high, or both. Noone can see us in the shadows." I argue convincingly. I think, under normal circumstances, you wouldn't let me get away with it, but the alcohol is already having it's effect on you. Not to mention the way the band plays. It as if they use their instruments just to encourage decadence. They stand up there, soaking in the admiration, and reciprocate by pouring lust into the crowds like it was water. Through the rhythms and sounds and words, you and I grind against each other wantingly.

So when my hand grabs your breast and squeezes, you give in. Intoxicated by the alcohol, lost in the music, or just caught up in the moment... it doesn't really matter. Our bodies begin a slow, rhythmic dance, as my fingers press into your bra-covered tit. You press backwards, ass rubbing into me, as your head tilts back onto my shoulder. Your fingers grab my forearm and stroke it gently, while my hand squeezes and twists your breast. My head tilts downward so my mouth can press against your neck. I nibble slightly, as you let out a small sigh.

The music pauses, then continues into another familiar song. Your body tenses, as people wander by. They either can't see us, or are too fucked-up to care. Excellent. My other hand slides under your shirt and unclasps your bra. I chuckle into your neck, as my fingers find your semi-naked breasts. I drag my nails over them slowly, while your back arches. Your bra hangs off your frame as I tug it off you, and stuff it into my back pocket.

My fingers return to your shirt-covered breasts, where I find hard nipples. My mouth sucks on your ear, as my fingers firmly twist those hard points; I raise my hand and pull on your breasts, lifting away from your chest. Even with the roaring music, I hear you gasp as a slight twinge of pain meets abject pleasure. My fingers twist the other way, and your body favorably responds by running your nails over my forearm.

My right hand glides down over your stomach and waist where they find your shiny slick pants. My fingers press downwards, rubbing the fabric against you. My fingers move up and down, while my mouth leaves a trail of small bite-marks on you rneck.

Your hand reaches up and grazes my cheek, as you feel the button and zipper on your pants release. I grab your underwear, and pull upwards sharply. You gasp again, body clenching. I push the fabric down slightly, leather pants still clinging to your body. I pull up again quickly, letting the fabric rub against your flesh.

I release the fabric, then push your pants down past your hips. My fingers slide underneath your underwear, and find a surprise.

You're wet.

Mmmm.

My fingers move up and down slowly, teasing your flesh. Under your shirt, my hands alternates between your breasts, teasing flesh, and playing with nipples. My mouth slides up and down your neck, as I find your small spot in-between your legs, and press my finger against it.

It's like flipping a switch, the way your body responds. Once I begin touching you "right there" your body shifts into over drive. Your ass, already grinding against me, pushes back almost violently, as the blood races through your body. I look up briefly, and see nothing but shadows and fog, as the music increases in tempo and intensity. My finger moves up and down, matching the speed of the music; Your body begins to writhe, slight moans escaping from your mouth.

I push down harder, as my lust begins to drive me crazy.

I whisper things in your ear. Things that I want to do to you. Places where I want to touch you. And not just with my fingers. Your body continues it's assault on mine, as you push back hard against me, small moans piercing through the din of crazy fuck-music.

Your hips start to buck, which they do when you get excited. I wrap my arms across your torso, fingers still rubbing up and down, as I feel your body begin to heat it's way towards explosion. We're both lost, as our bodies take over. Wanton need meets craven lust.

You're so close, I can feel you trembling. My hand digs deep into your breasts now. You love it rough, just like me. It's that deep-down, dirty need for release that drives us at times like this.

My finger moves faster, as your body nears eruption. You can feel my poking out of my pants from behind.

"I can't wait to fuck you," My voice whispers hoarsely into your ear. Your jaw drops, and your body sinfully explodes. I can feel the waves riding over you, as you twist in my arms. You ride the high, as you fight the need to curl your toes. You continue twisting back and forth, as you start to come down. I slow my fingers on both your breasts, and in-between your legs, and pull your underwaer back up; your pants follow suit, as I start to put you back together.

You turn around, and attach your mouth to mine. Tongues and lips mash together, as we enjoy a brief respite from the lust. We break away from the kiss and I look down, smiling as I see the heat in your eyes.

"I can't.. believe..." You pant, "We just did that."

I chuckle.

"Want more?" I grin.

Your eyes light up.

"Mm hmm." You reply.

Fiction - Race

2005-03-29T14:13:00.000-05:00

Her lithe body shifts under a beam of moonlight. I run a finger along her naked back, while her pale cheeks and waist peek out from under the silk sheets. Dark, straight hair highlights the side of her sleeping face, hiding a pair of ice-cold blue eyes.

I can still taste her on my lips.

A noise from outside the bedroom catches my attention. I pause, hear nothing, and continue running my fingers over her nude form. I think it's time to wake her up and...

Then I hear it again. And then something else.

Ah.

Jesus, are they still going?

I slide out from under the sheets, and tiptoe quietly, trying not to wake her up. Her arm sprawls across the bed, looking for me; She murmurs incomprehensibly, and then resumes her quiet breathing.

She's still asleep. Good.

I walk over to the door, and press my ear against the wood. I close my eyes, concentrating on the noises emanating from the living room. The moaning brings a smirk to my lips.

My right hand reaches in-between my legs, as reach for the door, and crack it open slowly. Through the small gap, I see them on the couch. He's got her hands pinned over her head, sweaty hair tangled in their fingers. Small screeches erupt as he drills into her from above.

Another screech comes from the small Filipino woman, while my friend continues pounding away at her pussy. Christ, and they call me relentless?

I chuckle at the sight of my friends, stiffening when I fell a hand close around my wrist. A soft sensation hits my shoulders, as her hair rests against my skin.

"They going at it again?" She whispered softly, as her fingers move mine out of the way, and begin gently stroking me. Her nipples press against my back, as she watches over my shoulder. Her soft hips grace my flesh, taunting me.

Her lips press against my neck, and I resist the urge to moan. The sensation of her mouth, coupled with the heavy fucking, mere feet away, sends blood roaring through my body.

I reach around behind me and grab her ass, pulling her against my back. She grunts in surprise, and turns sideways, her chest rubbing against my arm and shoulder. My finger slide in-between her legs, rubbing slowly.

She moans audibly, and re-positions herself in front of me. I looked down to see her beautiful ass shimmering towards my hips. She turns her head and smiles.

"Step back," She whispers. I hesitantly take a step backwards, as she reaches down with her right arm, and pulls her right leg up behind her. She wavers slightly on one foot and then opened her mouth.

"Make me cum before she does," She begged, blue eyes lusting at me.

I grabbed my cock, throbbing in response to her plea, and stepped forward. She was tall enough that I didn't need to bend my knees. I looked down in the shadows, presenting my cock to her pussy, and pushed forward slowly.

Her wet and slick hole sucked me in, as she gasped. I could feel her pussy throbbing as I withdrew slightly, then pushed in again.

I look over her shoulder at the other couple, still bucking wild, and started thrusting into her. She grunted and pressed her free hand against the door frame. My body meshed into hers, determined to match the pace of the other couple.

I stepped closer and thrusted deeper. Her head fell forward and she moaned, catching the attention of the couple out in the living room. My buddy looked over, and grinned. He pinned his girl down, and started fucking her quicker.

The gauntlet was thrown. Which one of us would get her there first?

I had to win.

I pushed her leg down, and pulled her ass back. She bent over willingly and murmured to grab her hair. I reached up and grabbed her dark hair.

And then I fucked her. I reveled in the sound of my hips smacking against her ass. My cock throbbed as it pulsed inside her. I watched through the open door, as my buddy attempted to do the same. The two girls were caught between us.

Which one of us would make her cum first?

I smacked her ass, repeatedly. She moaned louder. With each thrust, I could feel her pussy become more and more drenched. Her fingers tried to dig into the wall, as I kept up the steady pace.

I heard the shrieks in the other room hit a fever pitch, and I cursed. I yanked her head back and growled at her.

"Cum for me, you whore."

Her body snapped, as her hips closed around my shaft. Her entire body rippled in front of me, as she shook and cried out.

Her body twisted slightly, as she gasped for air.

I looked over and saw a similar sight. The Filipino girl had her arms and legs wrapped around my friend. He looked over and me and laughed.

"I think we tied." He said.

I laughed back.

--

The Chuckling Bastard.

Fiction - Alone Pt. 2 - Alone Inside

2005-03-27T22:03:00.000-05:00

Alone Pt. 1

--

Pinned against the wall, her legs had no choice but to wrap around his waist. His fingers, digging into her ass, certainly made it easier.

Her arms were looped around his neck, digging into his shoulder blades.

"We shouldn't be doing this... we should'nt be... ugh...," she panted, as he pounded away at her.

"Shut up, and fuck me," He snarled in response.

--

5 years later

--

He felt the arrogance blossom inside him, as he watched the 20-something's try to pick up the women. No class, no style, and Gap jeans? Who were they kidding?

The women seemed amused by their antics. Their patience surprised him. Were he in the mood...

A familiar sneer crossed his face. Yes, he could walk up to the bar, and show those boys up. But he wasn't here for that tonight.

It had been a month since he had broken up with the blue-eyed girl, and at first, everything was okay. He went out, found some girls, fucked them, then tossed some cab money to get home.

Progressively, each girl made him feel worse. With each conquest he felt the emptiness inside him grow; there was less connection, not that there was ever much for him.

For the women, though, it was the same: He'd look down into their eyes, and he could see their thoughts; they were looking at him as Mr. Right, or Mr. Dad or The Man Of Their Dreams.

Not a chance.

He had found a red-head the other night, who he had gotten home with little effort. A few drinks, a couple compliments, a hand rubbing her back; it was so easy, it was laughable. 45 minutes after they were at her place, he was already fucking her ass, and he realized he couldn't wait for it to be over.

It's not addiction or misplaced lust anymore.

He's searching for something.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the door open, and two figures enter.

He smiles. They're here.

Heads turn, as two voluptuous women enter the bar. Tight tank-tops, low-cut pants, and high heels only accentuate the tremendous tits they wear proudly. Inside his chest, his heart perks up for the first time in a month.

His friends are here, thank god.

He stands up, and hugs them both. Breasts mesh against silk, as he feels a warmth swell in his body. Not arousal, but the feeling of friendship.

And of hope.

Laughs and smart-ass comments are shared, drinks are had, and he is reminded what it's like to have friends and people in his life who he generally cares for.

Just like the blue-eyed girl.

Underneath the laughter, there's a hint of tension from Tasha. He can feel it ebbing in his direction. He knows why it's there, although he knows Anne isn't seeing it.

Her curly locks are styled differently, and her voice is more sultry, but she's still the same girl.
He's just not the same boy.

He still remembers that night.

--

It was an unspoken struggle, their mutual lust and attraction. It was forbidden, which made it all the more tantalizing.

It was after the dinner, and the speeches and the jokes, that he ran into Tasha at the hotel. The bar had closed down, and all his attentions and lines had gotten him nothing. But when he saw her walking down the hall in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, he couldn't help himself.

He invited her up to his room. Warily, she complied.

And then he fucked the hell out of her.

--

Anne got up to use the facilities, and they were alone for the first time that night. He saw a look in Tasha's eyes he thought he remembered.

The emptiness inside evaporated at the thought of having her one more time. He knew it was wrong, but since when did that stop him?

He had to have her.

He drifted towards her as the predator within leapt to the fore. He made with the small talk over the din of drunk co-eds. She responded nervously, as they inched closer to each other.

"Anne told me about what happened." She commented, concerned brown eyes staring up at him.

Caught off-guard, he straightened his shirt reflexively.

"It didn't work out." He replied non-committaly.

Her head tilted slightly.

"You liked her, didn't you?" She asked.

He didn't like where this was going. He inhaled slowly and randomly decided to make his move.

"You must be getting tired." He said with a sly smile, hand reaching over for her arm. "I can take you back to my-"

"Don't." She snapped, eyes flashing. Her arms pulled away.

He was stunned and surprised. Had he read her wrong?

"How could you..." She seethed, grabbing her purse.

"Wait, I'm sor-" He started.

She cut him off.

"No. No, you're not. God, look at you. What could you possibly be thinking?" She snarled.

"What about..." His voice died, as her eyes turned to steel.

Her left hand flew in front of his face; on the fourth finger, was the ring.

"Remember this?" Her voice wrenched. "You were there when he put it on me."

"You were the best man."

--

He turned over, watching her nubile body slide out bed. She quietly put on her clothes, and walked towards the door.

"Wait." He said.

Tasha's head flipped around.

"I'll see you at the ceremony tomorrow." She whispered.

Her hand rested on the door knob.

"This never happened." She murmured wearily, opened the door and left.

Left him alone.

--

Anne came into sight, jaw dropping as she watched Tasha rant.

"Do you even remember that you're his friend? And that what we did was wrong? Is that why you met us out here tonight, to get in my pants?"

She hovered over the table, eyes bright red and angry.

"Sleeping with the best man on the night before my wedding." She said miserably. "And I've never forgiven myself. It was the biggest mistake of my life. And you thought..."

She half-laughed, half-coughed.

"I remember when you were someone, instead of an empty shell looking for a good time. You aren't half the man you used to be. What happened to you?"

She stared at him, waiting for a response. Stunned, he had nothing. His thoughts whirled, as he grasped for any response, anything. Nothing. The two girls quietly grabbed their belongings and left.

His body shook as they left him there; the emptiness inside soured, bitterness and rage filling the void. He was angry. At the blue-eyed girl, at his friends, and at himself.

The glass landed on the floor, shattering by his feet.

He was alone.

Again.

-- The Soulless Bastard.

Nonfiction - Life Continues

2005-03-10T00:42:00.000-05:00

Blew through a wonderful account of the rise and (soon-to-be) fall of Michael Eisner at Disney. DisneyWar is a lengthy, detailed account of his time as head of the prestigious company. It details his successes, failures, and complete inability to have any faith in anyone, whatsoever.

He's the worst example of a control freak. He has no trust in anyone. Which is funny, because trust has been a topic between me and the Ex-, lately. She tells me I need to trust people more. She's probably right.

I don't want to end up like Eisner.

--

I'm thinking of getting these. (not work safe)

Moo hoo haha.

--

The thought always bordered around my sub-conscious mind, but it wasn't until today that I realized that I've always sympathized with the anti-hero personality. I've always wanted to BE the bastard; I have no idea why, although I'm willing to take a guess:

It's because I don't believe in happy endings. More to the point, I don't believe I'm going to get any for myself. And what anti-hero ever "gets the girl, and gets to live happily ever after"?

Not this bastard.

--

Several stories almost finished, kinky all, will be posted within the next couple days.

-- The Contemplative Bastard.

Notes on "Pretty or Beautiful?"

2005-03-05T11:17:00.000-05:00

I wrote this the other day. And because it's only appropriate to do so, I need to credit the source and inspiration.

See, PoB? is actually a small piece of fan-fiction.

Yes, you don't have to remind me. Most online fan-fic revolves around Harry Potter, The Hobbits, Star Wars, etc, etc. This fan-fiction, however was based on Nip/Tuck.

I guess I'd say it's one of my favorite shows. I describe it to my friends as "debauchery at it's finest". There's lots of sex.

Lots of Sex.

And as strange as this is going to sound, it's not the large amounts of fucking that keep me tuned in (although it certainly adds to it), but the moral dramas. It's hard not to feel for some of these characters, and the positions they end up in. Don't get me wrong, there's issues with the writings. You get the feeling that they come up with Great Ideas, but halfway through a season, they don't know where they're going, and forget where they were. It feels like you're in the middle of a train-wreck, that may Just Not Be That Bad.

It's strange.

And one episode in particular haunted me. I even sent an e-mail to my ex- about it, last fall. She replied wryly that it was one of her favorite shows too. Sigh.

Story for another time.

Anyways, you've got one of the main characters, Julian McMahon, being hit on by a blind woman, terrificly played by Rebecca Gayheart. The beginning of the episode was Emmy-worthy, but it was the smoky passion between the two, that led to a wondrous sex scene at the end that had my jaw drop.

She appeared in another episode or two, and he forced a fight with her, and it ended.

But I was always struck by the episode. So, when I caught the re-play the other night, I knew I had to do something with it.

Hence, Pretty or Beautiful?.

For the record, the quote in italics at the beginning of the story is from the show itself, so I need to give proper credit where it's due.

I actually really like how that story came out, it's just too bad I swiped the idea from a tv show. Ah, well.

Anyways. Go watch the show. If you like anything I write here, you'll like that.

After all, it was really easy for me to slide into McMahon's character for the story.

We have altogether far too much in common.

-- The Pensive Bastard

Fiction - Yes...

2005-03-05T05:02:00.000-05:00

I look around, and smile. They're here, with me and for me. My friends.

One is pissed. A secret, known to but a few, has just been dropped on his lap. I should've told him when sobriety was his preoccupation, but alas, drunkenness has befallen him.

He always knew, but he's angry that it took this long for me to tell him.

He thinks, deep down, that the easiest way to get back at me, is to tell the world. But other issues interfere.

He and I need to talk.

--

Yes, I don't know if I should've told him. Yes, she'll be pissed if she ever finds out that he didn't figure it out by himself.

Yes, this isn't fiction.

Yes, I don't care.

--

When you let your family go, and pray for peace of mind, your friends are all you have left.

My friends.

I am bereft of friends. Yes, they are here "for me", but the one I need.. the One I Need...

She's gone.

She's my angel.

--

Meanwhile, he huffs and he puffs, and he threatens. This is why he never found out.

In one moment, he was given the freedom to be judged. He was given the choice to be viewed, with neither apology nor restraint. And he failed his test, miserably.

Because the first words out of his mouth were, "I knew it!'. And the second were, "I'm going to make sure she knows that I know".

... Yes.

He has failed me.

--

And then there is the blue-eyed girl.

I'm trying to be good. And trying to be bad. But someone, somewhere... they're telling me to grab her, and not let her go.

Too many women.Too many choices.

Not enough friends.

Yes.

I miss her. The one I could trust. Her voice echoes in my head, when I need it most.

...

Tonight, I want nothing more than trust. Nothing more than somene to tell me "it's going to be alright".

And tonight, it's the one thing I won't get.

-The Tired, Tired, Tired Bastard.

Fiction - Lack of Time Standing Still

2005-03-05T04:35:00.000-05:00

"You see the ending, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"But, you won't tell me."

"... No."

"Why not?" She asks angrily.

I pause, and wait for the appropriate response. Do I tell her that unhappiness is her future, or do I lie?

No, I can't lie.

"Because this is how it's supposed to be." Yeah, that was shit. She's not going to buy it.

Olive skin flashes against brown-and-blonde hair.

"You won't tell me about him."

In one moment, truth surges through me. All I have to do is speak it.

But, it's not my place to say.

"I can't... you need to talk to him."

"Once, just once," she snaps, tossing her fork down in fury, "I'd like for you to help ME. To tell ME what you know."

She continues:

"Why won't you do that?"

I freeze, and watch time swirl around me. I have no answer. This is my fate.

To know the truth, but to be unable to speak it.

I look to my right, and see a pair of blue eyes reaching out for me. She wants me to tell her friend the truth, and in that moment... in that one glance... I know.

I know that if I don't share, that I've lost the blue-eyed girl.

This is the price of time. This is the price of my friendship.

Another woman lost.

And only lonliness gained.

Father Time...

... Go fuck yourself, for the weight you lay upon my shoulders.

I never wanted to be alone.

-- The Angry Bastard.

Nonfiction - Intimacy & Me

2005-03-03T12:28:00.000-05:00

I've gotten a number of comments and e-mails asking the following question:

"How much of what you write is about you?"

Good question.

While this blog exists as an outlet for my fiction, I've been dropping little bits and snippets of my life, here and there. Unlike many of the bloggers I read (listed on the right), I'm not here to vent about everything that goes on in my life, let alone my sex life. For example, many of them will post with something that sounds like this:

"Christ, today was a big pile of shit. Let me tell you all about it."

Um, yeah. You probably won't be seeing that from me anytime soon. That's not how I do things. A great many people have posted a great many times, on the issue of "identity". I'd wager it is the number-one topic amongst bloggers, because so many of us hide our identity.

There are some like Matisse, who as a sex worker, is open about it, and writes about it. She has nothing to hide, because everyone knows what she does.

Then there are people like me, scratching their (ever-expanding) erotic itch. The only problem with that, is that I don't work in an industry where this type of.. ahem... kinkiness, would be tolerated. Even in NY, a "blue state" (and boy, do I hate the red/blue connotation foisted upon us, after the election) what I do during the day (and summer) does Not Mesh with what you see here.

So, I have to be careful.

But, at the same time, I realize that you need to know a little bit about me, so that you can relate to the fiction better. Understanding me, will help you enjoy the fiction. And, um, "enjoy" the fiction.

Heh.

So, I drop little Nuggets of Me into the mix. As of late, I admit they've been a bit darker; Well, my mood has been darker. And I'm a bit of a sadist, so what can I say? :)

A fellow blogger e-mailed me that the little posts I drop here and there are actually the "intimate" side of me. I think there's some truth to that. I'm going out of my way not to talk about the "outside" of me.

If you walk past me on the street, you won't have any idea who I am. Yes, I'm actually 6 foot 4, have short, brown hair, a slight goatee, blue eyes, live in upstate NY, and have serious "dom" tendencies.

But, that's all you'll ever get from me. Yes, it takes some work, but I set boundaries (oh look, a dom tendency) and I stick to them.

As for the fiction, well, yeah. Most of that is me, too. Either based on life, or imagination. Sometimes I see something on tv or two people walking, and I think, "There's a story there". For the most part, I put myself into the role of the male. I have, however, tried to get away from that as much as possible, for variety's sake.

There are times I deviate from that method. (And those are some of the stories I like the most.)
But, at the same time, I know many people enjoy reading that type of fiction. It's all about balance.

Inside the fiction, you'll find things I like and dislike. And while I do use the stories to vent... *bows graciously*...

I'm here to entertain.

Enjoy.

-- The Open-But-Still-Coy Bastard.

Fiction - Alone Pt. I - Pretty or Beautiful?

2005-03-02T12:36:00.000-05:00

"Everyone's idea of beauty varies. It's in the 'eye of the beholder'."

"Wrong. Pretty is in the 'eye of the beholder'. Beauty is in the soul. You can't see it, but you know it when you feel it..."

--

In the shadows, he sits alone. The drink, slowly sipped, is moist and wet.

If he were to raise his head, and smile at the blonde across the bar, she would come talk to him. So would the brunette sitting next to her.

But he doesn't smile. He barely has the energy to drown his sorrow.

Because an unusual thing happened three weeks ago.

He met a girl.

--

His broad smile, stylish looks and boyish charm always got him whatever he wanted. And all he's ever wanted was pussy. Most women were shocked to find out that he's in his mid-30's. He could easily pass for mid-20's. He knows how he looks, and he uses it.

It's how he gets laid.

He knows the bars where the single, lonely women go. He knows the bartenders who make the good drinks. And he knows what he needs to say, to get even the most prudish of women to spread their legs for him.

He used to twinge, in the morning, when they stuck around. When they wanted to "talk". Often, he'd have to explain that it was a one-night stand. They didn't get it until they realized he didn't know or remember their name.

And that he didn't care.

Three weeks ago, he was walking along Broadway, when he saw her, shopping in one of his favorite stores. Long, thick curly brown hair caressed her supple body.

He was intrigued. He walked inside, and came up with a line to gauge her interest. Her snappy reply indicated both curiousity and contempt.

He was immediately intoxicated with her. He didn't know why, but didn't give it much thought at first. The blue eyes? The swaying hips? The swelling breasts?

It wasn't until 3 or 4 days later, while sitting in his office, that he realized it was none of that. Oh, she was stunning, but he wasn't just attracted to her looks. It was her personality. It was the way she made him laugh. The way her comebacks were sassy, sexy and mystifying. She was a mystery; brilliant and wise, but down-to-earth in a way that he had never seen.

She wasn't pretty, she was beautiful.

She was a "10".

The very notion floored him. When was the last time he had a relationship that was based on something other than sex? Med school or undergrad, maybe?

How long had it been, since he actually cared about someone besides himself?

Realizing the happiness of just being with someone, his heart beat furiously. And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

--

It didn't take long, for the joy to be confronted by shadow. A little over two weeks passed as the darkness grew. His heart, awakened for the first time in almost-forever, screamed for him to set aside his petty reasons and selfish behavior; to let go of his need for purely physical contact with multiple females, and to embrace this woman who had reminded him what it was like to be selfless, instead of selfish.

How very contrary to his nature; how very much unlike him.

The crisis grew. A decision had to be made. Should he cast aside the long-embraced shallowness of his youth, and let this woman into his life?

The answer came easily and readily.

Which made him feel even worse.

--

She wept, and begged. She knew a manufactured fight when she saw it. She knew he was trying to push her away, she knew, she KNEW he was better than this.

He knew he was better than this. The conflict between his lust and his emotions pushed him over the edge. It enraged him to the point where he said horrible things to her. Screamed at her to "get out" of his life.

His heart, furious beyond belief, turned away from him in disgust. His soul shattered into a million pieces, never to be put back together again.

She ran from him, swearing off men forever.

And he sat down dumbly, his mind in a state of shock.

He had done what was right.

Hadn't he?

--

He looked over at the two girls in the bar. They were pretty; very, very pretty. Women like that only came here to drink, or find a cute guy for the night. They brunette and the blonde glanced his way again. He knew that look. Combined with their heavy make-up, over-done hair, and fake tits, he didn't need any other signals.

He could have them both, if he wanted.

He looked inside himself, hoping his heart would advise, but emptiness was the response. He turned to his soul, begging for help, but the piece lay like shards; broken and fractured.

He opened his eyes, and looked back at them. The blonde curled her hair in her fingers. They wouldn't wait for long.

And so he made his choice.

-- Accompanying Music : Rickie Jones, "I'll Be Seeing You"

-- The Unhappy Bastard

Nonfiction - Sated

2005-03-01T13:27:00.000-05:00

I had a wonderful orgasm late last night. My balls had been boiling for hours, and when I finally spewed, it kepy going and going and going.

It was gusher of lust.

Glorious.

-- The Sated Bastard.

Nonfiction - The Lost

2005-02-27T21:36:00.000-05:00

In the mirror, from across the room, I see him and wonder; Is he one of the Lost?

They stare off into space with the experience of being lonely. What life do they lead where they sit here on a sunday night nursing their beer, all alone? Their jackets and clothes show they have a sense of style yet they wear it without poise or stance.

What happened along the way, that they lost their sense of worth? Why dont they care? Ah, but the bartender knows him! And when spoken to, he comes alive.

And then he's alone; He settles back into, what is it, misery? Contemplation? Lonliness?

Eh.

Its probably not my place to judge those who have lost their way. After all, Ive been there.

And tonight I am there.

Here and now, in the moment, I am one of the Lost

-- The Bastard

Post sent via e-mail, via cell-phone.

Fiction - Moment of Doubt

2005-02-24T11:50:00.000-05:00

It was a particularly bad day for me. You could tell by the darkness in my eyes when I walked in the door, I think.

You knew what was coming. When I need a release, you give yourself over to me; eager to please.

You knew where this was going to go, didn't you?

So when I look down at you, legs and arms strapped and spread-eagled on my bed, a series of clamps on your tits, and a blindfold over your eyes... why do I feel sorrow?

What is this guilt that forces me to pause? Am I taking out my anxieties on you? Am I using you, unfairly?

I watch you breathe. You're flushed and excited. In the back of my mind, a voice reminds me that "she likes this".

You like this. You enjoy the things I do to you. The way I touch you. The way I torture you.

When you're tied up, and you don't know whether it's going to be ice, wax, whips, biting or my hand smacking your skin, it drives you nuts, doesn't it?

And the things I say.

I've said them before, and I'll say them again. "Whore". "Slut".

Whore.

Yes, you're a whore.

No, you're my whore.

My whore.

I reach for my flogger, and bring it down on your wet, throbbing cunt.

Yes.

It flies through the air again, and you cry out from the leather smacking your wet pink flesh. Oh yes. I whip you several more times, then pause, and watch your body enjoy the sensations.

That's it. Beg me.

Beg me for more.

This is who I am. This what you want.

This what we both want.

-- The Bastard, Resolved

Fiction - How did I forget?

2005-02-23T23:18:00.000-05:00

My fingers wrap around her neck as I plunge into her. For those first few moments, I'm in nirvana; No matter how many times I sink inside, it's that initial moment of wetness and warmth that makes me love sex.

I absorb her heat, and like so many times before, I press my hips forward, fingernails digging into her neck. Nirvana hits me again, as my body cries out for release. God, I love this.

As the rhythm and pleasure increases, a nagging doubt blossoms into a thought.

Why don't you trust her?

No. No. Nonononono.

No.

My anger, based on a gut instinct that refuses to die, carries over; I channel my rage into lust, and drill my shaft into her repeatedly.

The doubt fades, and I am sated. But I'm furious over my insecurities. My blood is boiling, and I need an outlet. Blindly, I take it out on the nearest object. Her.

My fingernails move from her neck, down her spine, nails digging into her back. She arches and cries out, body opening to meet my increasing thrusts. My face twists into a snarl. Yes, scream out, good.

You don't really know where she was today, do you?

Oh jesus fuck, god. Please. Don't do this. Make the doubt stop. Why can't I trust her?

Because it started wrong. Because she's never given you a reason to trust her.

It's not my fault, is it?

No.

No. I'm not giving into this. Not this. Not now. Why does this always happen now?

My seething emotions are starting to take their toll. Her body is shaking as I pound into her. I've been fucking her as hard as I can, reserves of energy pouring out of me. She's moaning, and her skin is flushed and..

Oh god, I'm using her. I'm taking it out on her.

And she loves it.

Stop fighting this; It's what inside you. And maybe she doesn't know WHY you're doing it, but does it look like she car-

Shut up.

I close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

I need to finish this. Before I lose control.

Now.

I reach around, and slide my fingers into the slight cleft in her flesh. The small bump is found, and my finger swiftly slides over it, then moving up and down.

Just as she likes it. Her body snaps back, as she begins pulsing underneath me.

Yes, this needs to finish.

You need to be honest with yourself. Then with her.

Fuck. You.

"What?" She pants out loud.

Oh christ. Did I just... dammit.

"Nothing," I murmur, stroking her clit faster.

"Ohh.." She groans, head dropping. I bring my hand down into her ass, and she lets out another shriek. I thrust into her again, focusing all my energy to one end.

I need to finish this, before I fall apart.

And then she explodes. I am caught unaware, as her body clamps down on my shaft. I follow suit, releasing pent-up passion, lust, and rage into her body. My cock pumps into her, empyting the precious white liquid she loves so much.

I slide out, body shaking. My mind rattles inside it's bony cage. Right now, I don't want to be here. I don't want to be with her.

Oh god.

I don't want to be with her.

No, you don't.

I look up to her, and she smiles.

"That was amazing," She whispered. "You were just...what happened? All of a sudden, you were just... mmm."

I smile weakly, and nod. I have no words, now do I?

Oh, god. How did I miss this? How is it that love and lust and laughter and hot sex and great fun together aren't enough?

How did I forget trust?

What do I do?

-- The Torn Bastard.

Fiction - Watch and Touch

2005-02-22T14:48:00.000-05:00

You reach for the solitary glass of red wine, and look down on your naked body. A coy smile crosses your face, as you slowly pour the wine over your breasts. Your head rolls back, as the liquid drenches your skin.

I stand up, ready to assist, but you wave me away. I'm "allowed to watch, but not touch", apparently.

Hrm.

Your hand slides down in-between your legs. Ah, you've shaved. What a wonderful woman you are.

You glance my way, as you slide one finger in-between your legs. My jaw drops and my crotch rises; Blood pounds through my ear, as you begin exploring yourself. Your finger maneuvers it's way past your flesh, as my fingers unzip my pants.

I catch up quickly, then match tempos. My wrist moves up and down, as your wrist slides in and out.

Our eyes lock, and it wordlessly becomes a challenge. Who will get there first? Who will moan louder? Who will erupt harder.

Dirty words float across the air as we entice each other. Random thoughts and whispers become solid temptations, as we compel each other to the finish.

Our eyes lock, and minds empty at the same time, as it hits us.

At the same time.

Waves of energy and lust wrack our bodies as we cry out.

I curse "fuck".

You curse "God".

Our bodies twist and turn, pleasure engulfing our flesh and soul. I look over at you, breasts glistening in the candlelight.

I stand up, knees weak; I walk over to the bed, and push your hand away. With one thrust, I'm deep inside you.

I watch you. As I fuck you.

--The Observant Bastard

Nonfiction - The look in my eye

2005-02-21T14:05:00.000-05:00

I know what I want. Deep down, I think we all do, right? It's just working towards the goal, that can be frustrating.

So, on my worst days, when a cloud passes over my head, I have two options: Give in to the darkness and be foul, or channel it. Most of the time, I choose the latter.

I funnel my misery and rage into my hormones. I don't know if it's healthy, but I know it makes me feel better. And that's most important.

Then there are days like today, when the darkness threatens to overwhelm me. So, I take a deep breath, and find a picture or a memory or a fleeting thought. And once I find it, I grab hold, and don't let go.

Deep inside, I take the misery and I twist and molest it; Moments later, my head rises, and that smirk is back on my face. There's lust in my soul, and I want. And I crave.

It's that look in my eye. The one where I may be looking AT you, but I'm definitely seeing you naked, and thinking about doing a great many things to you.

This is the only good thing to come out of my misery. The energy forces me to become a predator. And you are the prey. I get smarter, faster, and hungrier.

... I just don't know if it's a good thing.

-- The Bastard.

Nonfiction - Drunken Explosion

2005-02-18T12:11:00.000-05:00

I collapsed into my bed, wide-eyed but exhausted. Another night of partying would take it's toll in the morning, I was sure. But, in the meantime, dirty thoughts parade through my head.

Too late to make any phone calls, but not too late for my right hand. And so I strip quickly, and climb under the blanket. Warm, but not hot. The tv played in the back-ground, but my attention was focued on one thing:

Release.

I wrap my fingers around my shaft (oh look! Already hard; it read my mind) and stroke gently. My eyes closed, and a smile formed on my face. I moaned slightly (as I usually do when aroused) and twisted my hips slightly.

God, I love it. My body surges with energy and lust. In my mind, images of decadence flash before me. I see her showing up at my door, wearing little. I eagerly remove her clothes, and start Doing Things To Her.

Oh, God. I can taste her. Jesus, I just... WANT.

My ass lifts off the bed, as my wrist increases the tempo. I can feel some wetness on my fingers now. Should I slow down, and enjoy it?

Fuck that. I'm trashed. I want an orgasm, NOW.

My hand moves faster. I imagine what it's like the first time I slide into her, feeling her pussy accept me, watching her face roll in pleasure.

Oh yeah. Then I gt a little rougher. I chew on her nipples, I fuck her harder. Is there someone else there? Another woman touching herself?

I can't tell. But, oh shit, that thought gets me going. Now I'm moaning in my apartment, body throbbing. My legs rub against each other, and my head sinks into the pillow. I wonder if my neighbor can hear me? I don't care.

Ohh. So close now. Yes. Yes. Harder. More. Christ, I'd fuck her. I just want to feel that... oh god. Yes.

Yes.

And in one split second, my blood rushes to the center of my body, all my energy evaporates, as if being sucked into a black hole. I hold my breath, go still...

And it hits me.

The energy slams back into me, magnified tenfold. My breath, caught in my throat, sends the release barrelling through my system. God, I almost see stars.

Another wave hits and I cry out.

....

Oh...

God.

Fuck.

....

I pant, and moan. Sweat drips down my face. My head is throbbing. Both of them. I can hear the blood racing through my system, and I laugh.

I love it.

...And now I want more.

--The Wanting Bastard.

Fiction - In me, In her.

2005-02-16T23:24:00.000-05:00

Her body hovered over me like a light cloud on a breezy day. A mixture of perfume, sex, sweat, and wine assaulted my senses, while her fingers teased my shaft. I reached in-between her naked legs, but she swatted my hand away.

"Nuh uh." She grinned. Her body centered over mine, knees pressed against my legs. She leaned backwards, away from me, and straddled my chest.

"Hi." She smiled, running her fingers through my hair.

"Hey, " I replied, reaching up for her nipples.

My hand were smacked away again.

"Nuh uh." She laughed. Her voice, beautiful and bright, was infectious. I laughed back. She reached behind her, and wrapped her fingers around me again, wrist moving up and down.

"Oh. Umm.." My laugh died quickly, as my body relaxed.

The only sounds for the next few minutes were my moans, and the sounds of sweaty skin meeting sweaty skin.

My blood raced and back arched as she fell backwards slightly. She lifted upwards, and maneuvered her hips over me. Her hand guided my shaft so that the tip was inside her, though just barely.

Her head snapped back, as her body started to sink down on me. Her hips swallowed half my length, then raised again. Slowly, teasingly, I watched as she groaned, her legs widened, and she impaled myself inside her body.

Her lips were slightly apart, as another groan erupted. I could feel her pussy clenching onto me, as her hands reached up and rubbed her nipples.

I reached over to her hips, and lifted her body slightly. There was no slapping of my hands this time, as she eagerly moved upwards, following my guiding. I watched in rapt pleasure, while she rode me.

And fucked me.

Her pussy alternated from tight to relaxed at her whim; I had never felt so used as she bounced faster on my dick. I loved it.

Her moans increased, as did the tightness of her pussy. She fell forward, and attached her lips to my neck, arms wrapped around my head.

"Cum in me..." She panted. Her body tightened, and her hips slammed down onto me; I pushed upwards involuntarily, as my hands grabbed her ass. My mind shut off as my balls pumped upwards, and I exploded.

Her teeth bit into my ear, as she climaxed. She shuddered once, then again, as I erupted inside her. Our bodies heaved up and down, as we both emptied of lust.

She stretched and purred, her hands stroking my face. She kissed my chest and sat up slowly.

Her hips rose and fell, as she began fucking me again...

--The Back-In-Action Bastard

Nonfiction - Apologies...

2005-02-08T23:22:00.000-05:00

One minor laptop meltdown, a nagging illness, and a quiet lethargy have all contributed to the sense of watching the tumbleweeds blow around here.

More to come, soon.

-- The Weary Bastard.

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle Dirty Girl... (pt. 7)

2005-02-01T19:43:00.000-05:00

Why am I quiet?

You really want to know?

...

Fair enough.

I'm looking at your hair, and imagining what it's going to look like tomorrow morning, when I roll over in bed.

Hmm?

*laughter*

Look at me in the eye, and try to convince me that you're not going to be naked, 10 minutes after we walk through my apartment door. And since we're only 5 minutes away... that means 15 minutes from now, you're already going to have small bite marks on your tits.

Really. Reaaaaalllly.

Well, I think you're wrong.

Yeah.

And you know it, don't you?

...

What, no response? Smart girl.

You did ask me what I was thinking. And you ARE walking back to my place. God, that must drive you crazy on ten different levels, doesn't it? Which bothers you more, that I pegged you for what you're like, or the fact that you don't like people knowing?

What?

Oh, it was the twinkle. Yeah, the one in the corner of your eye. It gave you away, it's your achilles heel.

Oh, and in response to your question of "what am I thinking?", I'm also wondering how tight your thighs are going to feel around my skull in a little bit.

... Well, if I was wrong, would we be at my door?

... You coming in?

--

(to be continued)

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle Dirty Girl... (pt.6)

2005-01-28T18:53:00.000-05:00

Excuse me?

No, I don't take the word "No" so easily.

Especially when I know you don't mean it.

Oh, c'mon.

Come. ON.

You and I both know what you want.

... sorry? You think you know what you want, but it's not..?

Right.

RIGHT.

I could touch you, right now, out on the street, with people walking
by, and you'd struggle. Maybe fight.

But you give in. Deep down, you so desperately crave a guy who doesn't
take "no" for an answer.

And I don't EVER take "no" for an answer.

Especially when I know the answer's "yes".

Don't look away.

Look at me.

I'm right.

God, it must drive you crazy sometimes, doesn't it? When so few people
get in your face, and refust to back off. When all you want is a man
to act like a man.

To not take your bullshit.

To take you.

... yes, I know my mouth is inches from your face, and my fingers are
in your hair.

And we both know you like it this way.

My apartment is right up the street.

And you're coming with me.

Aren't you?

--

(to be continued)

Nonfiction - The Emptiness Inside.

2005-01-25T01:05:00.000-05:00

"he fucks my body---and I enjoy that, I respond with enthusiasm---, but he doesn’t penetrate my soul."

--

Dirty Talkin' Girl over at Pussy Talk writes almost every day. I love her writing. It's sexy and stylish, and quite cerebral. But there was one entry that made me pause. Go read this.

I was blown away by it. It's an honest, soul-baring entry, and one that resonates not just with me, but with many people I know; In real life, and in the online world.

I'm having a hard time writing anything about this besides "go read it". It hits way too close to home. Not because I'm screwing anyone who's empty inside, but because I've been there before. I've looked down, stared at her eyes and seen nothing; and there have been 2 females where I looked down, and saw... something. When the connection was more than physical/sexual/intimate. It was..."more", I guess.

There have been only 2 girls I've made that connection with. And one of them is an ex-girlfriend I can't seem to shake. Not for lack of trying, either.

See, I've just been re-hired to do my summer gig. I got "the call" last week, and have already started re-hiring staff, and doing paperwork. I've got six long months of prep-work ahead of me, before the program itself. The upside? I got promoted. I'm the Big Man, now.

The downside? The person taking over my position, who'll act as my assistant is my ex-girlfriend.

And she's one of the only 2 girls I've ever been intimate with, where I look down, and see something in her eyes. We spoke for the first time in three months last week, when I offered her the job. And the sexual tension is still there. The game has begun anew.

Soul Fuck, indeed.

I've considered writing about my history with Her. Yeah, she gets a name, that's how serious I take her. It's long and complicated and almost never-ending.

It is going to be a very long six months.

You'll hear more about this topic, surely.

--The Already-Weary Bastard

Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl... (pt. 4)

2005-01-21T20:30:00.000-05:00

I caught you off-guard there, didn't I.

Yeah, I do that.

No, I think you do like sex, and yes, just like that. No, really.

Why do I say that?

Oh, It's just...

(that twinkle in your eye. It's gotten bigger now.)

I can tell, with certain women...

I think you thirst for it.

Oh c'mon, what's wrong with enjoying sex?

Well, that's true, I did say 'thirst'...

(hm. are you a whore?)

I'm right though. You thirst for it.

Yes, you do. And you _crave_ it.

You know I'm right. Why try to argue with me?

Oh, no changing the subject, sweetie. It's too late for that.

And you like to be touched, don't you. But not in that sensitive-90's-needs-to-go

-to-therapy-kinda way.

No, not like that.

You want strong hands on you. And it's not so much a point of you just
letting the "guy do the work", is it?

No.

It's a combination of your lust and his power. He knows what you
want, you know what he wants...

It's a feeding frenzy of flesh.

.. hm?

How do I know I'm right?

(I can smell your lust)

Because If I was wrong, you wouldn't be leaning in, listening to every word, face turning red. You would've left already.

(and my hand is on your thigh)

--

(to be continued)

--The Bastard

Fiction - Friction

2005-01-20T17:38:00.000-05:00

He was pissed.

"Why do you this?" He snapped.

She sighed.

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about this."

"In your own little world, maybe. But here on Earth..."

She turned over, pulling on the covers. "I need to be up early."

He watched her form twist in the darkness, then reached over and turned on the lamp.

She cursed.

"I have to be up at 6." She snapped back.

"I don't care. We're doing this."

"Now?"

"Now." His voice said firmly.

She flipped over.

"Fine." Her voice, dead.

"You don't trust me."

"I trust you."

"You're lying." He accused.

"Now who has trust iss-" She joked.

"Don't." He said sharply.

"What?"

"Don't make jokes. Leave it alone."

She lay there quietly.

"You're angry." She said, bewildered. "Why are you angry with me?"

This time, he turned away.

"Forget it."

"Oh, no. I will *NOT* forget it. What is this about? Is it the sex?"

"No."

"It better not be the sex, because it's good."

"It's great."

"The sex? " She asked.

"Yes." He agreed.

"Then what..." her voice faltered.

"Haven't you ever wanted to be a part of something?" He whispered. "To be open and free, and enjoy life?"

"I am a part of something." She said.

"No, you hide things. You hide them from your friends, and you hide them from me."

She said nothing.

"And you can't even admit it, can you?"

Her heart pounded in her chest.

"I need more," He begged. "Can't you give me more? Or is this all you've got to give?"

She reached over to touch him.

He flinched.

The silence held them still, as they waited for the other to fix the breach.

No words came.

He left the next morning.

--

The Trusting-or-is-it-trustless Bastard?

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl... (pt.3)

2005-01-19T23:35:00.000-05:00

Thanks for coming. Yeah, I completely forgot I had this gig and...

Hmm? Oh, 20 years or so. Yeah, I love it. I get up there, grab the
sticks, and just have a good time. Rock, jazz, blues... it's all fun
for me. Actually, I went to college for music.

Yup, degree and everything. I'm licensed to teach and..

No, really? Piano? Huh. Small world, right.

Yeah, so I actually play more orchestral gigs, than small clubs like
this. Standing behind the orchestra... Yeah, you know what I mean.

By the way, you look absolutely smoking. I'm getting dirty looks
because the hottest chick in here is talking to me.

No, really.

Yeah.

(I want to touch you)

You need a drink? Yeah, me, too. After you.

(ohhh... look at that ass)

So, I'm surprised you came out.

Well, I appreciate it, as does the bar owner, I imagine.

I like what you did with your hair, too.

Do you really look like someone I know? That's an interesting quesion.

How does "maybe' sound?

Well you can't blame me, can you? You look stunning.

(grr.. that perfume is.. intoxicating)

No, really.

Ohh, don't play coy with me. You and I both know you spent time
figuring out what to wear.

Yes, I know all women do that, but you know exactly what I mean.

Oh, really? Okay.

You looked at your clothes, and wanted to look good. You want people
to notice you. But, you didn't want an outfit that would make people
say "Oh, she just wants to be noticed." You were looking for "Hot
damn, look at that."

You just didn't want to be obvious about it.

Heh.

You can pick your chin up off the bar.

(ah, the twinkle in your eye... and now.. there's something else behind it.)

Well, I'm brilliant, what can I say.

*laughter*

(something darker.)

What else do I know? Oh, I wouldn't want to ruin it for you.

(... I can almost...)

Really?

*leans forward*

You really want to be fucked hard.

(I want to taste you)

-- The Bastard

Nonfiction - Time for a change

2005-01-18T21:20:00.000-05:00

I'm in a bit of a slump, so I'm going to switch gears a little bit.

I've had this idea of buying a diary, and using it as a journal. The only stipulation would be that I always use it while I'm "out and about". In other words, never when I'm home.

For some reason, it's been hard to write lately. I don't know why. Actually, I do. I'm distracted and have other things on my mind.

So, in order to get back in the game, I'm going to try something.

"Notes on the run". It's going to be a random collection of notes that I write down while I'm out. The first one is directly under this entry. What I write in my "little black book" will get typed in, with minimal editing. It's an experiment, we'll see what happens.

The sole purpose of this, is to keep me writing. For the record, there will be more sex stories coming out in the near future. I'm just... jumpstarting my brain a little bit.

-- The Distracted-but-unrelenting Bastard.

Notes on the Run - 1

2005-01-18T21:13:00.000-05:00

The little paper strap that surrounds the book says "The Legendary Notebook of Hemingway, Picasso and Chatwin." Okay, I'll bite: How much writing did Picasso do?

Sigh.

If it had said Beethoven, Stravinsy, or Tchaikowsky, I would've understood.

The bartender (snobby) and waiter(pleasant) were just discussing gambling; Well a "football pool". It occurs to me that every job I've worked since moving up here 18 months ago, has included working with employees who gamble.

It's a gambling town, So I shouldn't be surprised. Me? Nah. I stay away from it. I know better.

Wow. My hand hurts. I haven't written this much in awhile. The product of the computer generation, I guess.

The scotch is perfect. Not too much ice (which can destroy the flavor).

The bar, which I shall refer to as "B's" is upscale and quiet; just my type of establishment.

It doesn't hurt that the waitress is sexy.

Time to finish my drink and go. I have a haircut next door.

Heh. She's sexy, too.

1/18/05 - 5:28pm.

Nonfiction - Haunted Whisper

2005-01-16T23:24:00.000-05:00

So, a very strange thing happened a couple months ago.

It started sometime in mid-to-late November, I think. Maybe early December? I'm fairly certain (no, completely certain) that it's not from a movie or from a song.

It's a fragment. I think it's a female's voice who utters the words, but sometimes I say it out loud, when my mind wanders.

"Tell me how the story ends."

It echoes in my mind. It bounces off the inside of my skull, gets lost in the gray matter, then shows up once I've completely forgotten it exists. Usually, when I'm alone.

And... I'm afraid of it. It means something, and I don't know what. I'm afraid to use it in a story, 'cause I don't think I'm worthy of using it. It's bigger than me; there's something there.

And it's stagnant. I don't know where it goes, or what happened before. Is it at the end? Or is it at the beginning? Is it part of the 'quiet moment', between two actors on screen? Is it a reminder that we have choices to make, and the wrong ones have consequences? Hmm where have I heard that before?

"Tell me how the story ends."

It's a moment, caught in time, in a story or tale, and I don't know the setting or the characters. All I hear is that voice, begging for resolution.

I'm also concerned it has something to do with my ex-girlfriend from last summer. That particular thought petrifies me.

--

I have a kazillion ideas, and then I have one. I smile while driving, as three different hot sex scenes pop into my head, and then there are none.

And then, out of nowhere, I hear it. Pleading with me.

"Tell me how the story ends,"

I wish and wish and wish I could.

-- The Haunted Bastard

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl... (pt. 2)

2005-01-12T16:42:00.000-05:00

You're walking away.

Nonono... that won't do, not at all. Not. At. All.

But how do I...

Sigh. This is where I falter. Every time. I usually need a drink
before I even consider...

Fuck it. FUCK IT.

I grab your arm.

I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. Yes, you look just like her. Ha ha ha.

You could be her sister. Yes, really. (Not really, but I'm still
talking. Talking is good)

No, I'm not hitting on you. Well, if I was, how would I be doing?

Really.... REALLY. Huh.

Not bad for a guy who has a hard time talking to women. Yes. Really.

Well, you do look like someone I know. Plus, you've got this twinkle
in your eye, it's just... I don't know. There's something about it...

So, how about a drink sometime? Me? Oh, I'm a musician. Ha ha.. yes,
I'm the guy Mom and Dad warn you about.

Actually... I -am- the guy Mom and Dad warn you about.

Really.

So,that drink?

Yes, Tomorrow is good.

...

Heh.

(to be continued)

Fiction - Twinkle, Twinkle, Dirty Girl...

2005-01-10T13:32:00.000-05:00

(Part 1 of ?)

---

You have this sweetness to you, don't you?

It's sugary and pleasant, but in the corner of your eyes, there's..
something else. A twinkle, maybe? Yes. A twinkle.

Hm.

I'm intrigued.

I love watching people, y'see. Their motivations, their lifestyle,
their sexual habits... how much can you figure out just by watching
them stand in line for one minute at the bookstore.

So, this twinkle, it perplexes me. It doesn't fit in with your
image. You've got this clean-cut thing going on, and... hm. I'm
missing something. The image, the twinkle... they don't work together.

Or do they? Maybe I'm I reading you wrong? Is the clean-cut portrayal
a cover? Oh my. Yes, I think that's it.

Ohhhh. You're *faking* it. You're putting out a 'good-girl' vibe, but
that's not it at all, is it? And the twinkle... ohhhh... the twinkle
is your Achilles Heel.

Well. Now it's interesting, isn't it? Now that I know a little bit
more about you, things start to fall into place. That outfit you're
wearing... it's sweet, but sexy. You like to tease, don't you? In such
a subtle way that makes a man work for it? Yes, yes... that makes more
sense

Which means... you like the attention, too. No, you like being the
*center* of attention. You like feeling eyes on you. You like being
watched, too, I think.

That twinkle is really giving you away, now.

You bend over, and do it such a provocatively non-provocative way,
that I know I'm right

You crave, don't you? You're wanton for... something.

And now I know what it is.

Oh yes.

The twinkle gave you away, indeed.

(to be continued)

Nonfiction - Quiet Home

2005-01-09T08:57:00.000-05:00

11pm, Christmas Eve, My Mother's House, "downstate"

--

If you ask anyone from Long Island or NYC, they'll tell you that anything north of Manhattan is considered "upstate".

That same question, when applied to anyone south of Albany(but north of NYC), will tell you that all citizens north of Albany is "upstate", but that everyone south of that area is "downstate".

(This is far more confusing than necessary.)

Screw NYC. I was born downstate. As a general rule, I don't come back here much anymore. There's something wrong with the area. I can't find the word for it, but there's a meanness that's off-putting.

The 90's recession was not kind to the Hudson Valley Region. Several large corporations cut their staff by upwards of 20-30%, and the real estate market took a nosedive. It was around this time that my family fell apart, and I took my first hiatus from college.

Going back home is the mental equivalent of regurgitation, there's too many memories; I get hit with both nostalgia and fear whenever I return. The nostalgia hits me if I drive into certain areas or streets. The fear hits me when I see certain pictures in my mother's house, and a long-forgotten memory flashes before my eyes.

And then I go out to get gas, or go shopping with my friend at the mall, and I listen to the people talk. And Bitch. And Complain. And Bitch. And Act Rude. And Bitch. And do all the things I can't stand.

I moved upstate almost 18 months ago, seemingly to a different world. The girl at the Sunoco station is young, but smiles without a trace of condescension. My friend who owns the pizza place grins and hollars "There he is!" whenever I stop in. A co-worker, whom I didn't think liked me, offered me his mechanic (and a good rate), if I ever had problems with my truck.

I like it upstate. Even on the worst days, people smile.

I miss my friends, though. They understood that it was time for me to go, but my move was abrupt. One day I was there, the next day I was gone. They're good people, and we had good times.

As of late, I've wondered if I should relocate again, or even move back there. But that would be a regression, stepping back into a life I'm still trying to move away from.

No, I don't think that's a good idea at all.

2.5 hours north of here, there is a small apartment on a lake, waiting for me.

-- The Quiet Bastard

Nonfiction - Return of the Bastard

2005-01-08T08:20:00.000-05:00

I live, I breathe.

My time off was very pleasant and quiet. I checked e-mail intermittently and enjoyed a handful of movies.

Not to mention a deliciously naughty evening. Heh.

It was nice, not being hooked up to the online world. I see a future where everyone is online all the time (via micro-implants); the accesibility of information will be helpful, but the dependency on technology is a little scary.

... I digress.

It was quiet, peaceful, and a little naughty.

Back to work.

-- The Eye-Twinkling, Well-Rested, Always-Obnoxious Bastard

Nonfiction - Thanks, Nick.

2005-01-06T08:09:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa, you half-assed miserable git:

So, Christmas came and went. A bit uneven, but I'm not complaining. Truth be told, your track record over the last 10 years has been unimpressive. It's okay, I don't hold a grudge. Not everyone's perfect. (Well, I am. That's what comes from being arrogant and brilliant, y'know?)

Anyways.

Where was I.

Oh yes. "Unimpressive".

I mean, I've gotten older, and I know how this is supposed to work(life, that is), and things change after a certain point in time, and you know you've got stuff to do, and you just...

I dunno.

...

Since the early 90's I've asked you for a number of odds and ends; Some happiness, some hope, a little peace of mind... y'know, the usual. And, for the most part, you've failed me.

Really, no bitterness. Just the way life goes.

This year though, you surprised me. Besides the usual gifts and gift cards (Barnes & Noble and Best Buy) I received a small(very small) bout of peace of mind, and a healthy dose of inspiration.

I am stunned. It caught me off-guard. When you have low (or no) expectations, the smallest things can be a surprise. And that little dose of inspiration, not to mention some real quiet time... it helped.

(Oh, and I don't know what strings you pulled to get Blockbuster Video to FINALLY open a fucking branch 10 minutes away, but crap... THAT was a wonderful gift, too.. We have every conceivable store imaginable within a 5-miles radius, and yet it took forever to get Blockbuster to open. I've watched a shitload of movies the last couple weeks. Fun fun.)

I was pleased.

No, I AM pleased. I don't think I even asked you for anything, and yet you gave me a little bit anyways. I wouldn't mind more, but hell... something is better than nothing.

So, since we as a society normally take things for granted, occasionally forgetting to be gracious and such...

Thanks, you old softie.

And yes, I'll try to be a better person this year.

Sorry, that's the best you're going to get.

Cheers.

-The Ever-Present and Very Relaxed Bastard.

Break

2004-12-23T15:52:00.000-05:00

When I started this blog, I told myself I'd take a break, once I hit Christmas. Well, it's pretty much Christmas.

Originally, I wanted 25 stories finished by Christmas. 25 stories by the 25th day of December... It has a symmetry, doesn't it? Alas, poor health, the conference, and, well... life, got in the way. I still managed to get 18 or 19 short stories written. They're not long, and not all particularly good, but I've done as much writing in the last couple months as I have in the last couple years. That thought is pleasing, only because it reinforces my belief that I can actually find the time to do more writing, I just need the motivation.

And having people read the stories has been gratifying. I've received a nice batch of e-mails and comments over the last few months, ranging from "That's hot" to "I like your stories" to "You need an editor", all of which have been appreciated. Really.

So, thanks for that.

I'm going to be shutting down for the rest of the holidays, barring an occasional post or two between now and January. I need to recharge the mental battery, plus I've got some personal stuff planned that's going to keep me busy.

When I come back, I'm hoping to write a little differently. I've spent the last 2.5 months chugging pieces out, aiming for quantity, instead of quality. As a result, most of my stories still feel like 1st or 2nd drafts. I think I've found a way to write, so that they come off more polished. I can't expect perfection (no matter how much my perfectionist side whines otherwise) but I think I can write better.

I'm hoping to play with some multi-media ideas I have floating in my head, and I'm thinking of taking a stab at some serialized fiction. I have this odd story floating in my head, based on a book I bought back in 1990.

I'm off to finish my Christmas shopping. I have to buy one last gift for my hairdresser. Heh. I love that woman.

Thanks for everything, and I wish everyone a safe, sexy and Happy Holidays.

Don't try too be hard to be good.

-The Still Kinky Bastard.

Thanks

2004-12-22T01:25:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty much back to normal health, thanks for the e-mails. Medicine plus sleep makes a Happy Bastard.

I should have a story up by X-mas.

So. How ya doin'?

-The Healthier Bastard.

Kill me

2004-12-19T23:55:00.000-05:00

Still sick.

If this keeps up, I'm going to be going to the doctor's office for the 2nd time in 2 weeks.

I hate dealing with Doctor's offices and hospitals. Why else do you go to these places, except to get bad news?

Bah.

--The Miserable, Chest-wheezing Bastard.

Gah.

2004-12-18T23:12:00.000-05:00

Been ill the last couple days. Sore throat, bad cough, chest pain... the usual nonsense.

It hasn't improved my mood, but some porn has helped. A little.

In other news, they announced the winners of the X-mas contest over at Literotica, and I didn't win. The other stories were pretty good (didn't read the "gay male" entry that won first place), but when I looked at the totals, I figured out that if one more person had voted a '5' for one of my stories, I would've won.

... I hate being good with numbers. That just bugs me.

C'est la vie, I suppose.

I should have a new story up here tomorrow or Monday.

-- The Tired and Cranky Bastard

Eh

2004-12-16T12:30:00.000-05:00

I've been in an odd mood for the last week or so. I think it's best described as "melancholy".

My brain finds this odd, because I love Christmas. It's probably my favorite time of year. The problem is that after the holidays... Well, that's my least favorite time of year. January through mid-April (tax day and my birthday are back-to-back).

The roads are wet and snowy, It gets dark WAYYYY too early (even though we're working back towards turning the clocks ahead... back... whichever) and it's just dreary and miserable.

I hate it.

For some reason, I've been focusing more on the post-holidays, than on the holidays themselves.

It's been affecting my writing, which bugs me even more. I've barely been "in the mood" at all in the last couple weeks. Now THAT'S very strange. I usually have a day or two a month when I can't be bothered to masturbate. And even then, not every month.

But I've been in a funk.

I was at a used bookstore today, with a list of stuff to buy. One of the items on the list was Laurel Hamilton, who writes the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series. Yeah, sounds like gaudy trash, but the covers are incredibly hot. So, I figured I'd find the first novel for a couple bucks, try it out, and see if it's any good.

I picked it up in my hand, started to read the back, and put it down.

Not in the mood.

The sexual over tones were very obvious, but I just couldn't be bothered.

Weird.

I did end up buy a couple hardcovers I'd been looking for (I'm a hardcover fiend), and found an old Arthur C. Clarke pulp-style story that a friend had recommended. I'm fairly certain it was serialized at some point, but it was only one dollar. A small book for a dollar, how can you go wrong?

Anyways.

Weird mood.

--The Bastard

G-mail Invites

2004-12-15T22:28:00.000-05:00

I've got 6. Anyone want 'em?

E-mail me at

the.kinky.bastard@gmail.com

put "G-Mail Invite" in the header, and a sweet message in the... um, message.

I'll get 'em out to you tomorrow.

--The Bastard.

What I'm Reading

2004-12-14T22:48:00.000-05:00

I've caught a number of bloggers writing some fun stuff in the last couple weeks. Anyone looking for something to read should try these posts:

- Slippery Sweet talks at length about her decision to seek a dom for a casual relationship. She's written some hot fiction and non-fiction on her blog before, and the article is a well-thought piece on her thoughts and feelings on the matter.

- As noted in an earlier post, Sexkitten is getting screwed all over the place. Interestingly enough, her relationship with "B." came off as quiet and normal, but the guy has turned into a kinky bastard. Obviously, I approve. The most recent entry may not be for everyone. It involved sex during a period.

- I am so easily entranced by women of all shapes and sizes, but this photo just made my jaw drop. No reason why, as I usually don't go for that hair combo, and I have yet to see a photo of MissX smiling, but what a wonderful creature.

- Alexa is still doing her Carnival of Sin every Monday or so at A New York Escorts Confessions. 48 new blogs, some sexual, some not. It's very sweet of her to do that, especially as every blogger likes hits. So, if you've got downtime (in-between shopping and all that) try reading a few.

- I love what and how Vikki writes. She doesn't post as frequently as others, but when she does, she has such a great way of using words. The writing is tight, concise, and very erotic. Her last two entries have been about control, and are really fantastic. Limits, especially. Wow. That got my head spinning about borders and control. It was a topic I had never given much thought to. Anyone at all, who likes sexual power games, should go read those.

--The Bastard

Fiction - X.14 - Reflection

2004-12-14T14:36:00.000-05:00

Her ass, already red, slid down slowly, then paused. My head perched up against a pillow, I looked across the room, watching her face in the mirror.

Red cheeks and half-open concentrated eyes foretold but one emotion: Pure, wanton lust. My hand snaked around her chest, as I felt her slide down my shaft again. I felt juice dripping onto my thigh, as my fingers found her breast and squeezed.

She moaned. Her hand clasped over mine, tightening on her chest. She pushed up with her knees, and sank down onto me, crevice swallowing me whole.

In the reflection, I stared at her, as she rose up and down, riding me intently. My fingers scratched over her breast gingerly, as she moved one hand in-between her legs.

I watched, mesmerized, as her fingers slid over her clit, rubbing fervently. Her head rolled onto her shoulders, as her body sank onto my cock, and rotated around my hips. Her body squeezed and tightened on my shaft, finger sliding up and down.

She moaned, as I stared. Her hips rose slightly, then pushed down quickly onto my body, as my back arched in frustration. I could feel my shaft throbbing inside her, as her hand began moving faster.

Her head snapped back, moan getting louder, as she began humping me quickly. Her body pushed up off her knees a few inches, and then down again rapidly, while sweat ran down her chest.

I reached up and grabbed her ass, pushing up and down, as her fingers excited her clit. My hands raised her ass up higher each time, allowing her to impale herself with each fall.

She cried out in ecstasy, as her body slumped downwards, and her pussy spasmed. Ripples of flesh surrounded my dick as she erupted, juices dribbling onto my crotch.

I dug my nails into her hips, as she exploded on top of me. She leaned forward, breasts scratched and sweaty, breathing rapidly.

I sat up slightly, and moved my hand in-between her legs. She tensed, then relaxed, as I started rubbing her spot again.

"May I?" I chuckled.

"Yessss." She purred.

--The Bastard

Now you know

2004-12-14T14:14:00.000-05:00

I changed the name of the blog to Kinky Bastard. Although the link is the same, I just wasn't grooving on the "Upstate" thing.

Kinky Bastard sounds better. And you don't need to know where I live in NY. Just as long as it ain't NYC.

--

I updated all of the stories I've written here on the blog. I haven't made it clear that it's all fiction, so I renamed all of them (adding "Fiction" to the title) and updated the links on the side.

So, now you know, SK8-RN.

Heh.

--

On Wednesday night, ABC is replaying the 2-hour season premiere of LOST. If you're not watching it, you're foolish. Really.

Hell, it's got one of the hobbits in it. How can you not love the hobbits?

--

I added some X-mas cheer to the site. Don't call me a grinch.

--The Bastard

Perfect.

2004-12-13T13:29:00.000-05:00

In the summer of '97, I had a job that allowed me to travel. Actually, I was required to travel, but, whatever.

I was in Florida, on the panhandle. It was probably mid-June or so. In the 4 weeks since taking the job, I had thrown up several times, tried "bar-b-q" (the cause of one of the yak sessions, incidentally), seen a 10-gallon hat and a 10-foot cross all in the same house, been tortured with hours and hours of Circus Music (which I didn't know existed), and was fired and re-hired(5 states away from home).

It was an experience, to say the least.

But on this day, in Florida, I had the Perfect Long Island Iced Tea. There is no greater drink, and this was perfection.

--

Me and my buddy woke up in the morning, and made plans for the day. We had only two objectives: To Drink and To Screw. Unfortunately for him, his girlfriend(s) were 10 states away. So, the Screwing was up to me.

We were staying with a host family. I remember them easily. They were retired, one Italian, one Irish. The husband was the only man to ever take me down. At the time, I was at the height of my obnoxious/bitter stage (yes, I'm mellow now), and was cracking wise at every opportunity.

But this guy... he had decades on me. And my buddy just sat and watched as I got creamed for three days straight. He laughed, and laughed and laughed. He thought it was the most uproarious thing.

Him: "This guy is like a smarter, mouthier version of you."

Me: "Fuck off. I'll get one in."

Old Man: "I doubt it, you little shit."

Him: "BWAHAHAHA."

It was never-ending.

As we had finished our job obligations the day before, we had all day free, before moving on to our next city in Florida (Ft. something, I think).

So, we decided to hit the beach. Being on the panhandle, near a bunch of small islands, we had a number of choices. We called around, seeing what everyone was doing, and made plans. I made an effort to get ahold of a young lady from town I had met the night before. She had already managed to let me know she was single and had her own apartment.

Heh.

I couldn't get ahold of her, but one of the other guys we were planning with was certain he knew how to get ahold of her. And right here, I made my first mistake.

I let him get ahold of her, instead of tracking her down myself, to let her know where we were going to be.

So, we told the host family we were hitting the beach. They were kind enough to throw some beer our way. My buddy was happy, he loves the beer. At the time, I was a liquor snob. Only mixed drinks and shots for me, thanks.

(Side note: A week or two later, we were in one of the Carolinas - I can't recall which one - and I tried to order a LIIT, only to find that liquor comes in these two-shot bottles, and they'd have to make me a huge drink, using all the liquor from each bottle. Price? $12-15. I passed.)

Since I loved to read, they offered to let me browse through their small fiction collection. I found a book that sounded like your typical "end-of-the-world" kinda thing. Literary Fantasy, it screamed to me.

Cool. Sounds different. I'll try it.

The author's name, though, rang a couple bells in my head. Pat Robertson... Pat Robertson.... Damn. Where had I heard that name before?

I shrugged, tossed the book in the bag with the blanket, sunscreen, and all that crap, and we headed out.

The plans we made with our co-workers was to have some drinks at the beach, and hook up later. And of course, to Screw. Hmmm. Screwing.

So we got to the beach, and hit the beer. I forced myself to drink a few beers, and because it was a: Hot and b: 11:30 am, we found ourselves getting a nice buzz on. We were pleased.

I started reading, and very quickly, alarm bells starting going off on my head. I don't remember the title of the book now, but there was quite a bit of Bible quotes, Christian proverbs, and talking about Armageddon/End of Days scenario. I looked more closely at the dustjacket and cursed.

Religious Fiction.

Fuck.

That is so very much not my kind-of thing. So, the book was a wash.

Me: "Hey."

Him: *grunt*

Me: "Wake up, fucker. We should go eat something."

Him: "What's wrong, book-boy. Don't like what you're reading?"

Me: "You knew, didn't you?"

Him: "BWAHAHAHAHA."

We walked up to the bar, ordered a burger, and I got a drink.

A Long Island Iced Tea.

Now, you have to understand, that it's very easy to fuck up a LIIT. Too much tequila or gin, usually ruins the flavor. That said, it's hard to make a Great LIIT. But to make one Perfect? Never happens.

Only, it did. It was smooth, yet not light. It was strong, yet not overpowering. You could taste the liquor, but not too much.

It was glorious.

And after one... I was smashed. Completely obliterated. The heat, humidity, and beers already in my stomach turned me into a drooling basket-case.

So, I had another one. It wasn't as good, but Perfection rolls around only a couple times in a lifetime.

Now, remember the plan was To Drink and To Screw. For the Drinking, we were Successful.

The Screwing... ah, this is where things went to shit. The beach was miles long, and there were multiple restaurants. We not only couldn't remember which restaurant to go to, but the cell phone reception was non-existant.

And we were too drunk to figure out a better way to get ahold of anyone.

So, we sat on the beach, drinking more beer, passing out, waking up, taking a piss, and then starting all over again. By late afternoon, we were hammered, and tired.

Time to go back. Only...

Who was going to drive?

You have to understand the area of Florida we were in; It was an area of small islands, connected by bridges. And we had a cargo van - that was rented - with out-of-state plates.

And we were trashed.

I told him to drive. He told me I had to drive.

He drove.

And it was an entirely unpleasant experience. Well, not really, because we were laughing the entire time. Especially as we went over the bridges.

The beach was thirty minutes away from the house we were staying in, but it became readily apparent that we would need to find a place to sober up, and piss.

Fast.

The night before, we had gone to a party thrown by one of the locals. He was nice. And fucking rich. So, we decided to stop by, uninvited. We didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

And the guy, he was great about it. Welcomed us in, offered us drinks (no thanks!) and talked to us by the pool for a bit. This guy, he had been a little worried, and was glad we stopped by.

He was a big-game hunter. He went to Africa and shot elephants and lions and whatever else they had down there. Then, he stuffed the heads, and shipped it back up to his house. Where he had a "game room", full of stuffed animals.

He told us a story about how some left-wing, anti-hunting, journalist convinced him to do a story on his hunting, and then wrote an article blasting him. So, he was nervous about letting people into his game room.

One of the girls we worked with, was a straight-up, no holds-barred vegan. She was a great chick, really, but she wouldn't touch meat. And she had mistakenly walked into the game room the night before, and almost lost her shit.

So, the rich guy was worried about her making a stink, but we calmed him down, while we sobered up in his whirlpool.

Meanwhile, the guys we were supposed to hang out with, were drinking heavily, and hitting on the chick I was supposed to bang. Sadly, none of them got with her, and she kept asking where I was.

5 drunk islands away, sweetheart.

Me and my buddy sobered up enough to finish the drive back to our host house, and promptly passed out. We left town the next day, and I still don't remember the girl's name.

That drink, though... damn.

--The Bastard.

Quick question

2004-12-12T23:06:00.000-05:00

Anyone know how to get blogger to correctly list my "# of posts" and "words typed" information in the profile correctly? It's been stuck on 16 posts for weeks now, and I know I have quite a few more than that.

I'm more curious in the word count, frankly.

S.

Power

2004-12-12T13:29:00.000-05:00

I love sexual power games. If you've read most of my stories, you've probably picked up on that. It's not too hard to miss.

For me, it's like a drug, pounding through my veins. It's laced with my fervent need to always be right, to always win. I have been known to admit defeat gracefully, but only rarely.

I have a tendency to get too hamstrung on the "dom" and "sub" archetypes of bdsm. That comes from my black-and-white view of the world. It's easier, in my mind, to settle on extremes. Because the gray area in-between gets too confusing.

I'll be talking to a girl, and in the back of mind I start thinking... "What's her favorite position? Does she like getting her clothes ripped off(in some cases literally)? Does she like to be spanked? Does she like to be tied up? Does she want to tie ME up? Or doesn't she know at all?"

It's easier to read women in the their 20's and mid-30's. Talking to women who get older than that, it starts to get tricky. It's a game, because that's all it is to me. Unless I'm out drinking and in the mood to start trouble. Then it becomes... fun.

I don't know why so many things seem to come back to the topic of power. I was talking to a friend of mine recently, and he remarked that his fiancee confessed that one of the things that attracted her to him, was his confidence. Not only that, but he's a fantastic musician. She would get turned on just watching him play.

In my case, it's my confidence tinged with arrogance. Or so I'm told by ex-girlfriends.

Anyways.

I can't ever imagine being tied up. I'd get bored, real fast. Tying someone up, though... ah. So much fun. It's that feeling of being able to do whatever I want to do, in my own time.

Yum.

It's the greatest thrill in the world, power. I don't completely understand my fascination with it, but I'm not too bothered by it, either. It's all part of the game, I guess.

--The Bastard.

Review

2004-12-11T13:31:00.000-05:00

I caught Ocean's Twelve last night with the boys. We managed to catch an early showing, so as to avoid the rush of stupid people. I generally wait until Monday or Tuesday nights to watch movies in the theatre (or better yet, the DVD) but I'm a huge fan of Ocean's Eleven (the remake, not the original)

Anyways, it was a fun movie. Full of plot holes, none-to-little character development, and a script that felt more like a second draft than a finished product, O12 was still enjoyable because it's so rare that you see a group of movie stars having so much fun with what they do.

I mean, I can't really blame them for taking on this project. They knew they'd party like rock stars, make a butt-load of money, and have a good time in the process. Who wouldn't want to do that?

The jokes and overall good humor of the movie still made it fun to watch. They tried to pull off a "Usual Suspects" kinda thing (and you really won't see it coming, so I'm not spoiling anyone) which was the worst idea ever. And some of the great supporting cast - Elliot Gould and Bernie Mac, to name two - were pretty much ignored, which is sad.

Still, it's a good time, and a fun romp. If you're looking for a holiday diversion, you could see it. Or just watch Ocean's Eleven. Much better film. Great Suits. Tight script.

Next, I want to see Closer; supposed to be quite steamy.

--The Bastard

Fiction - X.17 - Sweet

2004-12-10T00:40:00.000-05:00

Anxiously, we waited for the inevitable 'ding'. I looked over at her, as she licked her lips playfully..

"Not. Fair." I murmured, as a metallic sound signified the arrival of the elevator. Metal doors opened, an elderly couple strolling into the hallway.

We walked quickly into the elevator, hands randomly touching. Her face was flushed from the wine, mine from the wine and the erection sticking straight up inside my pants. I hit the button for my floor, and leaned against the wall.

I watched as she slid in front of me, and pressed her ass directly into my crotch. Her leather mini-skirt rubbed against my crotch, swaying up and down, then moving from side-to-side. She flipped her head around, dark brown hair framing lusty eyes.

I put my hand on her mini-skirt and lifted upwards. She eagerly pressed her bare flesh back into me. My hands moved up and down her legs, as she lifted her hair, and rested her head on my shoulder.

My hands reached up to her chest, bravely playing with her large breasts through her sweater. She moaned in approval, head turning into my neck. My fingers pressed into her breasts, pulling and playing with them, as the elevator 'dinged'.

But not for our floor.

I let go of her breasts slowly, as the door opened. She straightened up, and pushed her skirt-down. Her flushed face panted, as the elderly couple walked in, smiled naively in our direction, and pressed the button for another floor.

The doors closed, as their backs turned away from us. My crotch pushed forward, pressing into her ass. Her body tensed, then pressed back. The elevator was silent, except for our conspicuous breathing.

The elderly man turned around, and stared at me. I looked at him briefly, and smirked. He smiled back broadly.

Good for you, his eyes said.

You better believe it, mine responded.

Tne elevator reached our floor, and we strode off quickly. I looked behind me, only to see the old man reach behind his wife, and grab her ass. She jumped, and he laughed. He caught my eye, and winked.

Good for you, I chuckled quietly.

My attention returned to the brunette-haired vixen in front of me. I pointed to the right, and we half-walked, half-ran down to my hotel room.

She stood behind me, hand squeezing my arm, as I popped the door open and pulled her inside. I pressed her quickly against the wall, as the door closed behind us. My hands quickly lifted her skirt, as our lips began their mutual feast.

Her skirt bunched around her waist, my fingers pressed against her bare pussy. Digits met wet flesh, as I began stroking her lips.

She reached up, rubbing her hand through my short hair. I moved my knee in-between her legs, as my fingers continued massaging her pussy.

She pulled away from me, dark hair matting her face.

"The bed," She whispered. We turned, and headed towards the middle of the room, as we both quickly shed most of our clothing.

She sat down on the bed, sweater and skirt already on the floor. She looked up at me, as her bra came off. Her eyes travelled down to my waist, where my boxers failed to hide my erection. She reached out with both hands, pulled my dick out, and promptly engulfed it with her mouth.

My hands reached for her hair, as her tongue slid up and down my shaft. Her mouth moved feverishly, attempting to devour me.

I pushed her back on the bed, and laid her down on her back. I laid next to her, while her fingers grabbed my cock and began stroking. She sat up, and crossed over my body, her mouth over my crotch.

I impulsivley grabbed her right leg, and pulled it over my head. I reached up, grabbed her hips and pressed her pussy right against my face.

Her wet flesh rubbed against my face, as she impaled her mouth onto my dick. I licked upwards, tongue tasting wet pussy.

Her lips wrapped around my shaft, as my tongue licked her lips. My hands pulled on her body, as her legs pushed closer to my head. I eagerly slid my tongue inside, her body pulsing on my face.

She moaned into my crotch, as my tongue probed her wet hole. Her legs tightened around my head, thighs pressed against my face, while my tongue slid in and out.

I felt her mouth begin swallowing me, lips pushing down my shaft. The feeling of her warm, wet mouth, sent a shock through my system. I pulled my tongue out, and slid it up to her clit. Her body went rigid, as my tongue flicked her clit several times.

Another moan escpaed her mouth, as she began face-fucking my cock. I slid my fingers up to her lips, and pushed them in without abandon. As her face fucked my dick, my fingers fucked her cunt.

The tempo of her mouth moving up and down increased, as did my fingers. I twisted my head, nad pressed my mouth against her clit, sucking hard. My fingers pumped into her faster, as her body began writhing over my face.

Her cheeks tightened sharply, as she tightened her mouth on my cock. I could feel my balls stir, as her body twisted on top of me. The fingers fucked faster, as her mouth sucked harder. I felt my balls tighten, as my body tensed underneath her.

My hand dug into her hips, as my crotch shot upwards, cock exploding. Her pussy pressed against me, juice leaking, as her moans climaxed, orgasm jolting through her pussy.

Our bodies erupted into each other, as our bodies heaved back and forth. I laid my head back, panting, as her mouth finished swallowing the rest of my cum. My lips, drenched with her sweet
fluids, smiled.

She curled up next to me and yawned.

Seconds later, we passed out.

--The Bastard

- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Fiction - X.13 - Denial

2004-12-07T20:52:00.000-05:00

She arrives late. Again. A brusque apology mumbles from her lips, but I know it matters little.

Born from my resentment, a new scene forms in my head. I'm going to use the video camera, but today I will draw something new. A new medium, perhaps? Yes.

No painting today. We'll try something different

I order her to sit cross-legged on the bed, naked.

She glances slightly towards the video camera, but says nothing. Her body flushes slightly, but remains silent.

Excellent.

I sketch quietly for a moment, her body arousing me swiftly. My fingers are covered with charcoal as I inform her that I want her nipples to harden.

As she touches herself, my blood races. I am barely able to speak, quietly telling her to pull harder. She appears to be in some pain.

Good. That's what she gets for showing up late.

I finish the first pose, and compose myself. I will not let her get the best of me again. I know what I'm drawing, and I know what she thinks I'm drawing, but they are not necessarily the same thing. To her, this is art, and so it is to myself.

I have her switch positions: Lying down, knees bent and spread, while she plays with her lips. My hands begin drawing faster, as her fingers manipulate and tease her lower region. My fingers continue their work, but it soon becomes apparent that she is wet and in heat.

And so her heat turns me on, too. Damn her. I will deny these feelings, yes.

I finish the piece, and stand up abruptly. Immediately I feel my arousal between my legs. This is what she has done to me... to me?

She notices the bulge in my jeans, which combined with my frustration over my arousal, infuriates me quickly.

Let's see how far Camille is willing to go.

“This last pose may be difficult. If you don’t want to do it, I can get someone else.”

“I can do it.” She responds defiantly.

She moves to her hands and knees, chest pressed against the bed. Her ass sticks outwards, quite attractively. She looks uncomfortable, but it matters little to me.

But her sinful body beckons, and my own wishes cannot be denied; against my better judgement, subject and artist mix. I order her to spread her thighs.

I move closer, fingers sliding easily inside her. My eyes close, as body throbbing slightly. I catch myself panting quietly. Did she hear?

No.

My fingers mindlessly rub her wetness up towards her crack. Her body settles uncomfortably, beckoning almost. I swallow nervously. My near-insatiable need almost eclipses my work.

I must have more. For the art, of course. It's all about the art. But I must have more. Perhaps her fingers?

Yes. Her fingers.

I suck on one finger, tasting her. I inhale strongly, her essence an intoxicant to my already-racing libido. My head spins, reality smacking me in the face.

I have gone too far. And it is all her fault.

I place her finger against her tight hole. A punishment? At first, perhaps. But as I instruct her to push it in to the last knuckle, her body sucking her finger in, I hear her loud breathing betray her; Her body shakes slightly, as she continues her path of self-arousal.

I know what she wants. But she shall be denied.

I return to my work and draw. And draw and draw and draw and... Her body silently cries out to me, while mine own body throbs. In my mind, I see nothing but the art, and her heat. She squirms and twists, self-manipulations taking over. I stop drawing, panting quietly.

I can't... no more.

Damn her.

I stand up, holding my breath, reaching for a rag. I reach into my pants, nervous yet resigned

I have no other choice in the matter.

It takes bare minutes, my hand rigidly shaking forward-and-back. My heart races, pumping so loud I swear she must hear it; My body shakes, as my hips jerk quickly. A series of small breaths escapes my mouth, as I watch her hand attempt to hold still. She can neither see, nor hear me.

And yet, she is wanton.

For me.

It is that thought that sends me over the edge. My hips push outwards, knees weak, as I erupt silently. My jaw drops, eyes close, breath held in my throat. My head shoots back, neck almost cracking, while her thighs tremble mere feet from me.

I sit down slowly, body convulsing in waves. There was nothing I could do, I could not deny my need. Once again, she has disrupted the balance.

Steadying my voice, I inform her that we are done for the day. I walk into the next room, to make a cup of coffee.

Loud moans reach my ears, and do not go unnoticed. So, Camille has also breached the balance point between art and need, after being denied her release. I smile to myself, waiting for the coffee to finish.

Now she knows how it feels.

--The Bastard

--If you go read Rodin pt.3, you can see this story from Camille's point-of-view. Thanks to DTG for letting me play in her sandbox.

Copyright

2004-12-07T01:39:00.000-05:00

I registered my site through Creative Commons yesterday. It's a site that copyrights your work to your name. You can see the icon on the right, in one of the sidebars.

Basically, I've just secured my writing. It wasn't a huge issue, but it was something in the back of my mind.

Anyone writing any fiction at blogger, or anywhere else, should consider doing the same.

--The Bastard

Between

2004-12-05T22:17:00.000-05:00

What a strange couple days I've had.

Between several long nights of drunken revelry; a 5-hour trip to the Emergency Room (Yes, everyone is fine); a 3.5 hour drive that took over 5 hours; catching up with a handful of old colleagues who were all of the mind(as one person put it) that I had "dropped off the face of the earth"; an odd conversation with an old mentor; a fun conversation with a friend's wife; a quiet conversation with a very old friend; an act of singing(which I had sworn never to do again) that really sounded quite horrid; making a new friend; threatening with new friend to go find an exhibitor, bend her over the table in the exhibit hall, smack her ass, fuck her brains out, then jump on the table, screaming "-------- RULES!", then walking away; Laughing hysterically for 15 minutes over the previous idea, then getting another drink...

Between all that, I still managed to almost reserve a first-class, one way ticket to hell, by almost hooking up with a wonderful, blond-haired, drunken woman.

Who was married.

Sorry to say, I was a good boy.

Only because her (also drunk) boss was present and cock-blocked me.

Dammit.

--

Best quote of the last three days:

Her: "Hey!!"

Him: "What?"

Her: "You can't do that!"

Him: "What? Why not?"

Her, points to Me: "Only he's allowed to smack my ass."

Me: "Heh."

She had nice soft lips, too.

Mm, yummy.

Oh well.

Back to the grind.

--The Bastard

Back.

2004-12-05T01:11:00.000-05:00

Yeah. The Bastard had returned.

And I am Fucking. Tired.

Equal parts awkward and bittersweet, it was an interesting couple days. Plus, various acts of debauchery made things lively.

More to come.

--The Bastard.

Fiction - X.19 - Talk?

2004-12-02T01:34:00.000-05:00

Hey.

...

Hey.

I'm sleeping, woman.

Can we talk?

... please let this be a dream.

I just.. please?

No.

I'll let you touch my breasts.

... Hmm.

Really.

... I don't trust you.

....

....

Better?

Hm. Yes. Talk.

I had a bad day at work.

Mm hmm.

... what are you doing?

Nothing. Continue.

... okay. So, I had a...

...

...

...

You really shouldn't be doing that. I'm trying to talk.

Mm hmm. Do you want me to stop?

I really.... ohh.

Heh.

I'm just... *breathes*

...

God.

*chuckle*

... *whisper* grab them harder.

... like that?

*moan*

Heh. That's what I thought.

Mmm.

Then again, I could...

Oh. oh....*sigh*

Should I stop with...

No.

You sure?

YES.

You're wet.

*moan* Yeah, I don't know how that could've...

Oh, I have an idea. Of course, I could just...

...uh.

What did you want to talk about, now?

... mmm.

No, you had a bad day.

I don't.. it's not... God.

Really. I'm a sensitive 90's man. Talk to me.

Uh It's not the.. uh uh uh uh...

Oh my. I really did think you wanted to talk.

You... you're... horrible...

I know. And you love it.

...

...

God.

That's it, baby.

I... uh... Don't...

...

Oh. Oh. OH!

...

*loud gasp*

...

*Shudder*

...

uh... uh... uh... uh...

...

*collapse*

*quiet chuckle*

You....

That's what you get for waking me up.

--The Bastard

-- I received so much positive feedback on the last story, Crack, that I decided to try the same style again. Plus, I wanted to get another story done before I left. Hoped you liked.

-- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Oh, and...

2004-12-01T01:36:00.000-05:00

In case you need something to read, don't forget that all my stories are listed on the right in the sidebar. That's all the ones that start with 'X'.

Oh, and my literotica stories are here.

I've got two stories in the literotica holiday contest. If you wouldbe so kind, please vote for both.

Specifically, hit me up with some '5''s for Reflections on Lives Passed.

I really really REALLY want that story to win. You vote at the end of the story.

I promise to be a kinky fucker, if ya do. :)

--The Bastard

Out and about

2004-12-01T01:28:00.000-05:00

I'm heading out of town for a conference. I'm leaving Thursday morning, and won't be back until Saturday afternoon sometime. This Sunday is an important day to me, so I'll be posting sporadically through Monday, if at all.

I hope to have a new story up wednesday night, but no promises.

--The Bastard

Now that's what I'm talking about.

2004-11-30T01:57:00.000-05:00

Sexkitten was treated JUST RIGHT over the holidays:

"...I spent a lot of time naked... aked on B's couch with my legs spread, his face fastened at my snatch and my clit between his teeth. I held him tightly between my thighs, one hand pressing on the back back of his head. I couldn't get enough. I bucked and writhed at his face while he gobbled my shaved little pussy. And damn, talk about a persistent tongue."

Oh, it gets much better than that, too.

B., whomever you are, I gotta give you credit. That's a fantastic idea. You kept the power in your hands, and made her want you even more.

Fantastic.

...

I'm going to have to try this sometime.

--

I've switched to Gmail. Holy shit, I can't believe I've stayed with Hotmail this long. Organization, speed... it's got it all.

So, that's my new e-mail account.

the DOT kinky DOT bastard AT gmail DOT com

In case you're wondering... I'm trying to stay free of the spam bots, hence the funky spelling.

--The Bastard

Fiction - X.18 - Crack

2004-11-29T01:19:00.000-05:00

You're on your hands and knees.

Ass up in the air.

Begging.

I slide under you. Lick. Lick. Lick.

...

Lick.

...

Lick.

You pant.

Your legs spread a little, then close.

Lick.

Your back arches.

Fingers reach up for your lips.

Pull.

Tongue licks, then probes.

I lick my lips.

Angle my face.

Push tongue in.

Again.

And again.

Hands rub your ass and legs.

Tongue gently strokes your lips.

Thrusts in again.

Face pulls off.

...

You're wet.

...

Really wet.

I kneel behind you.

Hand finds your ass.

...

You beg.

Say it.

Say it.

Hand raises and falls swiftly.

The crack of palm meeting flesh rebounds in the room.

Hand raises and falls again.

You moan.

You beg.

For more.

Another crack.

Your head snaps up.

While mine shoves in.

You clench.

I pulse.

You release.

I withdraw.

You beg.

I thrust.

You moan.

I drill.

Flesh meets flesh.

Tip pierces wet.

Hand cracks.

Again.

Fingers entangle in hair.

Head is pulled back.

Hips plunge faster.

Breathing gets louder.

Handprint begins to form.

Crack.

Fingers dig into hips.

Pace quickens.

Bodies pulse.

Moans intermingle.

Fingers and ass tingle.

Hair is pulled tighter.

Clenching increases.

I thrust forward.

You explode.

I explode.

Your head quivers

My body shakes.

...

I moan.

...

You whimper.

...

You beg for more.

My hand cracks.

--The Bastard

-- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Weekly round-up...

2004-11-28T01:25:00.000-05:00

I've added a couple more blogs to my semi-daily reading list:

Kinky Bitch - Like a name like that isn't going to get automatically posted?

Wicked Wife - Yummy, indeed. She's currenly writing about a series of encounters with a guy from work. She's wicked, and I'm loving it.

Single Girl, Married Sex - She's single, but that's not stopping her. And you can't beat the color scheme, it makes me want to tinker with mine. Hmm...

--The Bastard

Walls

2004-11-25T19:53:00.000-05:00

The topic of 'privacy' has come up this week, in a couple different forms. I've been thinking about it lately, and trying to figure out how much of me I should put in the 'blog.

People who correspond via e-mail, or have known me awhile have gotten bits and pieces of me, but there's a large wall around most of my life. I keep the walls up, because I don't want to wake up one day and realize that the "real world" and the "online world" have collided overnight, and I'm in some sort-of identity crisis.

I like the way things are, but by doing this blog, I've changed the game. People who I know not-at-all can take a peek inside my perverted and cloudy mind, and start to discern things; not to mention people who do know me. I don't know how comfortable I am with that.

I haven't shown this to anyone in the "real world" yet. (And how silly is it that I have to write "real world"? Should I just let the two collide and be done with it?) And I'm not planning on it, not yet. I have one friend that I might let take a peek. She's a smart gal, but something is still holding me back...

I guess I'm feeling nervous; it's not because of any one person (really) or any one thing, but these thoughts have been growing. I don't have anything to be ashamed of. Everything here is fiction - although at times based on reality: see the '90% perspiration, 10%inspiration' clause to the right - and I have yet to mention a single person in my life in any non-fiction entries. Or the fiction entries, for that matter.

In the back of my mind, I picture my friends sitting around their computer, surfing the net, and coming across this 'blog. Would they know it's me? Would they be able to figure out easily? Would they care?

The answers are Yes, Maybe, and Probably Not Too Much. Of course, whether or not they could keep their mouths shut is a different issue entirely. Some yes, some no. Realistically, the chances of them finding this are slim. I live too far out of town for them to come over, so they won't be using my computer. That seems to be the easiest way for things to go FUBAR.

And, I don't think they'd care so much, but if I ever end up in that ultra-sensitive profession I mention from time-to-time... well, that would be a serious problem. I'm not in the sex industry, or a dominatrix (or whatever the male version of that word is ) or a professional writer, or any of that...

I'm just a guy. Doing his thing.

This isn't something I'm going to figure out today. But it's on my mind.

--

In other news, Thanksgiving was nice and peaceful. What a very very very welcome change.

Hope you all enjoyed the holiday.

-- The Bastard

Fiction - X.16 - Pressure

2004-11-25T19:11:00.000-05:00

She pulled me quickly into the bathroom.

"Hey, what're you.." I exclaimed softly.

"Shh!" She whispered, unbuckling my belt. "My parents are out there!"

I watched my pants fall to the floor quickly, as her fingers snuck into my boxers.

"You're nuts, you know. " I grinned. She smiled up at me, as she undid her jeans, and pushed them and her panties down to the cold bathroom floor. She grabbed my hand, and placed it between her legs. Closing my hand, she kept my first finger straight, and pressed it against her clit.

"Jesus," I chuckled. "I told you the wine was str-"

I was interrupted by her mouth pressing up against me, as she held my finger against her small bump. Her tongue pushed inside my mouth passionately as my finger instinctively rubbed up and down slowly.

Her lips pulsed energetically, as her tongue slide in and around my mouth. She leaned back against the wall, pulling me with her.

"Mmm..." She purred, as my finger slipped lower, feeling her moist lips. She kissed me again, harder, the other hand reaching up to my head. In the back of my mind, I realized I was being devoured.

At that point, I didn't really care.

I reached up, and grabbed her breast. My finger pushed into her shirt, but she pushed my hand away.

"No," She panted "My parents will know!"

I frowned. "Like they're not going to notice our pants all wrink-?" She cut me off again by pushing my finger inside her pussy.

"Oh.." I whispered, finger sliding in and out quickly. Her hips immediately rolled in response to my digit probing her inner depths.

She pressed her lips to my neck, biting gently. I let out a small "uh", as her mouth trailed up and down my taut skin, nibbling and sucking. Her hand kept thrusting my finger inside her, while her other hand rubbed my cock.

I tasted wine on her lips as she kissed me again, then turned around. She put her hands on the sink, and pushed her ass back towards me. She turned her head around, and stared.

"Fuck me." She ordered.

I stepped forward, pushed my boxers down, and stroked my shaft. I moved behind her, pressing my shaft down. She reached back, and pulled her lips apart. I pulled my hips back and thrust forward eagerly.

She grunted as I slid deep inside her with one stroke. I placed one hand on her hip, and she began thrusting forward and back. I grabbed her body, held it, and pushed my shaft inside her quickly.

My body withdrew from her warmth, as I rubbed the tip up and down her lips teasingly.

She growled.

I chuckled and pumped back into her, repeatedly. Her heavy breathing got louder as her hands gripped the sink tight. Her head bowed down, trying to silent the sound of her breathing.

But she couldn't silence the wet sounds coming from in-between her legs. Her moist lips spread with each passing stroke, a delicious slurping noise erupting from her pussy. I gripped her hips hard and quietly pounded into her. I felt her body contract, pressing against my shaft as I semi-deliriously continued pumping into her.

She panted quietly, as the sound of footsteps was heard outside the door.

She pushed back against me, sliding her body back and forth, her body convulsing. I reached around, found her clit again, and pressed down on it firmly. Her hips tensed, then shuddered.

She pushed back against my waist hard, and gripped my cock like a vise. Her pussy rippled, wet flesh clamping around my cock, swallowing it hole. Her body jerked, as a small, guy-wrenching moan escaped her lips.

Her body tightened again, as I closed my eyes and exploded. She gasped as my hips pushed forward ferociously, the tip erupting inside her. My head rolled backwards, as pent-up emotion and liquid flew into her.

My body slid back and jerked forward again, the eruption continuing, as she rested against me. I felt her body tighten again, as an aftershock ran through her.

She moaned softly. I pulled out tenderly.

I heard footsteps again. We quickly threw our wrinkled clothes back on, faces flushed. I stood in front of her, as I zipped up pants.

I opened the door, her mother walking around the corner.

"Yeah, there is something weird with the water pressure." I spit out quickly.

Her mother paced towards us. "What's wrong with the water? Is that where you've been?"

"Yeah," her flushed daughter replied. "Something was wrong with the sink, but I think it's fixed now. He's good with his hands."

I grinned weakly at her mother. She stared at us for a second, then turned away, muttering something about talking to her husband about the "damn water again".

I relaxed against the door frame wearily and waited for the footsteps to recede. I turned to my red-faced girlfriend.

"Nothing seemed wrong with the pressure to me." She grinned, walking out of the bathroom.

I pushed her back in, and shut the door. My hands reached for her pants, and pushed them back to the floor. She grabbed my pants, unzipped it hurriedly, pushed my pants down to my knees, and turned around.

I slid in her quickly, her hold drenched with both our juices

"No..." She panted, as my hips began thrusting.

"Nothing wrong at all."

-- The Bastard

-- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Reminder

2004-11-24T01:01:00.000-05:00

Because I am a selfish, attention-grabbing bastard, this is a not-so-subtle reminder that my stories at Literotica are still up, and votes are still being cast for the annual Lit Holiday Contest.

And you can vote by clicking on the circle next to the '5' at the end of the story. '5' is the highest vote you can cast, so by all means... Vote.

And c'mon... you all need something to read after you eat all that turkey(for those of you in the US)! Look at this as an opportunity to rest after you eat, or to ignore the game(if you're so inclined).

Either way, go make me happy and vote '5' for Reflections. The other one... *shrug* You can be honest with that one. :)

I've been working on my self-promotional skills. Let me know how I do.

Let it Snow Pt. 2

Reflections on Lives Passed

--
The Bastard

Fiction - X.15 - Interview

2004-11-22T16:12:00.000-05:00

My arms were rigid, palms pressed against early-morning cold marble. Hot water cascaded across my skin as I stood there, head bowed with liquid drops rained off my chin. In a quiet harmony of falling water and rising steam I inhaled slowly, my body warming quickly.

As I took stock of the long day ahead, I heard the old wooden door creak open. I looked to my right through the curtain, as shadows began to shift. A blurry figure lifted one leg; then the other. Two hands, one by one, raised upwards quietly.

I felt a slight but weary stirring as the curtain parted and her nubile form glided into the shower.

"What are you.." I started to say. She grinned that little grin I know so well, put a finger against my lips and shook her head. She pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips against my neck. One hand rested on my waist, while the other reached up and pushed the shower head towards the wall.

As her mouth slid towards my ear my dripping back sunk against the wall. My legs went weak when I felt her lips gently sucked on the bottom of my ear.

I let out a barely audible groan. Her hand reached up and curled behind my neck, scratching gently. Her mouth moved off my ear and breathed on it slowly. The air escaping her mouth was tinged with a slight moan.

Her hand slid from my waist to in-between my legs. I felt fingernails tracing along my shaft as her lips returned to my lobe. My fingers reached behind her and squeezed her ass.

My breathing increased as she began sucking harder on my ear. "Oh..." I moaned when her fingers wrapped around my shaft. My head leaned against the wall as blood raced throughout my system. I panted noisily while her tongue continued lathering my lobe.

Fingers wrapped loosely around me, her wrist started moving back and forth. "Fuck... " I muttered breathlessly.

With a deliciously wet slurping noise, her tongue came off my ear and attacked my lips. I responded eagerly, tongue sliding out of my mouth, only to find her finger pushed against my face. She smiled and pushed her finger against my tongue. I reluctantly let it slide back into my mouth. The look on my face must have been humorous because her smile widened, as she pushed my jaw up, closing my mouth.

Her wrist still stroking me, she leaned up and licked my lips. I kept my mouth closed, half-watching her, half-enjoying the feeling of her hand on me. Her lips, only inches from mine, pursed and pressed against mine, kissing me softly. She pulled away, turned her head slightly and kissed me again, catching my lower lips in her mouth.

She stroked my cheek with her fingers, and purred quietly into my mouth. My attention wavering back and forth, her mouth released my lip. Her tongue snaked out and licked my lips again. My hand began caressing her ass, as her mouth slid from my lips to my chin.

Her mouth slowly kissed down my neck, then straight down my chest. She reached my waist, and sunk to her knees.

My head rolled back against the wall again, as I felt her blow on my shaft. A loud moan rolled off my lips, echoing against the marble walls, when her tongue licked up one side of my shaft.

I breathlessly watched the steam twirl aimlessly, while her tongue continued licking me. Her tongue licked slowly around my tip, as my entire body twitched aimlessly. My breathing quickly became much more erratic when I felt her lips wrap around the tip.

I ran my hands through her hair, body shaking slightly. I looked down to see my stomach pushing outwards quickly, then swiftly reversed back into my abdomen. Her mouth sucked softly on the end of my cock, her fingers still wrapped around the shaft.

I watched as her mouth opened and began devouring me; Her mouth slowly sunk down my shaft, stopping somewhere before she reached the base. Her lips slid back up to the tip, then pushed back down farther.

My fingers tangled quickly in her wet hair, my breathing and moaning quickly becoming one. I felt her lips begin sliding up and down my shaft, wrist gripped around the base.

"Ohh." I cried out softly, my eyes half-open. I banged my head against the wall several times as her mouth began moving faster. She pulled her mouth off me, then quickly sucked me back in again.

One of my legs lifted up, resting on the ledge, as I grabbed the curtain-bar for leverage. I winced and moaned, as her mouth began moving faster. I could feel my body pulsing, as she continued sucking me off.

I looked down at her, my jaw half-open; her eyes met mine, as I shuddered again, my body reaching the boiling point. She gripped my shaft with her hand, and started jerking me off quickly.

"Uh... Uh... Uh... " I moaned loudly, my head shaking quickly. She stood up, hand still pumping and moved her lips to my ear.

She then spoke for the first time that morning.

"Cum." She whispered, tongue reaching out and licking my ear.

My hips jerked forward, as I gripped the curtain-bar frantically. I felt my cock explode, as she continued pumping me hard. I leaned forward, resting my head on her shoulder, as I moaned into her flesh.

"Oh... ohh..." I let out, my body shuddering again as I was wracked with waves. "Uhhhh..." I groaned, wrapping my arms around her.

She continued stroking, slowly down as my seed finished shooting out onto her. I held her, as my breathing slowly started to return to normal.

She pulled me gently forward, and grabbed the shower head, aiming it at her body. I stood behind her, as she cleaned herself. My voice was ragged when I spoke again.

"Why... What... Christ." I panted. "What did I do to deserve that?" I spat out.

She turned her head, and kissed my arm, currently wrapped around her collarbone.

"It's 'good luck' for today.'

"Oh yeah. The interview."

"Yes, the interview!" She exclaimed, smacking my arm lightly.

I was quiet for a moment.

"Don't you have an interview next week for that new position on-campus?" I asked curiously.

She turned around and grinned.

-- The Bastard

--This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

They never learn.

2004-11-21T23:49:00.000-05:00

UKB Presents a Brief One-Act, Two-Scene Play in Stupidity.

Starring Me(The Bastard) and Her(Obnoxious bitch who I don't like very much. At. All.)

Act I, Scene I.

Last Night:

Me - "You've been pretty snippy all night."

Her - "Have not."

Me - "Have, too."

Her - "Have not."

Me - "... I'm not getting dragged into a 'have not/'have too' conversation."

Her - *Makes comment referencing my personal life, quickly crossing a line that shouldn't've been crossed*

Me - "Okay. You're going to be at the game, tomorrow, yes?"

Her - "Yes."

Me - "I'm just telling you, right now... Your ass will have my handprint on it by tomorrow night."

Her - "Will not!"

Me- *sighs, makes mental note*

Act I, Scene II

Tonight:

Her - "How the fuck am I going to explain to [her boyfriend] all the bruises on my ass?"

Me - "I couldn't possibly care less."

Her - "This is all your fault."

Me - "Well, that's what you get for being snippy."

Her - "Was not!"

Me - "You sure you want to go down -that- road with me?"

She was quiet after that.

--
The Bastard

Process Stories... pt. III

2004-11-20T01:43:00.000-05:00

I'm intrigued by what ABC has done with Lost. It's an intriguing show, and there's been some great character development, which is difficult considering the size of the cast. The writers have managed to balance out the character development with the plot development. They've managed to tease a number of hints about the characters, and tease a great many mysteries about the island.

But, they've also managed to do it in such a way, that there are times -we- know things about the characters, that they don't know, and there are times that the characters know things that -we- don't know. It's what makes it interesting, at least for me.

And they've balanced it in such a way, that doesn't confuse me. It intrigues me.

And I've run straight into the confusion/intrigue issue with my story at Lit, Reflections.

It's been gratifying to receive some nice comments (and nicer e-mail) about how moved people were by the story. That's made the negative comments easier to swallow. The main (negative) comment I've gotten is based on some reader confusion.

The story itself exists on two levels. There's the introduction and the ending sequence, which are one story, and then the whole middle section, which is another. In the middle section, I move back and forth between "real time" and memories, with nothing more than a "--", which I use here on the blog occasionally.

I like my fiction to challenge me. I don't like being bored. I don't like being able to figure something out, and I like being surprised. If I start to figure things out - in either books, television, or any other media for that matter - I start to zone, and eventually move on to something else.

I like to be intrigued; Reflections, I thought, wasn't going to be confusing, but it appears it was to a handful of people. I can't decide how I could've made it more obvious, without making it more obvious, if you catch my drift?

It's not something I'm going to figure out today, but it's something I have to keep working on. Especially as that's the type of story, long-term, that I want to be writing. Only, with a dash more eroticism.

Anyways.

'Nother story goes up Saturday night or Sunday morning.

--
The Bastard

Fiction - X.12 - Red

2004-11-17T16:30:00.000-05:00

Her eyes flare defiantly.

"I will not." She snaps.

"Really." My steely voice bounced off the black walls.

"Yes, and.." Her voice caught as I took one step closer.

"What're you.." Her eyes widened, as my hand slid up to her neck.

"You were saying?" My voice continued.

"I don't..." Hey eyes fluttered. My fingers stroked under her ears.

"Ohh." She murmured, head rolling back. Her eyes opened up quickly.

"No no no no..." She snarled, pushing me away.

I chuckled, and got back in front of her.

"Take off your shirt." I commanded quietly.

She shook her red hair and stared at me, refusing me with her eyes.

"You know better." My voice hinted dangerously.

Her lips trembled, as she reached down, and grabbed the bottom of her shirt. She pulled up on it, fingers clenched on her white blouse. She released the top, as her clenched fists returned to her sides.

"So." My eyes narrowed. "That's how it's going to be?"

Her chin lifted up, staring at me.

My arms reached out, as her hands pulled down on her shirt. To her dismay, my hands grabbed directly under the collar, and pulled in opposite directions.

Her jaw dropped as the sound of buttons bouncing on the hard wood floor echoed in her ears.

"Oh god," She moaned, as I pulled her shirt off her limp body. She stood there, wearing a black satin strapless bra.

I reached behind her head, and pulled her hair back. My throat let out a small growling noise, as I ran one finger up her neck to her chin, and then tapped her lips several times.

She stood there, immobile. My lips brushed by her ears.

"I know you're wet." I said calmly.

She said nothing, as her cheeks started to turn as red as her hair. Her breathing was short and quick.

"Now..." My quiet voice got her attention.

"Take off your bra."

Her body tensed. Her breathing quickened, then slowed down. I felt her head relax, as her hands slide behind her, and unclasped her bra. It stayed in her hand for a moment, as her breasts came free.

Her shoulders sunk, and she dropped it to the floor.

I moved my head down, cupped one breast, and pointed it to my lips. Our eyes met in a clash of wills, as my lips slowly sucked her nipple into my mouth. My tongue licked around it, then rubbed it several times.

She closed her eyes, moaned, and gave in.

"I hate you." She whispered, her fingers in my hair.

"No, you don't." I smirked, pulling off my mouth, as both hands began fondling her breasts.

She was quiet for a moment.

"No, I don't." She gave in, her hands reaching down to my waist.

"Say it." I ordered, my hands grabbing her breasts hard.

"Oh, god..." She winced, face deeply flushed, red curls bouncing off her sweaty cheeks.

"Say it." I twisted her breasts .

"I can't..." She moaned.

"You know you want to."

"I just.... damn you." She cursed.

She moved her head, and looked at me, eyes boiling over with passion.

"Fuck me." She said, her eyes wanting.

"Please." She begged again, as she reached down and unzipped her dark navy pants, pushing them to the floor.

--The Bastard.

-- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Techno-Babble

2004-11-17T03:30:00.000-05:00

I fixed the dead link under my stories. There was also an issue of extra HTML code in Whore, which bothered me to no end. I know how it got there, but not why. Long story. Anyways, I cleaned out the code. If anyone finds any other coding problems with my stories, please give me a hollar, and let me know. I use Mozilla Firefox as my browser, and I didn't see anything, until I opened up the entry in the blogger editor. Those of you still using IE might see something I don't...

Speaking of which....

--

You should sit down. I have some bad news for you.

It's okay. Really. Let me hold your hand.

Internet Explorer is... no, just stop. This is going to be hard.

Listen.

Internet Explorer is The Biggest Piece of Crap.

Ever.

I know. I know... I KNOW. It's what we're all used to. But it's time for a change.

Please don't cry. You knew this day had to come someday, right?

No? Oh, well. It's time for spring-cleaning, kiddo.

...Yes, I know it's autumn. Yes, I have windows in my apartment. Yes, I...

Don't change the subject.

Go here.

Download.

Learn about tabbed browsing. It's got the Google search bar built in. It's smaller, runs faster, and has many options available to configure your browser as you see fit. It even blocks pop-ups.

Live a better life, because Microsoft, who owns IE, doesn't care

Oh, and your computer will be about a kazillion times safer.

Really.

You can thank me by... um....

Oh.

*leans back, as zipper is undone*

That works, too.

--

Updated my 'blog list. Found a couple new ones worth mentioning. I should give a quick shout-out to Alexa at A New York Escorts Conference. Not only have I found some of these through her, but some people have found their way here, because of her.

I would buy her shoes, if I could.

Maybe.

--

Slippery Sweet Sex - She has an appetite for sex that is just delightful. Good for her. And she had great sex last weekend, too.

I Burn for you - She has several boy-toys she gets together with; they like to play with bisexual women. And she loves Sting. Smart girl, on account of both of the previous sentences.

Dilemnas of a Virgin Slut - Yeah, that title threw me for a loop, too. But, there's something compelling about a female virgin who wants to get laid. I'm curious how long it'll take before the dilemna is resolved.

Yeah, I was looking for a double entendre, but I came up empty. I'll try harder next time.

Secret Swing - In her own words: "Simply put, I am a swinger. I love sex and anything to do with it. I consider myself a lesbian with bisexual moments and experiences. " Yeah, I think I like her.

--

I should also point out that my two stories at Literotica are entered in the annual Christmas contest. If you haven't read them, haven't voted, or done neither, then allow me to entertain you:

Let it Snow, Pt. II - A nice little tale, about a man conflicted. Oh, and he has hot sex, too.

Reflections on Lives Passed - I like this story much better, for reasons I'll be posting in a day or so. So far, 70-80% of the readers have "gotten it", according to my e-mail and feedback.

As befitting my semi-discarded Catholic upbringing, I will occasionally remind you of these stories, in the hopes that you all vote '5' for each of the stories *coughIwanttowincough* in a manner that may make you feel guilty that you haven't voted yet(voting is after the end of the stories).

There's a run-on sentence for ya.

--
The Bastard

Story Guide

2004-11-16T01:56:00.000-05:00

I've added a sidebar on the right, listing all my stories online; that includes a link to my stories at Literotica. So, anyone looking for anything to read...

S.
--

Open minds

2004-11-15T21:06:00.000-05:00

I've stayed away from politics here, because everyone else is discussing it. It says something that most of the 'blogs I read all lean towards the left. You don't really find a lot of Conservative Sex Blogs, y'know?

"Tonight, me and the wife kissed in the kitchen. We never do that, we only kiss in the bedroom. On Tuesdays. Under a full moon. In November. Of Even years"

Don't get your panties in a bunch, I was joking. As Triumph would say, I keeeeed, I keeeeeeid...

I used to be a non-practicing, non-voting, non-caring Republican. I switched to the almighty Registered Independent class after Bush won. I'm a moderate fellow - well, a kinky moderate fellow, but I didn't like Bush.

He bothers me. He's smarmy. Which is annoying, because the only person allowed to be smarmy is me. That's because I'm an arrogant, brilliant fuck. He's just arrogant.

So, like most of my friends, I rooted for Kerry, not because I liked Kerry, but because I didn't like Bush. I couldn't vote because of paperwork, related to me moving last fall. It bothered me, but I wasn't too concerned, because NY was going Democrat, guaranteed. At least 65/35. It actually turned into 60/40, which is worrisome, for reasons I won't get into now.

So, this link has been making the rounds. "Fuck the South"? Okay, I guess it's kinda funny, if not inflammatory. A bit of retribution and misdirected anger from the blue states, apparently.

Then Alexa linked to it, and talked about it on her blog. Hoo boy. Check out THOSE comments.

Yeah, and now you know why I don't do the politics thing. For the record, I think Bush is probably a good man, but not a good president. And I thought Clinton was a decent president, but not a particularly good(moral, really) man. Before that, I could care less, really.

I'm reminded of a great West Wing episode. A female senator dies, and her husband finishes out the rest of her term. He goes to a meeting with Toby about the census, and ends up changing his mind on the issue. After the meeting, Toby remarks that it was nice to meet someone in Washington with no agenda, who came in with an open mind.

It's not just the congressmen in Washington who don't have open minds anymore. Post-election, the country is more divided than before; no matter who won, it was going to be this way.

It's kinda sad. I'm hoping that everyone just mellows out, and relaxes, and that things return to normal. That may be a pipe-dream, but that's okay.

And that's all the politics from me.

I turned off the comments for this article. Anyone who has thoughts to share on this can e-mail me at the link on the right or at unrelenting_optimator@hotmail.com

Peace.

S.
--

Fiction - X.9 - Slow

2004-11-14T19:01:00.000-05:00

The lightning cracked again. I could see the nearby buildings light up through the window. Heavy drops of rain continued to fall, as the sound of thunder echoed moments later.

Underneath me, her leg shifted slightly, knocking over an empty glass. As I heaved forward slightly, I remembered pouring that glass of wine over her naked body. My tongue lapped at it as it drippled in-between her legs.

I thrusted forward again, tasting her sex and the wine on my lips. Mmm.

I held her arms above her head, as she writhed, wrists attempting to twist free. As I pushed back in her again, she moaned. I dropped my face to her chest, pressing my mouth to the side of her breast. I caught the flesh between my lips and teeth, and sucked in.

I slid out slowly, and pushed back in, grinding my hips against hers.

She inhaled sharply, her legs rubbing against mine. I pulled my head up slowly, pulling on her tit. I sucked harder on her tit as her mouth opened, and her body clenched. There was something delightful about the agony my mouth was inflicting.

I released her breast while a series of short breaths emanating from her mouth. I pulled out leisurely, and shifted my hips, angling myself at a different angle. As I slid back in, my shaft rubbing against her lips, I leaned down, and gently bit her nipple between my teeth.

Her arms flexed again, trying to break free. I withdrew slowly, her hips gyrating slightly, as another flash of lightning illuminated the room.

Her head shook back and forth, as my teeth tightened on her nipple. I gradually began grinding them from side-to-side. Her body tensed, as slight jolts of pain ran through her. I pushed back in, slowly filling her back up.

I tightened again on her nipple, her back arching towards me, then let go. A series of loud breaths escaped her.

"Please," She whispered, as I withdrew again, and slid back in. My hips moved back once more, my shaft piercing her wet lips, sliding deep inside.

My moist lips pressed against her neck, kissing carefully; a trail of wet kisses led up to her ear, where my mouth closed on her earlobe. My tongue lathered it gently before my teeth began biting gently.

She twisted underneath me again. Her arms pushed upwards defiantly, but my hand snapped them back against the floor. Her legs curled around mine, pussy clamping down as she tried to keep me inside her.

My hips withdrew again, meeting some resistance from her tight hole, and then pressed back in.
Her head began tossing once more, as my mouth continued ravishing her lobe.

I inhaled slowly, the smell of citrus filling me; The candles were still lit, far away from our pulsing bodies on the floor. I slid my tongue down her neck, as my hips began steadily pumping into her.

Underneath me, she continued writhing; straight blond hair covering half her face and beautiful candle-lit, wine-covered flesh began thrashing under me. Her body was heating up quickly, while my body remained steady.

And slow.

My body persisted in it's continual assault, as her pussy squeezed and tightened on me; I was relentless in my probing. Like clock-work, I slid in and out.

My hands reached up, and each grabbed one of her wrists. I crossed her arms over her head, pushing her chest up closer to mine. An evil grin appeared on my face as she moaned.

"Ohh." She let out. Her legs tightened again, as her hands desperately tried to free themselves from my grasp.

And still... My cock pushed into her. A slow piston, throbbing deep inside her. Her moans became more insistent and louder. I was unrelenting.

I leaned down and licked her neck, tasting the wine. She turned her head, trying to suck on my flesh, but I would have none of it. The rain outside increased it's frequency, pounding down as the wind tore through the air with a vengeance

I sucked on her lower lip as I pushed back in her once more. Her body trembled, my mouth sucking her lip into my mouth.

"Aghh.." she cried, through her open mouth. She pushed upwards... again... trying to free herself; the result was the same. I continued pulsing in and out of her drenched hole. Her bdoy spasmed slightly, as I released her lip.

"Ughh... uhhh..." she cried out. She looked at me, pleadingly wanting more. But I was resolute, so I pushed inside again, slowly sliding back out. A stroke of lightning cracked as her body jolted.

"Fuck. Goddamn.." She cursed, her body going taut. Her pussy rippled on my cock as I pulled out. Unhurriedly, I slid back in as she erupted.

I looked down, and watched her head tilt back, neck lifting upwards. I kept sliding in and out, as her body shuddered through an orgasm. I released her arms suddenly, as the came flying to my back, nails pressing into my flesh as her body was wracked by an intense wave of pleasure.

"Uhh... uhhh... uhhh.." She half-whispered, half-moaned, panting steadily.

My hips sunk into her, and pulled out. They pushed my shaft inside her warmth once more, then returned to air. Her body writhed, small gasps and moans flying from her lips. She twisted and turned, pawing at me. And still, I slowly continued pushing in and out, her body flushed and sweaty.

S.

Process Stories... Pt. II

2004-11-14T01:06:00.000-05:00

Okay.

So, the stories at Literotica are up. If you're someone from Lit who's stopping by to check out my ramblings on the stories, you're in the right spot. Hi, how ya doin'. After this piece, if you scan down, you'll find more short stories. Hope you like.

Part I of Process Stories vs. Stories Processed is here. In that entry, I talked vaguely about the two stories, and I'm going to jump into some more detail here.

Just because I can.

The first story I referred to, "Let it Snow, Pt II" can be found here.

The second story, the one that gave me 'agita', "Reflections on Lives Passed", can be found here.

In case you haven't, you should probably go read them, before going on. I don't want to spoil anything for you.

No, really. It's okay. I'll wait.

I'm patient.

Kinda.

Not really.

...

Okay, moving on.

--

So, I've already started getting feedback on the stories. It's all been pretty positive, except for the guy who said that if it took me "a year to write three pages [I] should quit." That was charming, and made me laugh in a "it's actually 30+ pages, but whatever" kinda way.

These two stories, along with the piece I wrote earlier this week, Quiet Moments: Autumn are all linked by their theme: Choices.

More specifically, the build-up and consequences of said choices.

--
Let it Snow Pt. II

This story was intended to be a cliffhanger, but I've gotten some... um.. vehement e-mail about waiting a year for the next(and last) part. I know, I know... you all want to know who he calls, right? Well, if it makes you feel better, I know who he calls, and what he says. But I'm not telling.

I wrote the first part two years ago; it was my first story, and I posted it last year. This year, I posted Pt. II, and I decided to wait another year for Pt. III, only because I like consistency. That's really all it came down to. It's neither malicious intent, nor lethargy.

It's also interesting, because when Pt. III is done, a year from now, I can read all three parts, and see where my writing was, versus where it is now(then).

I'm also looking at the third part a little oddly, because I think I know how it ends. The problem with endings - and that's a whole 'nother entry in and of itself - is that sometimes the characters decide they want to go somewhere else. The story organically creates a different ending than the one I had in mind. More about this in the next part.

I need time for the third part, so that I can find the right ending. Endings are important; they're one of the first things I ponder when I'm writing any story. A crappy ending will always be remembered as a crappy ending, regardless of the first 75% of the story.

So, while I'm looking at all the other stories I've got on the back-burner, I can't see knocking out Pt. III by X-mas '04, but I'll keep it in mind. Don't hold your breath, though. :)

In regards to the theme of Choices, LiS pt. II was about making a choice. Right here, right now, who's he going to choose? There was also the matter of trust. And that, honestly, is where you find pieces of me, scattered throughout the story. No, I haven't had anything like that happen to me, but I'm not good with the trust, and that really shows, I'd imagine.

--
Reflections on Lives Passed

The second story, "Reflections on Lives Passed" originally had an introduction at the beginning; I ended up withdrawing that section, because I felt the story worked on it's own. Plus, I realized I could use it here:

"This story originally started off as a Christmas present for a friend of mine. He and his girlfriend had recently ended a relationship, a la "If you love someone, set them free." It was mutual, and yet obviously heart-breaking. He's had some other problems, so I thought I'd cross the 4th Wall, and try to make a buddy feel better."

So I came up with RoLP, and had a specific ending in mine. Once I got to the last scene, though, I realized I had flip-flopped. I *wanted* the ending to be "Well, sometimes shit happens, but life still gets better", whereas it turned into "Make the right choice, or live with the regret forever".

See, this is where the story took on a life of it's own. Whereas I had spent a year on LiS pt. II, putting it together in my head, this story came together in a matter of hours and days. Typing it took only a few hours. So, this one came together much quicker, and without the rough outline and character sketches I had for LiS.

The ending, that was rough. I _wanted_ to be able to say "Hey, Schwartz, this one's for you." And instead I found myself pounding my head against the wall. I guess I wanted a real Christmas Carol, but didn't get one.

Well, I'll add it to my mental list of "stories I want to write".

The story stands on it's own, well enough. It didn't end where I wanted it, but I like Elizabeth's phone call. And I like how he tortures his son earlier in the story. That's so how I treat my friends. :) It's part "If you love someone, set them free", part Schwartz, part "5 people you meet in heaven", and it ended up with a little bit of me. Not much, just a little.

Once again, Choice rears it's ugly head. Whereas LiS leads up to the choice, RoLP shows the outcome of different choices. There's a bit of 'alternate reality' going on, which is how the dreams and framing sequences are used. He says at the beginning, "no more dreams", because he's dreaming what happened if he had chosen the other path; that's causing him pain because he's dreaming of a _better life_.

He's dreaming "The Path Not Taken", which was the original title of the piece. I wanted something different, so I came up with RoLP. I wanted something "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"-esque.

--
Quiet Moments: Autumn

And then there's Quiet Moments: Autumn, which is here on my 'blog. I fear QM:A has destroyed some of my "Kinky Bastard" street cred. At least, that's based on some of the comments and feedback I've gotten on that piece.

Hey, I'm trying to stretch my creative muscles, okay? :)

QM:A is another look at choices, but whereas LiS leads upto a guy making a choice, and RoPL shows the long-term outcome of both choices, QM:A takes a different stance.

Who cares about tomorrow, when you've got tonight? As I live upstate, I watch the leaves turn, and then fall off the trees in about 6 weeks. It already feels like winter, and yet Halloween was two weeks ago. I love autumn, so it bothers me I don't get much of it, which ties in quite nicely with QM:A :

Enjoy the moment.

--

I'll be back with the last part of Process Stories vs. Stories Processed in a day or so. I want to say a little bit more about choices, and talk about finding the balance between reader intrigue/confustion, and how it that relates to Lost on ABC.

I've got a couple short stories ready to go, too for posting here, which I know some of you will like. That's because they're naughty, filthy stories. And you're all naughty, filthy people.

Me, I'm a saint. Can't ya tell?

S.
--

Process Stories vs Stories Processed, pt. I

2004-11-11T22:10:00.000-05:00

When I was in 5th grade, a social studies test with a grade of 101 was returned to me. I was displeased, becasue I had missed one question, and gotten all the extra credit. The highest possible grade was a 103 or 104.

Yes, at the age of 10, I was bothered because I only got 101, instead of 104.

While that memory has stayed with me, I never actually picked up on something. Cue forward 15 years later, and one of my favorite college professors drops a bombshell. He informs me I'm a perfectionist. I laugh, heartily, pointing out some of the grades from my long-past freshman year.

He informs me, that to a perfectionist views anything less than a perfect grade as an abject failure. At that precise moment, the memory of the "101" came flying back to me. Ah, things start to make sense.

It would've been nice, when I think back, to have this knowledge available during say... any other point in my life. But I didn't, and I dealt with it. The problem I ran into, after college, is that I found myself trapped by my need to Do Everything Absolutely Right All The Time. It became a prison, and I didn't know how to break out.

Fortunately, that conversation with Doc helped out, and I've worked through it. I still have my moments, plenty of them, but I try not view things at such an extreme.

At least, I try.

So, I've had my head buried in these two stories for the last week for Literotica. They were both difficult, in their own way. One is a sequel - continuation - really of a story I wrote two years ago, my first story, but didn't actually send in to Lit, until last year. It's a fun little frolic and romp, with Oscar-potential written all over it.

nnnnn... not so much. But it's a nice dream. That story was a pain, because I've had it in the back of my head for a year, and when all is said and done, it's 30+ pages long. It was NOT supposed to take nights and nights of writing and re-writing, and I don't know if I necessarily like it.

The other story... well, the other has caused me some serious agita.

I had written it, originally, as a gift for a friend. A buddy of mine, who had to make a decision, and he's not handling it well. Plus, he got hit with some shit in his personal life, and I thought a nice story would cheer him.

Well, the story turned out to be something else. It's interesting, because at the 75% mark, I still had the original ending in mind, and then when I got to the final section, I knew it wasn't going to end where I wanted it. I found a way to make it work, but still... it's been a bit of a bitch.

And that story took maybe a couple hours to pound out?

And yet, it's bothered me the most.

They should be posted on Lit within the next few days. I'll give you a heads-up when they land.

More to come.

S.
--

Time, time..

2004-11-10T23:15:00.000-05:00

Never enough time in the day, especially while I'm job-hunting and writing 5 different stories/entries/items at once. And the job-hunting is not going well, so there's a certain amount of frustration building.

Some of you are probably thinking that means the next couple stories are going to be about me ravaging women.

Hmm. Maybe.

I'm hoping to have my two stories finished for Lit tonight, and put them in tomorrow, at which point, I can get back to finishing the ones I've got started here. All these ideas in my head, and not enough time to put them down.

There's a Steven King book, Tommywalkers, I think, where one of the characters creates a machine that takes her ideas directly from her brain, and types them out for her, ala telekinesis or some other psychic powers. If only, I had one of those. I could write pages and pages a day, without even trying.

Nice to have such realistic dreams, eh? I suppose that's why they call them fantasies.

And the two stories... well, they're quite different from each other. I'll have a post about those, once they go up on the site.

And, I've been searching for deliciously naughty photos online, in what little spare time I have. If anyone knows of any sites, hit me up.

I loves me the photos.

S.
--

Quiet Moments: Autumn

2004-11-09T00:39:00.000-05:00

Something different, sent via cell phone.

--
It’s almost too cold to be outside. There's a chill in the air, just barely noticeable. That random thought was alleviated by the steaming mug of hot chocolate she placed in my hand as the screen door slammed shut behind her.

"Thanks." I said.

"You're welcome." She replied with a smile. She sat down on the swing, and laid her head in my lap.

I watched the leaves swirl aimlessly as I took a sip. I licked my lips and squinted as a gust of wind blew through my hair.

"Did you put something in this?" I asked, tasting both chocolate and liquor.

"Mmm hmm." she chortled relaxingly. She curled up slightly, turning away from the street. Her hand reached up for my forearm and gently stroked my skin. Her head nestled in my lap, I reached down and ran my fingers through her hair; She sighed softly and curled up tighter against me. I felt the cool autumn air blow lazily again over the porch as we relaxed on the swing. She lifted her head to sip the drink, fingers still resting on my arm.

There’s a quiet somberness that falls over me during this time of year. A feeling of relaxed anticipation, when the wind blows around you, all-knowing and yet unrevealing. Or maybe it’s the smell of crisp leaves burning under clear skies, while people start to wear warm clothes, and dig out their winter clothing.

I played with her hair as her body rested. I thought that maybe Autumn is a reminder: A brief warning that winter is swiftly approaching.

I remembered that feeling from earlier. That chill in the air, that warned of impending cold mornings and shovels and white blinding flurries and cancellations and crappy roads and windshield wipers not working and detours and red cheeks and-

She shivered slightly and adjusted her head resting on my lap and leg. I looked down and smiled. I guess it doesn't really matter, does it? An orange streetlight flickered, as the stars continued popping into sight through the clear, brisk air.

The wind stopped blowing suddenly, and I wondered briefly if maybe it wasn't a reminder from Mother Nature. A reminder to enjoy where and when you are and not to worry about tomorrow. I leaned back, pondering that thought when I realized that she had fallen asleep in my lap. I poked her gently only to get a disturbed grunt in return. I stretched and poked her again.

"Lets go sunshine," I spoke quietly, smiling at her fatigued body.

"Noooo..." she moaned. I slipped out from under her and grabbed her arms pulling her off the bench. She tiredly walked towards the door kicking it open.

"You know," she said, "I really like this time of year."

Behind me I felt the wind pause, almost straining to hear my answer. I looked down at her as my heart warmed.

"Yes," I responded, "Yes, It really is."

I leaned down and kissed her slowly. Her hand reached to the back of my neck, fingers stroking my skin. I pulled away a minute later, turned off the inside lights and walked her up the stairs.

Moments later, clothes were hastily but lovingly discarded; The breeze began to blow once more as I happily chose to enjoy tonight, and made myself content to worry about everything else...

Later.

S.
--

Fiction - X.11 - Broken

2004-11-06T13:14:00.000-05:00

I know what you want, I can see it in your eyes.

You've wanted it since the first time we met, haven't you? You want me to break you. You want me to tie you up, and make you scream.

I can feel your body tremble under my touch. You're scared, I can tell.

Oh sweetie, it's only going to get worse, I promise. I am far, far more dangerous than you ever could've imagined.

You struggle at the straps, as comprehension dawns on you. But it's too late. "All tied up, and nowhere to go, right"?

So when the whip comes sizzling down on your breasts, it's not so much a surprise, as a welcome relief. Tendrils of pain shoot through your chest, as you let out a wordless scream. Inside, you think to yourself, can it get any worse?

After five more strokes of the whip, you start to think so. It hurts, doesn't it? On top of the pain, it's the way I so easily take you and use you, for whatever reason I see fit.

I'm a bastard. And although you won't admit it(yet) you wouldn't have it any other way.

The whip gets tossed to the side, as ice cubes begin dripping onto your sore breasts. They act as a soothing agent, and jar your body back into shape. Soon, I see the defiance return to your eyes.

It makes me wonder if I should've used the blindfold this time. But I want you to see what's coming first. I want the anticipation to build. No surprises, no, not this time.

So, when I grin, and drag my nails from your shoulders down over your breasts, scratching your flesh, is it any wonder that you beg "No.. no... Nooooo." And scream?

Probably not.

For a brief moment, hearing you scream, I wonder if I've gone too far.

My conscience and I have a quick chuckle over that thought, and move on.

Ah, candles. Have we ever used these before? I don't think so. I can only imagine what's going through your mind. "No. He wouldn't. No, not those. Why is he smiling like that? Why won't he just.. No.. please, don't. Don't tip them. No. No. No. Don't-"

And then she screams again. It's interesting, from a purely academic view, to watch a set of ravaged tits, cooled by ice, and now burnt by wax, become so easily inflamed. Spots of pink and red stand out like mis-shapen polka dots.

A kodak moment, if I ever saw one, really.

And then to my surprise, I hear you speak.

"Anything..." you pant "Anything you want, I'll do it. Please."

And like that, you're broken. It gets easier each time for you. The defiance wavers much quicker each time I ravage your body. Straps are untied, and arms are freed, as I release you.

And then I wait. Will you know what to do? Have I trained you properly? You've never been broken this fast before.

You get down on your knees, unzip my pants and engulf my cock in your mouth.

Mm. Good girl.

-- The Bastard

-- This is fiction, of the erotic variety. There's a sidebar, on the right, listing more of my stories. Enjoy.

Hatred

2004-11-06T01:15:00.000-05:00

I was with the guys, getting ready to go out - and the results of -that- experience are currently wreaking havoc in my blood stream - when one of the roommates found Mtv. Um, great. Fantastic.

So, Alicia Keyes walks out. Her face is glazed over with happiness. Or maybe botox. Who can tell, nowadays. And then she starts talking...

...about Ray Charles.

Now, I'm not too pleased. But, I'm open-minded, so I listen to her talk about Ray's contributions. And considering that he's contributed about 10 times as many albums, and 50 times as much music as she'll _EVER_ contribute to music throughout her entire lifetime, I suppose it's only fair that she be allowed to speak for him.

Yeah. RIGHT.

I don't listen to most popular music. I sample stuff online a lot, talk to friends, and keep an eye out for stuff I catch on tv(soundtracks being a good way to hear a variety of music). As a result, I haven't watched MTv in a kazillion years, but as far as I remember, they love the young and the new. Which is fine, except 75-80% of the music being produced is by people who are neither your NOR new, and usually sounds much better.

But to have some drugged-out R&B singer happily speaking for 15 seconds about one of the great musical geniuses of the last 50 years?

BLASPHEMY.

When I was a kid, I caught this show, which I really didn't understand. This guy was talking to some other guy, who noone else could see. And the first guy, he looked like someone else. Sort-of.

The show was Quantum Leap. Remember that series? At the end of this particular episode, Al, dances slowly with his (now) ex-wife, while "Georgia on my mind" plays in the background.

By Ray Charles.

It is a simple, poignant moment that has stayed with me over the years. The way he croons and sings, and the piano and... ah. It's gorgeous.

MTv, you little shits, next time you get someone like James Brown or Stevie Wonder. When you speak of the Great Musicians, you don't use a fad-pop-star-of-the-moment. You use a Legend.

I always wanted to see Ray live, just to hear him sing that song.

I have hatred for MTv.

That is all.

S.
--