I think he's getting in deep.

The sex is getting more intense, more tender, more loving. It doesn't feel like fucking anymore.

And this is complicated because I'm moving 400klm away.

And he doesn't know yet.

I spent the weekend with him, like I usually do. I finished work and went back to his house, and the more I thought about it the more different he's behaving already. Softer, talking of his ex less, his kisses are soft and not the fuckbuddy kind, a lot less rough with me, and he's letting me cuddle under his arm, something he wouldn't do before. Now he welcomes it.

Jokingly, he asked me what I was going to cook him for dinner. And I jumped at the chance... I completely forgot how much I enjoy cooking for someone. I cooked him (the perfect, haha) scotch fillet, baked veggies, and mushroom gravy. I cleaned his kitchen.

I was in his work shirt (much oversized on me), nice panties and hair loose. I'm a chronic shirt stealer, I think he's figured it out now, but it must have looked good for him. Me leaning, pantless against the wall, talking to him, while his steak cooked, both drinking a beer.

He ate and then cuddled me. Cuddles slowly, and sleepily turned into sex on the couch. Sex on the couch started getting rapidly more intense. The rapidly intense turned into fast, and very tender. And I couldn't stop cumming.

A word on how I cum. Previous to this man, if I squirted it was a tiny dribble. But the more comfortable I get with this man, the more I cum. I'm talking gushing. I literally soaked through 4 layers of fabric on his couch, seat and recliner back. There had to be at least half a litre of liquid there to do that.

So me on top, him thrusting and holding my hips up so he could watch me gushing. And it was so intense, and I was so excited from how loving it was, that when he kissed me softly combined with the hard deep thrusts, I came gallons.

"Let's relocate to the bed. Test it out?"
(we broke it previously)

straddling him and sitting on his cock, straight backed and deep as he could go, meant I nearly came straight away, full-gush.

He stopped. Had a bit of a giggle and I grabbed two towels, folded them over eachother and under him, and then resumed.

I rode his cock, sliding over my own cum, and everytime I reached that place I'd gush.

"get underneath."

I went to turn my back to him.

"no, face me."

I lay down on my back and he gently propped my knees up against his chest and held them there while he fucked me.

Now I've never been able to cum laying down, but I squirted and so much came out I nearly hit myself in the eye with it. And god, I was moaning. He fucked me hard through it and started shaking.

"You're going to make me cum..."

He blew and rolled over next to me.

And for the second night in a row, it was just "wow."

After some time of breathing, laying there, feeling how amazing our bodies were he looked over at me.

"you're welcome anytime. You pour me beer, you're a great cook and make me steak, you're hot, you fuck like a champion and you're not annoying as hell. Where have you been?"

I feel very similarly towards him.

I feel okay with the person I'm with. It was going well except for;

1) a major accident with him involved and my car gone.
2) I know I'm leaving.

I saw him last night, and he had the rough Mark Davis porn on. My choice.
He suddenly "got it".

Laying next to him, he was drunk so too rough to use his hands, I kept pushing him off me, and he was obviously feeling rough so it was driving him nuts. I started on his cock, and he was pushing me deeper. "Swallow it properly. Come on, all the way. Good girl."

Holy fuck, he's got it.

And I tried a helluva lot harder. He pushed me down and started fucking me.
Deep sigh, this is better.
As it heated up, I started pulling him deeper.

"Now, if I fall out again, if you push me out again or pull away.. be careful girl."

I pushed him out again with a smirk.

"That's it."

He got up, got the lube, rubbed it into me and positioned himself against my ass.
I whimpered, unready for it, and he had a threatening smirk on his face.

Goddamnit, man.

He pushed a little in, and said "come on. You'll love it."
Whimper.
"You'll love it. See? Good girl."

"You want out?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"Ask for it."
"Please sir, please please pull out."
"Slooowly?"

He's smiling.

"Yes, slowly! Please."

"Slower?"

"Yes yes."

He pulled out and regular sex resumed after a change.

This is where his new found words played well. With me on top, straight up, and his thrusting up, it's easy for my to squirt. Writhing, whining on top of him, he had my hips pushed up so he got a full view of me coming on his stomach.

I came and it wasn't that impressive, for my standards anyway. "Don't fucking dribble, do it properly."

Woah, he never talks like this. Cool.

Next time I came, in probably 10 thrusts, I came full gush.
And I fucking loved seeing his face when I do.

"Have you ever seen this? It looks fucking awesome."

"Now, for lifting off me all those times, you're going to cum ten times like this, then you can rest."

And I did. I was nearly crying and whimpering in the time he was pushing me to do it but I came, he pushed me off him and said "there, rest."

I looked down at him and he was completely soaked. I hadn't soaked someone like that before, and it looked amazing. Tasted sweet. I sucked his cock.

He ended up fucking me from behind holding my hips up to keep me from collapsing in a heap in front of him.
He came on my stomach.

The morning, I woke up feeling his hard cock between my thighs pressing against my ass. He was still asleep and I backed up onto him, probably already sleep-horny. I pushed back more until he was between my pussy lips, and he thrusted. He was either awake during, before or just after he pushed into me but either way he started fucking me full force on the side.

All before work.

This weekend was amazing.

Friday was painful. I saw someone who I never expected to leave me for the first time.
I forgot how fantastic his voice was.
I had to photograph him.

Anyway...

I wake up Saturday ready to leave, as per usual. He convinces me to stay and we drive to the High Country, where I shoot my first rifle, get my ass back in a jacked-up truck, and see how good I am at 4wd'ing again, haha.

I thought about the coined phrase that "if you judge a fish on its ability to fly it'll never be good at anything" -- well, I couldn't talk computers, politics, religion or English with this chap, but as soon as I wanted to talk about cars, animals, guns, mechanics, nature, he was smack-bang on it. You put someone where they wanna be and suddenly, they're smarter than anyone you've ever known.

Got me home before work. It's a Saturday night and I get a text that says "I had a really good day with you. Door's unlocked if you want to come over."

I do. I slip into bed next to him. He's never pushy or rude.
Cuddles.

Wake up at 8am Sunday, and I tell him he should get his Commodore started.
I thought all it needed was a battery, some fuel and legal tyres.

I then spent 9 hours under the hood of a Commodore figuring out how to fix everything, ever, under the hood of one of these things. And it was the best time I've had in ages.

5 beers later and he drives me home.
As predicted, I had gotten the "curse" overnight and he didn't flinch when I told him, just looked at me as if asking if it was alright with me... had an awesome fuck, then quickly showered and slept together again. The majority of men I've been with get so squirmish with it, he didn't even flinch.

I guess he guts deer for a hobby so... haha.

That fuck was interesting. I get hyper sensitive and touchy and sore all over, and he's usually quite rough. When he saw I was serious when I asked for softness he cooled right down and was gentle as a lamb, even kissing me with more tenderness.

This morning I must have been tired. I didn't hear his alarms, feel him get up, or hear him shower, as I usually do before he leaves for work at 6am.

I woke up when he sat down next to me on the bed dressed for work. I really like this moment, probably one of my favorites. He never fails to sit next to me and give me a cuddle and a kiss before he leaves.

He kissed me gently, tucked my hair behind my ear and said "Thankyou for this weekend. I'll talk to you later, missy?"

I was texting him earlier. I told him I was bored and he said to download the Hangover.
I said I didn't wanna watch it by myself.

"You're welcome over here whenever. I really don't mind. Sex aside you're a cool chick and don't completely shit me like most of them. Lol. Rare find, most chicks go all weird after sex if it's not a one night stand."

finally someone realises i'm awesome, haha.

I have trouble allowing myself to be comfortable, to be okay, slow and patient. My whole body is anxious all the time. My mind is jittery.

I can be the whore.
The mother
The comforter
The girlfriend
The slave

I don't know which one I want.

I have something very good right now. He's kind, all brawn no intellectual brain, smart as hell for things that require "feel", which means he's brilliant at his job. He loves cars and owns the best of both worlds, heavy loud luxury cruising muscle and a 7" jacked up 4wd.

He's showing me things. Nice things that aren't tied to stress and anxiety. He's calming.

So I went and saw him Friday night after work to help with his iPhone and didn't leave until 12pm Monday. For someone who I KNEW was playing me, this is interesting as hell. But I've thought about it.. when you act like a whore, you get treated like one.

#1) coming over, staying the night and leaving afterwards is whorish.

"she's a nice girl but just a friend and a fuck I want _______ anyway."

#2) coming over, talking, cuddles, giggles, staying the night, spending the next day together, and doing it all over again isn't.

(to the other girl) "i'm kind of seeing someone but I'd still like to be friends."

So, better results.

I like that this one visits me at work. He sees my car and he'll stop by on a quiet night to talk.
A player. Someone I won't go near.

He's one of those who say "follow me", but they walk behind.

But I'll admire over the bar.
He's not a teacher of my heart.
But it is nice to be thought of, visited.

Teachers.

Everytime I have a new encounter, my head speaks in poems.

I kiss him, that first connection.
Intimacy started. As it happens...
My heart is singing "are you the teacher of my heart?"

#1 Soft he answered no.
#2 Yes, he said, but not for thee.
#3 Yes, I teach young hearts to break.
(and just as I was sure his teachings were pure, he drowned himself in the pool.)
#4 No, do it once again.
#5 Yes, I teach tired hearts to rest.

Teachers, are my lessons done? I can't take another one.
And they laugh and laugh and ask "are your lessons done?"

I don't know what it is about successful men, and or men who believe they are.

I seek to improve. After a good childhood I grew up on my own.
I seek guidance.
It's probably why I seek control.

His texts last night I was heavily offended. Sex brings emotions high.
This morning I re-read and thought he was probably right.
His choice if he'd like to continue, guide, mould.

I'm a good pupil.
However his tone was leaning towards a goodbye, a list of improvements not for him, but as a "there you go, here are my suggestions to help you find what you're looking for."

My disappointment with that solidifies in my mind, I want a man to serve.
I probably should have told him that when he gave me the chance, but I wasn't 100% then.
Long-term.. Really.

Affection, control, room to move, a man to serve
Education, teachings, a Master.
Goals, services.
Comfort.
Safety.

Short encounters always remind me of of a room filling up with mosquito's, because they heard that my body was free.

control. Something new.

There's something about control I still can't get my head around without stumbling and calling it a "mindfuck".

I met him in a small city cafe' in a good suburb. He had it all arranged, I simply had to get there and be of a decent quality. I chose a fortified wine (at $17 a glass) and sat outside; half to project a kind of confidence, and half to feel as though a cat in sunshine does. I was early by over half-an-hour and brought a book for such an occasion.

My confidence isn't as grand as I'd like it to be. It ties in with a quiet, anxious nature. Men have used it both ways and you can cause great suffering and consequence, or make a woman smile with it. It depends on how the male spins the tale. Though I felt I looked decent, and probably a little too much of age for the meeting I was here to have.

Ripped denim shorts, a little high in the waist. Patterned, loose shirt which tucks in at the front. Hair loose and down to my waist. G-string, lace. I felt I looked adequate.

He tapped my shoulder and my calm demeanour shook. He was handsome, tall and had the intensity in his eyes I never had the gall to get myself. Sooty blonde(?), very light blue eyes, strong build -- probably quite athletic in his day when his life wasn't consumed by work. As soon as he opened his mouth I knew I was waaaaay out of my comfort zone.; not for the fact of our major social differences, but because this was a man of straight shooting, much beyond what I'd encountered before.

I could feel the rift right away. His eyes were looking me over not unlike a man curious about the nature of a slab of meat. That rift was making me uncomfortable. He could see I wasn't going to look him in the eye. The people around here don't have that skill, they don't have that intensity or unbroken smile in them. I knew this was probably going to be a painful endeavour, just from that look in his eyes that said I wasn't good enough. I liked his words though. His words and his slow quiet movements. Fuck that intensity. I can deal with it or dodge it. I'm too curious.

He sat down; green tea. Made a complaint about coffee giving him problems, and I kept quiet that green tea has a similar amount of caffeine.

Then it started. I could feel my stubbornness rising before he even said it.
"White marks on the nails. Calcium?"
Fuck, that was sharp.
I curled my fingers back into my palm.
It takes people like this to bring my nerves and stuttering out.
People who are better than me.
And know it.

"Scars on the shoulder?"
"Self mutilation when I was younger."
"Now there's some honesty."

No point in lying to him, you probably won't see him again. Explore this. Explore this like one of your Leonard Cohen poems. Service him and find the beauty in it. Forget what you want.

"I read your blog."
"Mm?"
"Very messed up young head."
I sighed, maybe too young to have a vocabulary decent enough to say how I feeling.

I knew I'd fuck him right away, of course. I needed to know.

He hadn't even asked yet and already I felt the need to apologise to him for smudging the air with my presence. These feelings are not new to me; it's probably the reason I haven't found a relationship I can stay in. I feel like I'm bothering them, wasting their time, and I slink away quietly not to be heard from again.

I don't remember his precise words to take me to his apartment, but I agreed with my eyes trying to hold his. Just to show I wasn't just young and useless and I could do this properly.

"You might call this love, I call it service".
Get the fuck out of my head, poems of yesteryear.

He led me to his car. Led, me in front, it was obvious that's where I had to be. His hand on my lower back, very gentlemanly, but I could feel the sex in his touch. I knew it must look awkward to the passes by, just because my stiffness contrasted so much with his relaxation.

I kissed him.
He said no.
I battled that deep inner stubbornness and shock again that was a an not doing what I wanted.

Cheeky boy. He's probably seen more than he was going to tell me.

His apartment although small was definitely chosen well on his behalf. Simplicity all the way through. Black and whites. I assumed the painted-over damage on the walls was from a previous owner. Organised, clean, consolidated. I suddenly felt bad for being in a whore's clothes. Even naked would have been classier in that moment.

Leather, pleather couch? Something smooth, easily warmed by body heat. "ass up, head down."
It didn't take me long. I assumed position. In my head I pictured the males who had long harboured fetishes for a dominatrix woman and finally, in their early 40's, had hired one. That excitement of knowing you're getting something, and hoping it was as good as the fantasies.

He stood in front of me, shirt being pulled up a bit, pants slinging lower. He allowed me to unbutton him and as I succeeded and reached in for his cock (impressed), he tapped me on the cheek.

"Don't touch. I didn't say you could touch."

I cooked. I make noises only a dominant male can understand. The childish whining, the longing, the "but siiir!" in a quiet moan.

He slapped my ass a few times, somewhere between softly to test the waters and hard enough to make that smack noise that makes kids everywhere cringe.

"Do you wanna kiss, huh?" tipping my chin up to his, expecting concerned and exciting eyes no doubt. "Yes". He lifted his hand, quickly, "YES SIR."

Better.

God his lips were soft. They took me back to somewhere else, someone else. I remembered those kind of lips. They were the kind to make girls melt inside despite any kind of treatment.

He stepped behind me with a sense of… probably the first time he lapsed out of power in my eyes. He was too quick about it. He wanted it too much.

He pulled my shorts down.
My panties were of the the side, from the position and the shifting.
He pushed them back over me and said harshly "I did not want to see your pussy yet."

Again with that rushed motion. He was in front of me again and breathed deep. "You can touch it, now."

Eagerly, wanting to show him yes sir I am worth your time, I took him into my mouth and found a rhythm. I didn't realise how big he'd be, and put some effort into taking him as far as I could. He didn't seem as pleased as usual. He's encountered all the things I have a lot of pride in before, probably more than once. Young enthusiasm, totalitarian whorism. Desire for comfort, affection.

He's seen it all before.
My game needed to be stepped up, but I wasn't sure where to.

He led me into his bedroom. "Stay in front. Kneel on the bed."
Way ahead of you, man.

Underwear off.
And now he's observing.
"are you clean?"
"Yes sir."
He didn't seem pleased which made me extremely tense. I've never had a problem before. I take a bit of pride in being clean cut and looking like a woman. I like my hips and the way my tummy sets into my pussy. I like my muscular thighs and rounded ass.

I could NOT tell if he found my attractive or not, and I've never had to deal with this.. Not in the throws of sex, anyway.

Fuck he made me tense, nervous.
This is not what a sir is supposed to do, sir, please make me comfortable my head was saying.

The last man I was with spread my legs for the first time and stayed there, for 2 hours, praising me, telling me how beautiful I was. How he loved how tidy my pussy was built. How tight I felt around his fingers. How sweet I tasted.

This man looked at me quizzically as though I was sub par.
He slipped a finger into me and moaned "why are you so tight? I thought you were a good whore."

Fucking someone is hard to describe. It felt as thought he hadn't fucked someone for quite a while, I wasn't going to ask. He stumbled a bit, but once he found his rhythm he was a damn good lay. He reached down to my pussy and fed it to me. "That's not my spit, that's all you."  I could feel he was a stop-start kind of man though.

Something in his head clicked and he decided he was going to teach me to suck cock.

"Tongue out, no teeth, I do NOT want to feel your teeth at all. Just lips and tongue. Do you understand?"

I tried. This was new.

"Your jaw is going to hurt. Your tongue is going to hurt. Deal with it."

If he hadn't critiqued me so strongly I may have tried harder, but his control made up for it. I tried, and I gagged, and I coughed and I spat.

"Do you need some water?"
He lowered himself to my hight.
"It'll help you service my cock."

I declined but was fucking needing to show him I was good enough. That's all.

That fucking mirror on his wardrobe. The light in there made me look so good. The contrast between how I looked in there and how he looked at me. I looked like a porn star, that's how I felt. My skin was white and smooth and my hair was so dark in contrast. Fuck, him pulling it around though was making me quite disheveled.

He came on my tongue, my face. He fulfilled a fantasy of saying "show me".
He tasted not as sweet as he smelled, but not bad.

His cum dripped off my tongue…

He tried anal but I could not handle his size.
I'm not experienced enough.

I never lay on people's chests. I want it more than anything, to lay with someone, but this man offered an invite. I took it before my "don't do that this is how it is made to seem important" kicks in. He was soft skinned, smelled lovely and his stubble was probably only a day old at this point.

Looking at him was interesting for me. A movement of emotions and control. He probably felt uncomfortable but I wanted to look at him. Very handsome. A nice smile. Devious, eternally youthful. I wondered if he hated the grey hair starting to grow? I liked it.

I needed to go.
I would have liked to see him again.

An explanation..

I'm sorry I haven't posted in 6+ months. I got distracted. However to update;

1) I now work ONE job, fulltime hours, as a supervisor, still pouring beer.
2) I have one love interest, one fuckbuddy, and six men after me.

- the love interest is lovely. He took me on my first real date, and wouldn't even let me pay. I met him over the bar, didn't sleep with him for 3 dates and many outings, but he's a strange one. Not the smartest chicken, and a hunter, and a major redneck, but very sweet and the sex is spectacular.

- the fuckbuddy has been going on for 6 months but he won't allow dating.

- the six? scattered, but none I can return interest for.

Other than that, keep tuned.

All his Liolta dreams came true.

Sitting back against the strobe lights, I watched him working on my car. He was around my hight, probably late 30's/early 40's, tattoos, including what looked like tribute names (children, parents?) on his arms, a helluva build, piercings... and pretty damn good at what he does.

He was dressed in his flannel, paint-stained jeans and a singlet. Me? Quaffed designer dress, old designer leather jacket, hair to the nigh due to work, and heels.

I've been coming here for a week, getting my car ready and fixed. He's dropped  a few hints, you know, "that dress looks fucking hot on you", or "my young apprentice had to pick up his jaw off the ground when you pulled up."

While fluids were draining on the car, we started talking. His family, my life, his work, mine. He started showing me the other cars in the shop; a Corvette, a Monaro, a Caddy. I went to walk past him and he put his arm around my throat, pulling me back, and kissing me.

I could feel him hesitate waiting for me to pull back, however he groaned so deeply when I straightened myself up and pressed him back into the Corvette, kissing him right back.

That man dropped right to his knees and started eating pussy like a fucking champion. Against a Corvette. I groaned and lost a lot of my strength, but he held me pinned up. And I let him do this for as long as he fucking would; why? Because these one or two time things are all about me and a damn good time. I'm not really out to impress. I want you to get me off, and to leave you with the "what the fuck just happened" mentality.

He sighed and said "I'll go shut the roller doors. Move your car."
Yes sir.

As he was closing them, all I could hear, muttering was "fuck this is very very wrong."

Me against my car, him against me, he whispers "how old are you?"
"how old do you want me to be?"
"cheeky bitch... are you sure you want to do this?"
"have you ever fucked in your workshop before?"
"n..no.. god you've got a mouth on you. You're so beautiful.."

He wanted to talk too damn much, I wanted him inside me.
"fuck me, please" I simpered from under my eyelashes, wide-eyed and biting my lip.

One way to shut a man up fairly quickly.
He led me into his office and pinned me down on the soft leather couch. I ground my hips up against him, biting hard at his neck.. trying to tell him with my body I don't like to be treated this softly by men who I am not seeing.

He parted my legs and pulled my panties to the side, moaning and looking completely overwhelmed by the sight of my wet, soft and mostly importantly, I dare say, young pussy. He leaned forward and pushed into me and I realised then the extent of my addiction to cock.

"me on top" I said under my breath. I straddled him and sat forward, slipping on the leather. I took my dress off and my tits were exposed, small, firm and young. Very turned on by the thrill of it all, my body was quivering and alert.

I rode his cock and he looked almost dead to the world, funnel vision to the fact he had a 20-year old attractive female grinding him. He kept muttering how beautiful I was, and all I could think was "I could use this man as an ego boost."

Realising I wasn't going to be able to cum from me on top, the couch was too thin and I couldn't get the right angle, I used it to my advantage and leaned over, whimpering "how would you like to take me?"

"From behind, let me fuck you doggy" he breathes.

I rise from his lap, stand up and look back at him seductively, I have long dark hair and I shook it out a bit more, just out of his reach. I slowly lowered myself into a doggy position, waist and tits down, neck and cheek leaned against the back of the couch. I could feel his eyes burning into me, and his hand cupping my ass and exclaiming "you're so fucking young, and tight, and soft, and smooth.. and such beautiful ass and hips.. and such a pretty pussy.."

He fucked me doggy until he came on my back, cleaning me up as I just gently looked back at him.

He sat down and ushered me over, I promptly took his dick into my mouth and swallowed the whole thing. New world for him, a last resort trick for me.. he gently grabbed my hair and pulled me up. "Take a breath, woman."

Then he started the talking.. something I don't usually allow. "Do you fuck everyone like this? How, why? Why don't you have a boyfriend? Why me?"

Jesus man, ease up.

I casually answered everything and he still didn't look satisfied with my answers, so I had to leave.

Quickly updating for March.

Work: is time consuming and long, being over 46 hours a week between all three jobs. Pretty exhausted.

Sex: He asked me out, I told him when he gets back from work, he's pulled away and now he's asking for space, so fair enough, I guess I'll hear from him soon.

In the meantime, I have an ex fuckbuddy coming over tomorrow night to smoke some weed and swatch some movies. And to NOT fuck. Seriously.

I still want this other kid.

Look at me being all exclusive.

Just a quick one before I go to work (hardy-har har har.)

The word 'love' is thrown around a lot, but bear with me, I'm going to use it as flippantly at daytime TV.

4 boys head over heals for me, the one I like is pretty meh about it all.

You be nice, obviously you want their dick.
You obviously don't flirt, you must want their dick.
You smile and enjoy their company, you MUST want their dick.
You are obviously keen on someone else... You MUST just be playing hard to get and want their dick.

Don't ruin this, boys. I like you guys.

I let him take me up the ass last night.

This blog may give me the impression of being whorish, but that is something I don't let people do. Especially not him, he's huge. But I was feeling a little dismayed after my speeding fine last night and finally gave in to him.

Reddit's been giving me a fair bit of feedback in regards to this blog, mostly concerning the way promiscuous girls, (or maybe just me), think. So I'll be brutally honest regarding this experience.

I love the thought of being buggered, the fantasy. I like the feeling when someone slides a finger in there while fucking me normally. But I've had some bad experiences with it with the only other man (who'd force me into it when he was horny right then and there but too lazy to buy condoms) who I'd done it with, and had avoided allowing it until now.

So I let him know, okay. Let's try it. We'd tried once before but he was too big, I was too tense, and I couldn't. Nervous, but accepting, I lay flat on my stomach. He prepared me, gently talking to me, keeping my quiet, probably not realising I had my teeth clenched into my knuckles.

Like I keep saying, I love sex, but I'm still a woman and still have those feelings, and I'd only had given this up to a man I loved before. This was different and I was already starting to feel wrong about it.

He's starting to push in and I'm biting down harder. I remembered the sensations as he pushed in deeper, something I enjoyed a lot last year. With my ex, I was even able to cum from it alone when he relaxed me enough. He slides all the way in and he's still talking in my ear... probably his saviour in hindsight, the talking kept me quiet and responsive. "I'm proud of you taking all of me, good girl.." if he hadn't of been soothing me like that, it wouldn't have continued for much longer. He said some things that hinted at his experience "just get used to it, you'll be okay.." which upped my trust in him too. But then again, I'm very trusting as is.

I actually cried a little as he slid into me the first time. It'd been so long, I wasn't relaxed, and I was feeling pretty abused in the worst sense. I still want to do these things -- but with ONE man. Regardless, I couldn't look him in the eye or kiss him afterwards for quite some time.

As he started thrusting, I started to enjoy it again. I almost didn't want him to pull out, I felt the deeper primal urges and my high-libido rearing its dripping jaws as I got used to it a little more. I wanted more, deeper, slower. But the more I remembered the man I was doing it with had no ties or real care nor adoration for me, the less I cared for the sex and grew despondent.

Finally he pulls out, and with how fast and rough he did it, I really couldn't bare to kiss him. I loved how it felt but couldn't get my head around the idea i'd just been used for it.

Well fuck you too, work.

This post is very work related. Sorry perverts :)

I walked into work the other day for my shift, like any other day, and took a quick peek at the rosters. The notably shorter rosters. The roster which was missing 4 people. Including me.

Seems my favorite little Irish pub did a jig around the money tree and decided we were all commodities to be let go, which as casuals, let's face it, we are in the quiet times.

Furious, upset and embarrassed, I confronted the manager on duty who had no idea what was going on. No doubt he was left in the dark simply because of his departure -- it was his own last shift, but he was leaving on his own terms.

Now, i'm pretty placid about life. I tend to accept things, avoid confrontation, keep a stiff upper lip and jaw, and continue on, but i'm such a softy and this really broke my heart; I loved that pub. I love its creaky walls and its reasonably classy atmosphere and its gentle owner and the way it floods out and we have to block to doors with bar-mats when it rains. I like the staff and the way I always have something to do. I missed it the second I saw my name removed.

I finished that shift. I finished it and left in a fury, leaving skid marks across the highway in front. I may be placid but I'm also as nervous as a deer in headlights, and this singed a nerve right off. I couldn't believe the hours, the free work, the extra time, the extra effort I'd put in only to be removed, much like 3/4 of the other staff couldn't. Two were some of their best, hardest workers.

Pissed off and hurt, I sent my ex-manager/fuckbuddy a message. "What happened with the roster?"

"Fuck you too. Stop making me the bad guy, I didn't take you off the roster, I don't even know anything about it."

Ensue a battle of the fucking wills via little tip-tap messages on a touch screen. Condescending, rude, controlling and arrogant, I was quietly glad I'd dodged a bullet there and happily realised I no longer had any feelings for him at all. A little bit of sugar in a big-ass salt bowl. Even a week later, not a morsel of feeling for him, just a lot of resentment for the kindness I showed him and the treatment I received in return.

So last night, while out, I quickly dropped in to speak to my favorite manager. We've gotten along like best buddies from day one with no hint of sexual attraction to ruin the friendship... we used to do Sunday afternoons together every week and he'd been in trouble more than once for giving me a wealth of shifts for long hours. I get into the pub and he's happy to see me and smiling. Suddenly I'm not pissed off anymore, he looks happier than I've seen him in years. And although I had a quick, positive chat re: my job, ie, I'm NOT fired and will be getting hours again, the issue was rectified, as much as ex-fb would like to think not, he happily told me he had a new girlfriend.

I met her, and although drunk and kind of contentious, I was happy he was happy, and watching him wrap his arm around her shoulder protectively and kiss her cheek and forehead, stroking her hair back, had me wishing them both the very best from the bottom of my heart.

However, even if they roster me back, I'm not sure if I want it after that fiasco. I'm losing my forgiving nature a little, and this hurts me to say. I'm getting very, very sensitive to the idea of being used in all aspects of my life; for my body, money, house, time and car, that removing me without so much kindness to mention it really hit home. I love helping people and I, for a few, I'd do most anything just to be there -- but being kicked in the teeth hurt.

So I took up more shifts at the newer workplaces. A golf club, which I can't really stand, pretentious twats, and a small-town pub hotel in which I was made duty manager on my second shift. I now pull Thursday and Friday nights on duty management, and Saturday mornings as well. Every other day is the gold club, which is long, strained hours which usually leave me wishing I had an uzi after I painfully crawl into my car after every strained shift.

This is something my ex had said to me. Actually, most things the snobby jerk had said were true; don't get too attached to your workplace, don't work extra, and for gods sake don't work for free. Don't expect anyone to care about you as a worker; you work for THEM, not the other way around. Do your job, go home.

And, only recently, I've started becoming genuinely concerned about my body as a direct result from working long hours on concrete.

My hips ache. My knees and joints ache. My back is out and my spirits are being dashed a little.

I'm getting moodier and more upset about trivial things because of the sheer strain of the workload, mainly placed on me by the golf club. It is a HUGE workload for any staff, even in hospitality, due to the failing profits they hire the best they can afford -- quality over quantity, so the staff they sourced get worn out like old greyhounds off a track very rapidly. This massive stress, plus the desires that keep cropping up -- for a steady, content, protect/nurture style relationship and much less focused on sex, the small hopeful ideas of having children now that my savings are up, my living situation and financial situation are good are not helping -- I won't have kids for years, not until I'm in a very long-standing steady relationship, anyway. I've been smart enough to get a good education, a good income, a good house and the ability to afford luxuries -- I'm not going to blow it all now by nagging little urges. Simply not going to happen.

In the same vein, I'm getting more jealous and stand-offish than I have -- ever. I went out, sober, to a pub last night with friends, and every one who hit on me was met with a "fuck off" or a very pissed off look. Absolute zero tolerance for sleaziness and an almost growing disdain for careless promiscuity. I'm getting caustic and abrasive.

I love sex, it's obvious just from this blog. I love to FEEL. I love sensations and aggression and the way bodies move when they know, primitively, they're going to fuck. I love letting go and giving it up to him, letting him take me and be inside me, show me his strength and let me show him my softness and eagerness.

But after 3 years of jostling around, I miss the comfort of someone who I know I can trust to give it all up to, to accept everything. To give those last remaining pieces of me you only show someone you're actually with; the vulnerability, the enthusiasm, the sheer desire for that ONE person. I'm very very promiscuous, but also fiercely faithful. I need someone who can fulfil my intense libido and give me someone to please. More and more I hate the thought of booty calls and just want to do dirty, filthy fucking things with one man.

I really hope he's not right about that side of it, either.

However, not particularly stressed about it, things come.

With time, a positive outlook and good spirits.
And boy, am I looking forward to that day when I can breathe relaxed again.

I'm standing up to him, chest up, blood on my white singlet, breasts heaving inside it. He smiles that pretty ladykiller smile and knocks me down again, straddling over my stomach and hips.

He's wearing a leather jacket and his face is bathed in green light from my undercarriage and hood neons. We're 65klms from any town, in the bush, well over a screams distance from the campsite and the rest of the campers.

His full weight is on me. He's bigger than me. I felt a little flicker of fear as I actually TRIED to struggle and couldn't escape him at all. His knee is on my chest and he takes a swig of beer from the stubby he's holding, finishes it, throws it into the woods and knees me down harder, scraping my back and thighs into the dirt and twigs.

It's dark, dead out at the campsite.
I'm alone with a young, drunk, aggressive streetfighter who has one hand on my throat, the other very casually twisting my nipples through the singlet top.

I kick out, shift him, he pummels me hard back into the dirt and snarls "you want to play this game? No one can hear you. I'm stronger than you, girly."

We're only playin'. I've been seeing him for a few weeks for sex and it's been fun as a bunny bouncing. He's the youngest person i've ever been with at 20, he's a beautiful babyface with a killer smile and muscles to boot. He also sent me into hospital a week ago for 3 days with his 11" cock, I'm not even kidding. ("bitch got lippy in the sack.")

And here I was bathed in green neon, the rumbling of my coupe, in the middle of the fucking bush playing rape with him.

He chokes me harder than he has before. I kick out again and play struggle while he cuts the airways, holds it and lets go after a minute. I choke, gasp, snarl 'fuck you' and he slams his elbow into my neck. He's smiling at it looks deadly. The leather creaks.

The look on his face and I stop struggling.
His eyes were stone cold and glittering.

His fingers trace my jawline and his right hand slips over my neck. His left hand follows. I don't move. I smile at him and his expression doesn't change.

'You have no choice whether you live or die right now."

He's cut me off mid-exhale.

"Your life is.. literally.. in my hands."

He laughs and it sounds a bit mad. Suddenly it strikes me with full force that I don't know this kid that well and the trust dissipates. I forget all logic that the other campers know we only left for a romp and fear kicks in. For the first time ever, true primal fear. It all was realised in split second.

I fight back seriously, with everything I have.
He holds me down and keeps talking, he doesn't miss a beat.

"I've always wanted to know what this is like, you know?"

I stop fighting for a moment; half the listen and half because he's really cut off my airways and I was going feint.
I push again.

"Now now, I know it's going to hurt babe but it'll only be a minute or two."

Deadly calm..

And I'm starting to black the fuck out.

He lets go, and as I gasp and pull back tears, he strokes my cheek and pushes his thumb into my mouth. I'm breathing hard, heavy, bruises coming up on my thighs and shoulders from hitting the ground so damn hard.

"Aw, did I scare you baby? Did I? Good girl. Just get it back. Then suck my cock."

I move up to do so, still breathing hard but forever obedient.

"Nah, fuck ya.. Come here, get in the fucking car." A fistful of hair and a push and we were in the backseat, me on top, riding his cock until I came. As I did, I got my fight back.

"Hit me" I whisper.
His eyes say fuck no but his fist curls.
"Fucking hit me."

He grunts, pushes me off, I pull him back and he smacks me across the jaw. I smile, cum and he groans about as deep as he was thrusting.

"Hurt me for all the girls who've hurt you."

"You do NOT fucking want that" as he shoves his huge dick deep as it'll go while simultaneously forcing his fingers into my ass. I yelp with genuine pain and he hits me again, harder this time. "Fucking bitch."

His thrusting is getting harder, faster. The noises he's making are primal and thick.

"Get on the fucking hood."

We bail out, I sit on my coupes hood, green neons lighting up my inner thighs. And his monster cock pushes into me.

One hand on the back of my neck, thumb on the artery, one holding my ass from sliding down the hood, he thrusts rough and long. I'm soaked and dripping, and he's soaked almost through from it.

"slut" he breathes into my ear "should have fucking killed you."

He half yelps, half grunts, pushes himself away from me and cums on my stomach.

"Cop that, bitch."

Major summary of my month of life:

-- quit the country pub in an explosive kind of way.. Bar #2 lost me in seconds of bad management.
-- Quickly gained 2 new jobs -- including a duty management position.
-- Dropped my boss at bar 1 and haven't spoken to him in a month.
-- Gained 2 new best friend toyboys, had my first threesome with them, numerous ones since, and am playing them off one another.

Will elaborate.
Later.