love is a losing game

“You said it was over.”D says tugging at my panties as I struggle to unbutton his vintage oxford blue shirt.
“What?” I am barely paying attention as I force my mouth on to his biting hard on his lower lip before ripping at the final button.
I know what I had said, I don’t need it repeated to me. Not now.
Free of my panties D lifts me to his lap. I can feel him pressing up hard against his black denim. His long fingers dig deep in to my flesh as I continue to kiss him.
Pressing our chests together I wrap my arms tightly around him, wishing to take in all of him. Breathing him in deep, having him melt in to me.
Finally breaking, I drag my nails gently down the side of his sharp jaw, biting his ear, licking the soft part that makes him tremble.
In one swift movement he has me on my back and starts kissing, nibbling, licking my skin. I feel my back begin to arch as he makes his way down past my breasts, teasing the skin around my navel and further.

We lie in a heap now, on the floor.
Why is it we always end up here?
Your chin presses against my shoulder, your warm breath brushes my cheek.
Your hand still wanders, up and down my skin as a trail of goosebumps follow.
It all seems so perfect.
Us lying here.
Your cellphone rings and I know that it is her. Wondering where you are and what you have done.
Can I tell her?
He’s made me come three times today! I would say.
He loves it when I bite his thigh.
He loves the way my hips moves in figure 8’s against him.

You don’t pick up and you wonder if she’s left you a message.
But you soon forget, as I roll back on top of you.
Leaving butterfly kisses along your cheeks.

July 27, 2007. sex. 1 comment.

sewn

You make fun of me because I listen to AC/DC and head bang to Bon Jovi.
You make fun of me because of my raspberry pink toe nails and cotton candy flip flops.
You make fun of me because of my frizzy hair and even frizzier attitude.
“Try John Frieda.” You say as if Mr. Frieda has the answer to all of my questions.
Could I ask Mr. Frieda why you don’t love me?
Could I ask Mr. Frieda why I stay?

“It’s the sex”
I sit across of Yoli, her dark brown eyes look past me as I wait for the explanation.
“You are with D because of the sex.”
“That sounds simple enough.”
“It is that simple. You can’t be alone, he happens to be good in bed. BAM! And there you have it.”
“A perfectly parasitic relationship?” The words tumble out of my mouth with out meaning too. How sad am I?
Yoli shrugs and utters nothing. But her hidden frown says it all.
“I can leave him and find some one else.”
“Sure you can.”
“I WILL!” I say it louder desperate not to seem defensive.
“I know you will.” Yoli replies her voice singsong once again. “And I think I know just the man!”

July 27, 2007. C'est Moi, dating, men. Leave a comment.

ce matin la

How I hate the ‘M’ word.
I can’t seem to control my thoughts of darkness every time it is brought up in conversation or flashing in front of me in some cheesy advert.
The ‘M’ word does not equal love to me.
The ‘M’ word does not equal eternal joy.

Mom brought up the ‘M’ word again today. She had phoned for the usual interrogation.
“You remember S.T don’t you.” She began as a picture of the gerbil looking young girl floated in to my minds eye.
“yes, barely.” I replied already plotting an excuse to quickly hang up and proceed with the miniature orgasm session I had planned with my box ‘o toys.
“She’s getting married!”
Silence.
Well, what do you think?” She asked carefully.
“Good for her.” I replied flatly. “Amazing actually.” Considering the repulsive set of features the good Lord above had decided to bless her with.
“Her mother is relieved of course, no more rumors floating about.”
“The rumours. Of course.”
More silence followed.
“So how are things with you? Seeing any one special? Did that doctor get a hold of you yet. I gave him your email address, such a charming young man.”
“Oh shit mom I have to go. There is another line.”

The box ‘o toys now lie forgotten underneath my bed. I need more than batteries and gizmos.
I need the real thing, more than just the sex.
I need the warmth of a man next to me.
And I need it now.

July 26, 2007. C'est Moi. 1 comment.

trojan warrior

I peel off the condom wrapper that I spot stuck on to your elbow.
I toss it to the floor next to the Gatorade bottle that has stained your teeth and tongue.

“It smells filthy in here.” I say.
You expect a reaction as my eyes flit over your naked body.
“Red-leggings just left. I have yet to wash up.”

As I watch you disappear in to the bathroom I can’t help but wonder…
where has all the romance gone?

Caught between Shakespeare and super ribbed latex I suppose.

July 16, 2007. men, sex. Leave a comment.

the cheating game.

kissreel.jpg

Why cheat?

I’ll never really understand. I don’t think there is a real answer and yet I have heard a number of good reasons.

The Top Four are usually as follows:

  1. A Distraction: Tired of the same old routine? Your relationship runneth in to boredom? Why not stop by your neighborhood watering hole and pick up someone. Sometimes I fear that it is far easier to fall in to bed with a new person than it is to deal with a failing relationship.
  2. A Thrill: This usually happens when the relationship is falling apart sexually. The thrill of being caught doing the dirty with someone new and different is incredibly exciting. Especially if the sexual relationship with your partner is not as spine tingling as it once was.
  3. Self-Esteem: Let’s be honest we all love a little ego stroke now and then. This need increases when we feel our partner is not giving us the boost that we need. So off we go to find some one that will make us feel as sexy as we deserve.
  4. Head Games: You would be surprised at how much people enjoy the pleasures of a mind fuck. What your mind is willing to rationalize. How far you are willing to take a lie. Not really thinking of any kind of consequence. It’s a little worrisome actually.

I would like to think I have never been cheated on. In all honesty I haven’t ever been in a relationship long enough for any one to do so. But I have been the other woman, and I can not say it feels any better.

I don’t think it would be as hard if D and I had a purely sexual relationship.
Sadly there is too much history and neither of us have the balls to let one another go.

So I am the other woman, as Red-Leggings watches on, clueless to our interactions.
I want to tell her. I really do, as it’s not her fault.

July 16, 2007. dating, sex. 1 comment.

hello kitty

I have blisters, and I watch you count them.
A total of five.
I tell you they hurt and you wrinkle your nose in thought.
I love watching you think, but you get up and leave me on the smooshy couch.

Back you come, clutching a box of band aids.
“Hello Kitty.” You say pulling my feet up on to your lap.
Nursing each wound with a touch of japanime. I catch you peeking at my panties.
The white sheer lace ones that I know you adore. My skirt is pulled up high past my knees, I readjust exposing more skin.
I let your hands travel, I watch in lust as I know where they will lead.

Sometimes I can’t stand the sight of you.
Because I know I must share you.
I hate that you can walk out this door with not much care.
And all I want is you.
Back in my bed.
Back between my sheets.
Our legs intertwined as I hum musical rhythms and beats.

I will pretend to not care, your satisfaction would be far to great.
And I am far to proud.
So we will continue to play our childish game.
Cat and mouse.
Lover and the scorned.

It’s 2am and I have just locked my door.
I send you home tonight because I can’t bear to see you leave in the morning.
I fall a sleep, the scent our love deep in my sheets.
Till tomorrow my sweet.
Till tomorrow.

July 14, 2007. love, sex. Leave a comment.

skin to skin

you make me blush.
A little. A lot.
Which is tough, for it is summer and my skin is the color of dark chocolate.
I like the way your skin looks next to mine.
Summer loves you and your pink of winter is now gold.
People watch us sitting at St.George station.
You suck vanilla ice cream dripping off of my bottom lip.

On the floor of my bedroom now.
The ice cream sticky on our fingers, sticky on our skin.
I let your hands wander and explore. Like a blind man with varying rhythms you tease and scratch.

You are a sleep again, I survey the damage. Scratches criss cross along your skin, marks of passion.

July 13, 2007. memory. 2 comments.

four rules to ex sex.

I tend to collect my exes. As most of the men I have dated are still good friends. Some might say a little to close. But the reason I dated them is because they were good people, and I need all the good I can get a hold of.
But ex-collection can get tricky, especially when your sexual drive plays in to the equation.

So here are my four rules to sex with an ex:

  1. If he has a girlfriend avoid calling/showing up at the door of his home at various hours of the night. It is sad and makes you look more than a little desperate.
  2. Don’t fuck your ex with the intention of getting back together with him. This only ever works 0.001% of the time. And why would you want to in the first place?
  3. No more than 2 sexual sessions post breakup. If you feel like you need to keep going back there may still be an emotional attachment and that is dangerous territory.
  4. And finally there is a reason you broke up in the first place! So always remember that.

If you have any more rules to add please share them. I am incredibly interested in finding out other people’s views on topics like these.

July 12, 2007. dating, sex. Leave a comment.

grape flavored oral fixation

Yoli thinks I have an oral fixation.
Because I eat nothing but freezies and suck back on cigarettes all summer long.
She says I must give great head because unlike she I practice all the time.
I say it’d be a lot more fun if men had grape flavored penises.
Then maybe I’d do it more.
Is penis a collective noun?

I’ve only ever really enjoyed going down on D.
He’s putty in my hands once I am done.
But I will only give if I am the first to receive, and he had better do a stellar job.
It’s interesting with D because he seems so fascinated by my “flower” as he calls it. He’ll probe, kiss, lick suck and tickle.
I’ll wake some mornings with he between my legs as my muscles tense and my back arches about to crack.
Does he think of grape Popsicles when he feasts on me? I can’t help but wonder.

July 12, 2007. sex. Leave a comment.

write me,bite me, tease me

campbell.jpg

July 11, 2007. C'est Moi. Leave a comment.

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