Category Archives: Confession

Readers Confess: Amerika’s Tunnel

It all started at a nightclub in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The name of the nightclub is Amerika. As a kid I’ve heard so much about it; everybody talked about it because it originally started as a gay club but then (as usual) heterosexuals realized how much fun gays have and the club became a good mix of people trying to have fun.

There were two floors; downstairs people were dancing and drinking and mingling. Guys were hawking and ready to attack. Amerika is the kind of place where you pay a cover and get unlimited heaps of alcohol, but I was already wasted by the time we got to the club.

Upstairs was the infamous “Tunnel”. If someone ever mentioned Amerika, they would talk about this spot; it was dark and people who went through were looking for some sort of sexual encounter.

We had a drink at the bar downstairs and then I decided to go play in the tunnel. I never liked the chit chat when it comes to hooking up with someone; I don’t want to hear about you or your life. I just want to play. Do people judge this behavior? YES! Absolutely. But I don’t care. Judgement has a lot to do with other people’s fear and insecurity. I’m not killing or robbing anyone, I’m just looking for sexual satisfaction.

Growing up wasn’t that easy; I dealt with a lot of conservative and structured bullshit from the people who surrounded me. I didn’t fit in and was always wondering whether the stuff in my head was “weird” because that’s how people made me feel. Somehow I came to realize that we are all different and I didn’t have to be afraid or stop doing what I felt like doing just because it didn’t seem right to others. I also learned that it’s all about confidence. If you hesitate you lose and I realized I didn’t want to lose anymore– that’s when I grew up. But back to the tunnel…

I looked around and scanned the crowd in the darkness as much as I could. There were two hot guys: one was standing and the other one was on his knees blowing him. I made eye contact with the one being blown, rapidly approached him and without hesitation got on my knees and started blowing him with the other guy. The guy on the floor and I were making out and having fun with each other. I wasn’t nervous– I was excited and trying something new. I love making out, and to say hello to the guy whose dick was in my mouth, I stood up and gave him a couple of kisses. So far I was just giving head with someone else but I wanted to spice things up a little bit more. A lot of people were watching but I didn’t care; I guess it turned me on even more.

The guy on his knees stood back up and the three of us made out. I let them kiss and got on my knees again while unzipping the other guy’s pants. I played with his hard cock for a few seconds and ended up with both dicks in my mouth. It felt really good. I didn’t pick just any random guy- when I see someone I can tell he is well put together. Both of them smelled fresh and delicious.

None of the guys understood what was happening and neither did I, but it was fun and hot. Only one of the guys came. That’s when I stood back up, kissed both of them on the mouth and said goodbye. I didn’t ask for numbers, names or any contact information. I didn’t need it.

People are quick to judge these situations, but the way I see it it’s just normal human behavior. Who says we have to go through 5 different dates before it’s okay to have sex? Not that it isn’t sometimes fun to wait; it builds up the moment, but things can go either way once it happens. You are not a better person for not having sex with random people- you are just keeping yourself from liberating the sexual tension almost every human experiences. And I get it, not everyone experiences that urge, but most of the people who do keep it undercover because they are ashamed of it. Ladies and Gentlemen– there is nothing to be ashamed of. Being horny is feeling alive.

We all have needs and we live to satisfy these needs, so go out in the world and be horny.

–M.

Readers Confess: Why I choose an open relationship

Before I entered an open relationship, I thought it would be a great way to have your cake and eat it too. You could have all the benefits of being in a relationship – stability, security, and regular sex, as well as all the benefits of being single – freedom, exploration, and invigorating “new relationship energy” (often referred to as NRE).

However, after I started delving into the tumultuous world of polyamory, I came to learn that it was much, much, more than that.

I came to learn that open relationships were fundmentally about truth, communication, and transparency.  It was about facing my own fears, my own insecurities, as well as learning to love unconditionally.  Many people I talk to would love to be in an open relationship – one way.  They would love the freedom on their end, but would not want their partner to share the same freedoms.

For me, a deeply intimate, loving relationship is about loving your partner enough to allow them the ability to completely experience life to its fullest capacity.  Even if that means them having sex with somebody else.  This is where the rub lies.  In our society, there is a deeply ingrained modality of ‘monogamy’.  This often leads to issues of “should”, “should not”, pain, and insecurities.

If we *KNEW* our partner deeply loved us, and they have dinner with a friend, would this cause us pain?  How about if they slept over at their place? How about if they hugged them?  Kissed them?  Had sex with them?  And that these actions didn’t come from a place of deceit, lies, and untruth, but they were in constant communication with you throughout the entire process?  For some people, dinner is already crossing a threshold. Others are okay with kissing, but not sex. Others, only certain kinds of sex (maybe oral only).  Each of these thresholds depends on our own level of trust in our partner, and confidence in our own self-worth.

The first time my partner engaged in extracurricular sex, there was some suffering.  I examined it.  Why is it there?  What belief structure was I holding onto that gave rise to the suffering? (Suffering only comes from holding onto a certain belief.)  I realized there was some fear of my partner leaving me.  There was some fear of the third person being ‘better’, which, when I followed the thought train far enough, eventually also led to the fear of my partner leaving.  As I examined and followed each of these fears WITH my partner, there was constant reassurance and I eventually came to see through all the fears as ultimately false, and I was free to return to the present moment with my partner.

When I engaged in an extracurricular relationship, my partner’s belief set was something around the concept of “access”.  That they would no longer have “access” to me. Each of us will have different sticking points, different reasons why we believe something is wrong or shouldn’t be done.  With clear, honest, and open communication, we can move through the restrictions of closed relationships and experience a much freeer existence in life.

It is natural and expected for some pain to arise whenever an action takes place that challenges our belief structures.  What makes all the difference in the world is how soon you can see through it, let go, and move on.  This is where complete honesty and constant communication is required.  An open relationship requires both partners to *gradually* push the boundaries of their reality together.  “Can we live in a reality where we are both truly happy for the other person being happy in whatever they’re doing?”  (This is called “compersion”).  Push too hard, and the relationship may break.  Gentler never hurts.

So should you engage in an open relationship?  Not if you’re in it just to have sex with more people.  You might as well just stay single, or you could do that in a monogamous relationship and not tell your partner (as frequently happens).  An open relationship is for people ready to face their own fears and insecurities head on.  An open relationship is for people that want to grow with their partner through the most intimiate details of life – which extend far beyond the superficial sex.  An open relationship is for people that understand that being in a relationship with someone does not mean restricting them, but instead, freeing them.  And in the process, freeing yourself.

Have you ever experimented with an open relationship? Weigh in below.

 

–Haz Tantra

How I (Still) Make My Open Relationship Work

By Kristine Deguzman | Reposted from Em & Lo 

A few years ago, when I was a bright-eyed junior at UC Berkeley, I wrote about how my boyfriend and I were going on a break before I left to study abroad in Spain. At the time we had been together for two years, and I remember the reaction I received — from friends and readers alike — who thought I was being unrealistic in thinking that I could hook up with a slew of Spanish men and return to my relationship unscathed.

Well, I’m happy to report that that three years (and many attractive foreign men) later, my boyfriend and I are still together and still as much in love as we were before — if not more so.

Though our relationship has passed the five-year mark, this is not to say that it has been without its difficulties. I’m not going to lie and say our relationship was full of sunshine and daisies after I got back from Spain, because it wasn’t. We dated other people and, yes, slept with other people, and like any normal relationship there were fights and there was jealousy and there was crying — lots and lots of crying.

But in the end, there was and is always a decision — do we give up or do we work it out? And amidst all of the fights, we always chose each other. (Plus, it became kind of kinky to talk about the other people we’d had sex with while having sex with each other — how’s that for dirty talk?)

In the two years that followed my trip to Spain we stayed in a mostly monogamous relationship, though there were a few occasions at parties where he gave me permission to kiss other people (and I, likewise, extended the same courtesy). However, since my boyfriend moved back to LA last September, we’ve returned to experimenting with the boundaries of our relationship, and we’re currently in a long-distance, open relationship.

We don’t have a timeline for when we’ll no longer be long-distance, since I work in the tech industry (which is booming in San Francisco) and he works in the entertainment industry (which basically doesn’t exist outside of Hollywood), but we have talked about moving to New York together within the next two or three years. As far as whether or not our open relationship will continue once we’re back in the same city — it’s kind of unknown. Though, it does seem hard to justify either of us sleeping with other people when the other is just a quick Metro ride away.

Most of the people who I talk to about our relationship are either really supportive or really confused. The confused ones often ask, “Why waste your time with other people if you have a good thing?” Others have admitted that they think it’s hubris for my boyfriend and I to think that we can have our cake (each other) and have sex with other people on the side too.

I think that most of the people who question our relationship do so because they could never imagine themselves in the same situation, and that’s perfectly fine. I don’t think my boyfriend and I have the gold standard of relationships upon which all other relationships should mold themselves, and neither of us goes around telling other couples that they should try spicing things up a bit by sleeping with other people.

What it boils down to, at least for us, is communication — my boyfriend and I talk everyday, several times a day, to the point where my sister now rolls her eyes and says, “Again?! You just talked an hour ago,” whenever she sees my boyfriend calling. We also have pretty specific “rules” in our open relationship (in contrast to the “anything goes” policy we had during our break when I was in Spain). The rules are as follows:

• Dates must be disclosed in advance.

• Potential suitors must know about the existence of the other person.

• Kissing is basically like shaking hands – doesn’t need to be disclosed unless it leads into a date.

• Condoms must be used with all extraneous sexual partners.

We’re so honest with each other that we rarely even fight anymore. I told him when I joined OkCupid, and he joined soon thereafter. We deactivated our OkCupid accounts somewhere around the same time, since neither of us had any luck meeting people in whom we were truly interested. A few months ago, when a trio of boys chatted up a couple of friends and I at a bar, I joked with him about it afterwards. We still talk to each other about our crushes, including one in particular that was so deep and overwhelming that I thought for sure it would tear us apart.

But even with the most destructive of crushes, honest communication was and is the key to making it work – in this particular scenario, my boyfriend ended up giving me permission to date this person despite his misgivings about the situation. The crush fizzled out anyway, but I had even more respect for my boyfriend afterwards for being so rational and levelheaded about it all.

When I envision the trajectory of my life, he is the one I see at the end. He will always be the person I choose when it comes down to it, and I know he feels the same. So why not have some fun with other people along the way?

________________________________________________________________________

How do you feel about monogamy vs. open relationships? Have you and your partner ever tried an open arrangement? Weigh in below.

*Editor’s note: if you’re looking for a convincing case for open relationships, read the brilliant book Sex At Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray and What It Means for Modern Relationships

This article originally appeared on EmandLo.com and was reposted with the author’s permission. For more info on the writer, check out Kristine’s awesome personal tumblr blog

Best of FKMYSELF: The 12-Year-Old Virgin

One of our readers recounts hitting a pre-teen home run:

By Spanksy

I was supposed to have this written a few weeks ago, but I kept getting distracted and procrasturbating! …Get it? Procrastinating and Mas…tur…bating… *tap *tap Is this thing on?

To say that I was a little sexually precocious as a child would be like saying death valley gets kind of warm in July, that Warren Buffett can probably afford to pick up the check for lunch and that Ron Jeremy has bedded a few women; clearly it’s a complete understatement.

By the time I hit adolescence, I was acting as girl crazy as my 18 and 21 year old cousins. Since I spent most of my youth shadowing them, I picked up things about girls, sex and the attitude that got you both. I was bursting with self confidence and I knew how to wield my sexuality even if, at that point, I still had no fucking clue what sex was really about. But I thought I did.

So it should have been no surprise when I soon after, at the age of 12, lost my virginity.

Ha! “Lost”. “Lost my virginity” is such a funny phrase to me. Lost seems to imply an accident has taken place. “Threw that mother fucker over a cliff” is more apt to describe the tenacity with which I pursued the elusive Vagina. I was on a mission to cure a horny condition. And unlike most other 12 year olds (and unfortunately many much older men) I knew what the clitoris was and more importantly where it sleeps at night and how it likes to be talked to. I knew how to kiss passionately and about how to listen to the needs of each individual woman.

I realize that losing one’s virginity sub 14 years old isn’t very common. I realize that many people have a problem with this. I will be one of the first to say that for 99.9% of kids that age, it is a bad idea. Personally, I have no regrets about it. Whenever I get into a conversation with someone about past sexual experiences and we eventually get to the topic of our virginity, the look I get is always one of two things: 1. Confusion/disbelief. 2. Nervous smile. Mostly it’s a combination of the two strangely alternating on their face in a “what the fuck do I say here?” kind of dance. To understand how at the age of 12 I had sex with a woman of 28, you should probably hear a little about what my upbringing was like.

I can remember touching myself and exploring what was going on down there from as early as 6 years old. I have a memory from when I was about 7 years old about my mom discussing masturbation with me. She’s nervous and a little awkward as she tells me it’s a natural thing that everyone does. Apparently the night before, she returned home from grocery shopping and caught a glimpse of me giving myself the business in my room. Apparently she also began purposely making noise so I would hear she was home and stop my one man band short of the impending crescendo. Apparently I was having too much damn fun to notice there was a world beyond me and my penis, and kept right on going. She decided she should have a talk with me the next day. The thing was, I already knew it wasn’t something shameful or bad…it felt so good, how could it be? But still, when I look back, I am grateful to have had a parent that at least got this part of it right. Had I been in another type of household where masturbation is a “sin” or something to be ashamed of, who knows how that would have shaped me for the rest of my life.

At 9 I found my step-father’s box ‘o porn. Some good shit, some pretty weird shit. And this was before ubiquitous online smut of every flavor and hue. When he discovered some of his tapes were out of place, he asked me about it and I admitted my actions. He never once said anything negative about it. He would openly joke with me about it, but never in a way that was meant to make me feel silly or ashamed.

At 11, my mom agreed to let me keep a stack of Playboy magazines which her current boyfriend had, at first, unsuccessfully tried to sneak over for me. This made me a very popular kid among my friends.

This open parental consent and championing of sexuality was the seed of my blooming sexual confidence. This of course led to confidence in other aspects of my personality and you might argue that this is what led to me having sex at such a young age. You might, but you’d be wrong. Mostly wrong, anyway. I believe the biggest contributing factor was actually what my parents got wrong about my upbringing. My biological father would never be in the picture and my step-father was almost never there. My mother was a single parent for most of my life and took a rather “laissez-faire” stance on my rearing. I never had a curfew and I was very rarely in any kind of trouble with her for the trouble that I was in with other authority figures. Exploration was common not just with sex, but also with drugs and other forms of behavior.

My Cherry Poppin’ Mama, let’s just call her Mary Kay, was actually a close friend of my mom; and the mother of a friend of mine. Got it? Not exactly a perfect situation, but it was what it was. Mary Kay and I had a bit of an affair building for some time. It started out one night with a kiss that left her briefly in shock; I still remember her pulling back after a few seconds and saying, “You’re not supposed to know how to kiss like that” before going back in for more. Each time we would be at a social gathering, she and I would sneak off and I would sweet talk her like I had learned to do. I would touch her and ask her to describe how it felt so her mind would focus deeply on each touch. After a number of these secret meetings, one night I came home from being out with friends to find her at my house. She had made an excuse to my mom for why she needed to be there.

This was premeditated.

She waited for my mom to fall asleep and told her she would let herself out. When I walked in the door, she pounced. She pulled me close and whispered to me that she couldn’t stand it any longer, that she needed to have me now. I picked her up and carried her to my room as silently as possible. My mom was sleeping in the next room and I knew that despite how open she had been before, this would not be something that she would be okay with. Mary Kay pulled off my shirt and tore at my belt before slowing down like she was about to undo the last bit of ribbon on a birthday present. She took me in her mouth and began to moan as nature took over and my penis became a cock. She was speeding up and seemed now too eager to have me inside of her. I slowed her down and stripped her remaining clothes off one by one. As I laid her on her back, I went down on her with a zealousness seldom seen in competitive eating champions. I covered her mouth with my hand to muffle her sounds, her back arched and her muscles tensed in one unifying tight burst before relaxing and sinking back into my shitty, polyester, KMart bed spread. She then took me in her hands and stroked until I was ready. That first moment when you have breached the walls and feel yourself surrounded by the warmth and wetness is not easy to describe. I felt for the first time the miracle of sex. The simultaneous delight of pleasing and being pleased.

That was my first time. I kept it a secret for a whole week before I told my best friend at the time. I replayed each moment in detail and felt a different kind of excitement come over me. The thought of not just my friend, but knowing that this story will eventually get out and other girls soon having thoughts of me rock around in their mind thoroughly excited me. I had a premonition of what was to come for the next several years of my life. My legend was established. I was the youngest person anyone knew of that had sex. I was also the only one to have slept not with a girl, but a woman. By the time High School came along, most other people I knew were openly having sex and exploring their sexuality. High School was a very fun and educational time for many of us in this sense.

In college my number of partners grew. However, so did my understanding of sex and the purpose it can have in one’s life and relationships. Sex is at it’s best for me when it’s with someone I truly care about. Sex with anyone else is still pretty good, mind you, but it took me a long time and a number of sexual encounters to fully comprehend what some people already knew: that there is a depth and tranquility that come with giving all of yourself and receiving all of another in mind and body. First, however, you must understand yourself. Be understanding of your flaws and remember that love is all around you. You reach this special place by first loving yourself and a great way to begin is by loving yourself physically. Today, I maintain that an open attitude towards sex and masturbation are crucial to overall mental health and in feeling connected not just with another, but with yourself and a greater, more mysterious energy you feel when at peace.

No matter how you lost it, or if you still haven’t, learn from what took me a while to figure out is most important. Work on loving yourself and someone will eventually love you the same.

Any questions, comments, statements, inquiries or things you want to know? Please feel free to speak up below.

Brave teen responds to “I’m Christian Unless You’re Gay”

By J.S. |

Blogger Dan Pearce from Danoah.com published a piece last November entitled “I’m Christian Unless You’re Gay” in response to the hatred and prejudice he has witnessed over the years directed towards the LGBT community by supposedly loving religious right-wingers. This week Pearce shared with readers an emotional e-mail he received from a very conservative mother whose son had been given a homework assignment in class to write a reflection on the blog post. Not realizing that her child had been hiding his sexual orientation from the family, she angrily threw out the assignment and gave him ” an earful about homosexuality and God.”

Hours later she discovered he had sneaked out of the house to do the assignment at a friend’s home and refused to return until she read his response. This is what he e-mailed to his mother:

I am gay and only my one friend knows so far. My mom doesn’t know yet. My dad doesn’t know yet. You didn’t know it when you gave us this homework. I am only 15 years old and I have never felt so alone. My mom and dad always are being angry about gay people and talking about how they are bad and going to hell and they also always talk about how all the gays should be shipped off to their own private island or something so that the rest of us could live God’s commandments in peace.

I have been so scared of them finding out that I’m gay because I know that they would hate me and would want me out of their life and at the same time I can’t keep this secret anymore because it is not something I asked for, never in a million years would I ask to be gay in a town like this where everybody would hate me. And anyways I can’t keep this secret anymore because I’m about to do something crazy like run away or hurt myself or something. I just want to be dead sometimes.

And then you gave us the assignment to write this essay for our homework and I read it like ten times I even skipped lunch and just kept reading it in the bathroom and by the time I went home I decided that maybe I am only 15 years old but maybe this town will change if I can be honest about who I am and maybe my family will change if I can be honest about who I am with them too. I don’t see why I don’t deserve love just like everyone else. I see some crazy stuff that so many people do and people still love them but for some reason everybody around here thinks its ok to hate gays and stuff. And I don’t know really I think I just realize that I don’t want to be Jacob in ten years and still live my life in secret and scared of being hated.

So I go home and I tell my mom to read this handout you gave us and she got so mad at me and started going crazy about how evil gays are and how all of this was just the devil spreading his work and everything else she said. But this time I just got mad myself and I got so mad because I suddenly realize that this is the woman that my whole life made me go to church where they talk about love just like the writer said but she and every other person I pretty much know just hate so many people especially gay people. So I got madder and madder and madder and then I snuck out and came to my friends house to write this essay because its time to stop letting people’s hate stop me from being happy. I mean should I really have to hate my life and want to die because other people are so hating?

And I don’t know what will happen but I am done playing like I’m something I’m not and if my parents don’t love me anymore because of this then I realize that’s not my problem and it will hurt but not as much as the way I hurt right now. I feel like if my mom and dad would just think about things they’d realize that what they always say and how they always hate gays is not what Jesus would do and maybe there is a chance that they will some day love me like Jesus would. I am their kid afterall.

Tonight I am going to send this to my mom and see what she says I guess. I don’t know what will happen but I know that I deserve to be loved just like everybody else does I just hope she thinks so too.

I was incredibly moved by his courage and honesty. This is what his mom had to say about it:

Obviously you can imagine the emotions and thoughts that were going through my head when I read that… 

I started crying and couldn’t stop for the longest time. I don’t know why I was crying exactly, just so many emotions came over me. I didn’t know what to do or how to respond. I finally stopped and went and read your article once more only this time I tried to read it through my son’s eyes and the whole thing was so different than it was a couple hours before. By the time I finished I felt as big as an ant and I realized just how much hatred I have in my heart toward others.

You see, Mr. Pearce, you are right. It’s not about what other people do. It’s about whether or not we are loving them. Nothing else matters at all. And it took all of this for that to finally sink in.

I texted my son back that I loved him and left it at that. He came home that night and didn’t try to talk to me about it, I just told him I loved him at least ten times that night and made sure not to talk about anything else. My love for him was the only thing I wanted him to feel and I knew he’d talk to me about it when he was ready.

That was a month ago and in the last month my son and I (his dad lives three states away and still doesn’t know) have grown much closer than we ever were before. We have both stood up against hate several times when we hear it coming from the people around us. You see, where we live people really do have problems “being Christian unless…” But no longer in this home.

I’ve shared your article now with countless people. I have made my sisters read it. I talked about its message to my parents. I sent it to my friends and neighbors. And I’ve had some people get really upset by it, but a change is starting to happen around here and it’s because one teenage boy finally had the courage to stand against what he felt was wrong. He believed he could make a change. And I’ll tell you right now, it makes me happy to see him so happy. I never knew how unhappy he was until I could finally see how happy he could be.

So thank you. I know this is long, but I thought you’d like to know what your article has done in this little town we live in. And it’s just the beginning.

Sincerely yours, one proud mom.

If only this kind of tolerance and compassion were present in every family. I hope that more parents can learn to embrace their children just  as they are and speak out against sexual intolerance. All it takes is one brave person to make a difference.

More of these billboards wouldn’t hurt either:

 

Images from clinicallyclueless.blogspot.com

I slept with my favorite porn star

BY TRACY CLARK-FLORY |

Sleeping with my favorite male performer gave me new appreciation for the difference between fantasy and reality

I was at a neighborhood bar when in walked a man that I’d slept with before — virtually speaking. We had traded intimacies without ever having met.

I grabbed my friend’s arm and whispered, “My favorite male porn star just walked in the door.” She looked at me dumbfounded: “You have a favorite male porn star?” OK, so the competition isn’t steep and, yes, I’m one of those mythic women who actually like porn (but for the record, we make up an estimated one-third of visits to adult sites). When I first clicked across this man — with his smoldering eyes, strong nose and athletic body — it allowed me to forget for a moment that porn is largely made by and for men. He’s a rare male performer who is charismatic, young and handsome — everything the infamous Ron Jeremy is not.

Seeing him in person, there was one thought on my mind: I need to sleep with him.

Continue reading at Salon

Image from http://www.kickette.com/

Readers Confess: Pleasure and Pain

By Minoru |

It was a couple weeks after my 21st birthday and I had to have an intense abdominal surgery. The 3 inch vertical incision went through my belly button. During my recovery I wasn’t able to move much or even sit up. With all this time to kill, I decided to see how many times I could orgasm in one day. Little did I know that every time I came, my stomach muscles would contract right under the incision. This created a strange sensation of intense pumps of pleasure immediately followed by sharp stabbing pains. After the first 3 I was able to ignore the pain (With a little help from the prescribed Vicodin) and appreciate the 5 seconds of pure ecstasy.

I took a nap after the 7th orgasm and woke up to a phone call from my ex girlfriend. She found my situation absolutely hilarious. “Ha ha, you can’t cum!” she teased me. Even though she refused to have phone sex, she kept me company for a couple of hours and then it was back to jackin it.

At the end of the day (maybe around 10 hours) I pulled out a solid 14 orgasms. Ghost loads included. The ordeal wasn’t as physically demanding as you would imagine, but the real challenge was using the mouse with my left hand :)

14! What is the greatest amount of orgasms you’ve had in one day? Weigh in below.

Image from http://theobjectofmydesire.tumblr.com/

Readers Confess: Roxy Girl

By Platonique |

Part 2 in a series of diary submissions from one of our UK readers.

Tuesday night. Roxy. A girl. Her name is Beatrice. She is Italian. And has a tattoo. The tattoo says (in Italian) that in pain lies pleasure. I’m listening to a thousand different versions of Franki Valli’s ‘Can’t take my eyes off of you’. There are no words left to speak. But if you feel like I feel etc. I walk her to Soho and we drink strong coffee in a café that stays open all night. Then we walk to Trafalgar square. The sun is just coming up. And there are ducks in the fountain. Mallards. Everywhere there are people sitting together. Lovers. Groups. Everyone has that hazy post-club air. Their clothes probably smell smokey like mine. She has a kind face and these huge eyes. In the club she was wearing a pink wig but now I see her hair comes down to her shoulders, luscious. One side of her head is shaved and there’s another tattoo of a question mark behind her ear. She kisses me and I kiss her back. Because she’s there. And there is no reason why I shouldn’t. She tells me that when she saw me outside Roxy she wanted to take me home. But now that I’ve talked to her she likes me (I remind her of her brother) and she wants to take things slow.

And I saw Rachel’s cunt again earlier today. When we tried to fuck. Rachel has this tiny little cunt with a subtle arrow of pubic hair pointing down like a road sign. I wanted to fuck her but couldn’t get hard enough. She smiled and laughed nervously and asked me to get off her. We were attempting to fuck in the library. She would have been the third girl I have done this with.

Her: ‘Boys are weird’

Me: Blank.

At around half four in the morning Beatrice walks with me to her bus stop and we kiss again. A lot. There’s this drunk who keeps asking us for a cigarette and praying to himself. He looks like the kind of guy who shits himself. He shits himself. Probably. She whispers that I’m amazing. Which I will let her believe even after this.

Adam told me that no one ever pulls anyone in the Roxy. I didn’t technically prove him wrong. But I feel good about the whole thing anyway…

Beatrice comes up on Facebook chat and I say Hi. She’s a bit distant and cold because stood her up on Friday when I was asleep in Oxford and supposed to meet her for a drink in Central. I ended up waking up really late and watching horror films I hadn’t seen until dawn. Body parts. I invite myself over anyway to see her and she’s cool with it. Turns out she lives in New Cross which is past Peckham and the furthest South I’ve ever been. It’s evening and I end up getting the bus over which takes about an hour because there’s a tube strike. It’s packed so I have to stand all the way but the sun‘s shining though so I don‘t really mind. The buildings slowly get grottier and lower off the ground and there’s a man on the phone next to me talking about how he’s going to mash someone. I frown a bit and he notices and gives me this look.

I meet Beatrice, she’s waiting at the bus stop and wearing this cute little denim jacket which reminds me of Alice. We go for a drink in this Hawley Arms-esque pub with high ceilings and very obvious locals; all crinkles and beer guts. We sit outside for a bit and smoke and she tells me about her ex-fiancée in her thick Italian accent, but I’m not really listening because I’m worried I’m going to have to either tell her a load of lies about my body later (because I‘m pretty sure we‘ll fuck), or just tell her the truth. In the end when she’s talking about the days she spends when she can’t get up no matter what and can’t move because she’s so sad, I just blurt out the whole thing which doesn’t shock her at all. I tell her about Celine and events this time last year, paying particular descriptive attention to the white-washed corridors and the strange people I met, because I know she relishes my English accent. She asks to see my scars so I show her and she looks at them like they’re rare sea shells. Then we play pool and listen to jukebox songs she puts on. It’s all Indie crap but I don’t mind and I lose to her at pool.

We fuck in her little room which is in this tiny Victorian house behind a supermarket. She has a nice body with low, medium tits and a smooth curve down her back to her firm buttocks. Her face is a bit strange up close and the shaved side of her head kind of freaks me out, so I just close my eyes when I’m kissing her face and spend most of the time kissing her stomach and eating her out. She’s very hairy. She comes hard twice when we fuck – her on top, me almost crushed. There’s this moment where she leans over to get a bottle of water from the table by the bed whilst I’m still inside her, which I thought was strange, but kind of funny. She pours water into my mouth, which is hot. But it takes me ages to come and I only do when I fuck her in the missionary position and imagine she’s someone else.

She’s cute afterwards and wants my opinion on various clothes she has. She’s going to Italy at the weekend and packs all the clothes I say I like, even though I know nothing about her really and think it’s a bit odd she cares so highly about my opinion. She asks me if I’m hungry, and when I say yes she magically produces this epic pizza menu and we order a load of pizza and chicken. On the phone she asks the guy if he can pick us up some condoms on the way over (she’s only half joking) but it’s ok when the guy says no because her flatmate has some.

We eat loads and drink beers from her fridge. Then we fuck again. It’s better this time, because I’m more drunk and less nervous and we come at the same time, which has never happened to me before. In the morning I took the bus with her to her work which is in Pimlico at this Italian café and I meet her friends, who all speak even less English than Beatrice. So I leave and meet up with Joe and tell him about it. He smiles and tells me about his trip to Leicester. God only knows what I’d be without you.

Stay tuned for more from Platonique.

Image from http://www.freephoto.in/

Readers Confess: Strange Summer Nights

By Platonique |

The first of several diary confessions sent in from one of our UK readers:

Joe tells me he’s writing a story with two endings. The first line’s going to go something like this. This is a story with two endings. Both of them are bad but you can choose which one to read, like one of those adventure books with the numbered sections. It’s a story about a man called Peter who works at a dog’s home where they keep strays until no one claims them and they have to be put down. To amuse themselves the people who work there try and breed strange combinations of dog. One day they get carried away and inject this tiny bitch with Great Dane semen. She lives for a couple of months but pretty soon her womb ruptures. She dies, as does the puppy. This actually happened. Or at least it can happen. So Peter meets this girl at a club and starts seeing her. They get pretty serious and he falls in love, pretty quickly because this is only a short story. But when he tries to fuck her he can’t because her cunt is too small. In the first ending they have a cigarette and talk about how sad it is that they can never actually consummate their love because she loves him too and really wants to fuck. But in the second ending he successfully fucks her but she dies from internal bleeding like the dog at the beginning of the story.

I tell Joe that they’re both pretty bleak endings. He just nods and blames the human condition. We’re sitting in this little café up by Holburn tube and there’s these two fat girls sitting at a table near us sipping cappuccinos and looking at us. They’re smiling and I think it’s because they like my hair and my new jeans which are black. Sophia told me that I got 25 percent hotter when I bought these jeans, a sentiment which I kind of like. But these girls could just be staring because Joe’s hair is pretty massive and he always wears these really shiny girl’s tops from American Apparel. Joe’s got an espresso and I’m drinking this frothy milkshake thing with cream on the top. It’s the first thing I’ve drunk today.

Pretty soon Joe says we should go and get something to drink so we walk up to Sainsbury’s and get this bottle of vodka and some diet coke. We walk over to Russell Square and drink the vodka and mixer for a bit and chat about girls. I’ve already told him about Kate. She inspired the story actually. But I don’t love Kate and I didn’t fuck her. But that actually was because she was too small. Which is pretty funny when you think about it.

I met up with Kate at the Ritzy in Brixton. We ordered a pizza from the bar. I vaguely knew the guy who served me because he did the same course as me. We sat on this little terrace and after we’d eaten the pizza I started smoking Lucky Strike Reds which I bought to impress her, but which tasted really harsh and she just brushed the smoke away from her in delicate little waves. She’s got tiny little hands. She tells me that she’s still not sure.

Me. ‘How can you still not know’.

Kate. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ever know until I’ve actually done it’.

Me. ‘Okay’.

In retrospect this conversation, and all the thousand others I’ve had with her (all the same subject) seem pretty futile. I mean, I couldn’t even fuck her in the end. And it’s been a long three years of attempts.

We go back to her flat and pretty soon I try and kiss her. She’s turned the lights down low in her room and it feels like the right thing to do, even though I know her boyfriend quite well. Later, when I leave I tell her he must be tiny, which he must be. He’s a music student studying in some small town. He has a pot belly and a beard and seems to be perpetually smiling. His music is shit. She turns away and tells me that she won’t kiss me on the mouth but that I shouldn’t go. So I start kissing her on the neck and she takes off her t-shirt and I start kissing her stomach. She has this great hourglass figure and my hard-on is pretty rock solid and its made worse by my skinny jeans. I take off her bra and to my surprise she has these huge nipples on her firm little breasts that stick out like clothes pegs. I’m slightly disconcerted by this but I put them in my mouth and knead her buttocks with my fingers. Later on I’ll bite her on the arse and leave teeth marks that I know will bruise so that he’ll find them when he next tries to fuck her. I’m pretty pleased by this and she’ll ask me why I’m laughing and I’ll say it’s because she’s so fucking beautiful. Which isn’t even really a lie.

We do this for literally hours, but she keeps stopping and lying back and staring at the ceiling as though there’s some explanation of what she should do written up there (there isn’t).

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘No I’m not, don’t lie.’

‘You’re beautiful and I think I love you a little bit’. Which is a lie.

She made me listen to fucking Martha Wainwright as well. Which I was not happy about. And it all ended pretty horribly. I’m guessing I won’t see her again. At least not for a long while. Joe also told me this joke. A guy is sitting in a room with no windows reading a book. A flourescant light is burning. Another guy comes in and turns off the light, plunging the room into total darkness. ‘Oh my god I’m blind’ the guy says. Laughing, the other guy switches the light on again. ‘Oh my god, I’m blind’ the guy says, again. The coincidence is that he went blind at that precise moment. I thought it was funny.

Stay tuned for more from “Platonique”

Image from mylot.com

The L.A. Producer Who Pleases Herself Eight Times a Day

New York Magazine publishes anonymous sex diary submissions about every week that always make for a stimulating read. Being a bi-curious filmmaker in the City of Angels, my interest was piqued by their most recent posting about The L.A. Producer Who Pleases Herself Eight Times a Day (Jebus) and manages to squeeze in “Five blowjobs; three acts of fingering or being fingered; seven acts of penetrative sex; twenty-two acts of masturbation” in the course of one week with 4 partners? 5? I lost count somewhere in between The Model and The Director. I’m a little skeptical about the timetable but then again, this is L.A. and things do move pretty fast. In addition to pleasuring herself in the office bathroom, this unnamed bisexual adventurer enjoys getting off in steam rooms (like me!). To echo the comment of one reader: “I aspire to find a career that allows for excessive/plentiful daily masturbation.” Running a sex blog might be a good start…

Read all the juicy details here.

 

Image from motifake.com