I started posting again a few months ago, with fervor, and I don’t intend to let a year go by without writing and interacting, but my life has taken a turn for the better in recent weeks, and that turn has required a lot of time and energy.

First, there is the aforementioned return to academics. After my first attempt at college immediately after high school (which ended terribly and left me feeling rather hopeless in that regard) I took a few years off before starting to take classes casually again- one at a time. Now, with the encouragement of D (my wonderful significant other and support system) I’ve declared my major and started working towards my Bachelors of Science in [unnamed technical field].

Second, and perhaps most important, is the move that I’m making. D. recently accepted a job in a somewhat-nearby metropolitan area and, after roughly two years together, I’m moving with him. Living with him and working a [to be determined] part time job will allow me to focus more on school, which is what I need right now. I’ve lived with family since dropping out of school- and as glamorous as that sounds, it is definitely time for a move.

It’s a big step, for me and for monogamy. I’ll attempt to update as I see fit. I’m sure having our own place will lead to more adventurous bedroom antics- once we actually have a bed.

It sounds incredibly lame to say, but ever since I started fucking on the regular, I find myself fantasizing about my partner more than anything or anyone else. Even lamer still, most of these “fantasies” are just actual events replayed in my mind’s eye, ones I can rewind and play back whenever I please. Truth be told, it is just easier for me to summon up an actual event, rather than having my mind invaded by worries or random (unsexy) thoughts. I am so easily distracted.

The most recent event I find myself reliving is from a few weeks ago. I’d been prancing around his room, showing off my new (matching, for a change) lingerie set under a snug-fitting sweater. After I’d finished smoothing and inspecting everything in the full length mirror I found myself turned and pinned, my hips hugging the edge of the bed as his hands slid over my breasts, waist, and ass. We unbuttoned and undressed only as much as we had to, pants hanging in limbo between my hips and my knees.

He fucked me then, urgently. That is typically how we find ourselves in the beginning, frenzied in our need to please one another, to please ourselves. It is not often that we take things slow. As his cock slid in and out of my dripping cunt, my body pinned to the bed, his husky whisper of, “I can’t wait to come inside you again,” left me spinning.

(Note: We’re sticklers for birth control, after an incident last year that I may write about at a later date. As I’m not on the pill/shot/etc. at the moment, condom-free fucking is a brief and savored treat, lasting only long enough to:

I fucking hate condoms.)

After he pulled out, both of us gasping and eager for more, I was about to suck him off when he told me to turn over. The urgency dissipated, for a few minutes at least, as his cock slipped into my ass and his arms surrounded me. As we drew closer to the climax, our bodies sweat-slick and tangled, he asked if he should slow down.

My reply was wordless, a gasp and a match of pace.

It was one of the first times in a long time that we’ve laid there for a few minutes after the fact, curled up together and content. Usually we’re too busy busying ourselves with other things.

I think I’ve gone soft.

Witness greatness:

"..an explosion of sexy and beauty.."

"She still is cute when she's pissed."

"The dishwasher is good for making your filthy life clean."

There’s plenty of sexy, plenty of funny, plenty of candid and plenty of real. Send him some love.

One thing I haven’t really written about is fantasy- it is much easier, I think, to retell actual events than to attempt to decipher and put to words the flashes of thought and feeling I experience when bringing myself to orgasm. Fantasy is difficult to describe, but ever since I discovered masturbation and the power of the daydreaming escape mechanism, there have been a few recurring themes that I’d like to discuss (in this post, and hopefully later posts- no commitments).

When I was little, the non-material thing I wanted most in the world was an older brother. It was a bit late by that point, but I dreamed anyway. I wanted a protector and a playmate (my little sister was too young to be any fun). I fantasized about coming home after a bad day at school and having him- the nameless, faceless brother figure- there for me to cry to. He would set me in his lap and let me sob on his shoulder, he would hug me and tell me it would be alright.

Within a few years that innocent fantasy shifted. It evolved thanks to my exposure to the very idea of sex, coupled with the sense of rejection I felt when boys my age didn’t show interest in me. I was lonely, and that brother figure of my fantasy world kept me company.

He told me I was pretty. He stroked my hair. I buried my face in his neck while his fingers traveled purposefully up my thighs, beneath my skirt and to the waistband of my panties. I gasped, he soothed. As my own fingers brought about another quivering orgasm beneath starchy sheets in my dark bedroom, fantasy brother showed me he cared whatever way my pubescent mind decided was best. Sometimes he only stroked and petted, and other times my virginity was gifted willingly, eagerly, in the warmth of this imagined love.

This fantasy persists to this day, the hypothetical incest with occasional  hint of ageplay. I’m not ashamed- I know where it comes from, and I recognize the manifestations of it in my present day sex life. When D., the man I’m seeing now, runs his fingers through my hair and tells me I’ve been a good girl as his cock slips into my throat.. I make the connection.

Every time I look at this blog I feel a little guilty for neglecting it. It was my baby, my deviant pride and joy. I nutured it, then tossed it aside when I got distracted by life. I’ve started and erased so many posts in the past 13 months because I either lost motivation or they didn’t feel real enough.

Well, here’s another, better late than never. I can’t say when I’ll write next, but for now this is all I have to offer.

I’ve been seeing the same man for over a year and a half now, which is a record for me (note: technically first relationship lasted roughly that long, though I had checked out emotionally by month eight or so). There have been plenty of ups, and plenty of downs, but one thing I have enjoyed over the past 18 months is the chance to continue exploring an ever-evolving sexuality. I crave the opportunity to fuck him, to kiss the lace edge of his stockinged thighs, and to be fucked like a whore on my knees.

My boyfriend likes to wear panties, and I like to pull them down with my teeth.

The day after he first told me (though I’d realized he was interested long before), I went out and bought him a pair of soft, lacey boyshorts. The romp that followed was thrilling, as was rubbing my cheek against the bulge beneath that soft cotton. A few weeks later, we bought stockings (I wanted matching ones, which he still thinks is a bit odd, but I quite like the idea). Eventually I provided him with a hand-me-down garter belt of mine, and let him keep a slip I’d forgotten at his house.

The entire ensemble is awesome as hell, as is the excitement I feel when I realize he’s wearing it under his hoodie and jeans.

I have had some trouble dealing with one thing, though I am starting to sort my feelings out. Last night he asked how I’d feel if he said he wanted to suck a guy’s cock. He told me to take some time to think about it, which was good- my initial impulse was to respond with “sure, go for it, just tell me how it went!” but that would be a dishonest answer.

In reality, my own lingering insecurities made it a little harder to accept. I didn’t want to keep him from an experience that expands on his evolving sexuality, I really didn’t. I wanted to be understanding, but in the back of my mind all I could hear was “he’s losing interest in you- he’ll start to drift because you’re not attractive to him anymore, were you ever?”

Today I addressed those concerns, though it took me a couple tries to stop skirting around the issue and say what I really meant. Though he was honest when he said he couldn’t predict his interests 5 minutes or 5 years from now, he did quell my fears. To paraphrase, he likes that I like to be fucked like a whore, and that I like to fuck him too. It’s as simple as that, and that’s all I really needed to hear.

I have more time to think about it, to decide what I’d be comfortable with. As it stands, I’d always be more comfortable with a threesome than I am with the idea of him sucking cock while I sit at home and let the negative thoughts fester. I’m comfortable with threesomes- been there, done that. Knowing that my boyfriend is out there with someone else? That’s something else entirely.

In the end I think I’ll just have to set some “ground rules,” so to speak, for the sake of his exploration and my sanity.  I have no doubt that a retelling of his encounter will leave me wet and eager to pounce on him again.

Time will tell.

And so, I apologize. I’m hoping to write when I can as I’ve had some.. rather fantastic sex lately. After dumping the dehumanizing asshole I wasted a year on (and never really wrote about- for a reason), I spent a few months on casual relationships. During that time, I seriously considered (and nearly did) take up a man’s offer- money for a pleasant afternoon. Given his determination to convince me to let him go without a condom, I ended up politely declining and shortly thereafter found a far more legit job with a small local company.

During that time, I began seeing a boy my own age- very strange for me. He’s an odd duck, and I’ve grown to love him.

[When I typed that sentence initially, it read "He's an odd duck, but I've grown to love him." That makes it sound so negative. I think his peculiar way of viewing the world and responding to me is all the more reason to use that scary verb.. even if it does lead to more than the usual number of arguments over silly things.]

We are adventurous, of course. That is nothing new for me, but for him.. I think having wild sex, unashamed, started off as a novelty. The most interesting part for me has been the power exchange. I knew from the beginning that he was a switch, and while I’d always identified as a submissive exclusively, after awhile I found that I really, really enjoyed taking the lead, administering that sort of.. nurturing, guiding dominance that I sometimes display in my public life. He fucks me, and sometimes I fuck him too.

One of the most unique experiences with regards to power exchange happened recently, and became the first time I can actually remember fantasizing during sex. I was there, but I wasn’t- my mind had reversed our roles as much as he had when he straddled me while I lay prone (and oddly clothed). We didn’t say anything about it at the time, but we both knew what the other was thinking while I dug my fingertips into his thighs, grinding up into him, bucking and rolling my hips and reveling in each of his moans.

Soon I’ll buy us a present. This is still a fairly new idea for me, but I’ve found it invading my thoughts at the most appropriate and inappropriate times. I fantasize about fucking him, about urging him to suck my cock- and on the flip side, I crave his dominance.

He does it so well- just tonight he pinned me beneath him, pushing my face into the pillow, my breasts into the mattress, while his cock slid in and out of my ass. His forearm pressed over the back of my neck, he’d tell me what a good girl I’d been (even still, “good girl” is one of those phrases that makes me tingle down to my toes), or call me a fucking whore (which I am- and right now I’m his fucking whore). He likes to choke me, and I like to be choked. The panic, the momentary euphoria, and the gasping for breath all compliment the feeling of being pounded brutally by a stiff prick.

Thank god I’m going back tomorrow. We’ll have a few beers, and go a few rounds. I fully intend to take the lead at some point tomorrow. It’s been awhile.

I did have one bit of excitement yesterday that’s worth noting. I was waiting in the exam room at my doctor’s office when my phone buzzed. I barely had time to flip it open and read the message before the doctor came in and I had to shove it back into my pocket again. It was a text from William, informing me that he found a pair of my black panties between his couch cushions, and that the discovery left his cock hard.

It was virtually impossible to get through the appointment perfectly composed. The moment I read that, I pressed my thighs together a bit harder and tried to fight back the flush that most certainly colored my cheeks. Memories flashed through my mind as I worked  to recall the precise situation that left my underwear buried in his couch..

Was it when we sat at opposite ends and watched intently as we each masturbated for the others viewing pleasure? He gave me a little vibrator to use, and I got to see just how he handled his swollen prick. That satisfied my exhibitionistic tendencies quite thoroughly. We didn’t get off then. It was the prelude to more teasing, then fervent pounding. But I digress- no, I don’t think it was then.

Was it the night he lit a fire in the fireplace and fucked me over the plush arm of that very familiar couch? His cock stiff and buried to the hilt in my cunt, then pulled away just enough to tease and hear me beg wordlessly before he’d shove it back in with a growl. My cunt, always dripping, always wanting, pulsing around his shaft- he got off, then he got me off, and all was right with the world for a little while.

I think it was then. I think it was when he peeled the snug little hipsters down off my ass and over my thighs, discarding them carelessly only to have them shoved between the cushions as we fucked each other oh-so-eagerly. I didn’t even notice, satisfied as I was, when the brand new pair of underwear I’d bought that day didn’t go home with me. Whatever the cause, I’ll be retrieving them soon. The retrieval could take hours, though- days, even, if I had my way.

Maybe I haven’t been so starved for inspiration after all.

The male fantasy is much simpler.  While a woman’s primary motive is feeling, a man’s is simple sensory experience.  This desire makes men selfish lovers, but it’s not a conscious failure: it is particularly focused on maximizing the pleasure from the interaction of bodies.  Again, this is not a lecture as to why this is true; it is not even universally true- there are men out there that only desire to be tender lovers.  But on average, the man’s fantasy is primal, intense and raw.

The easiest way to understand this is to think of pornography.  Pictures are crude, they objectify the women and above all, they are extremely simple.  The nude female stands or sits in a provocative pose, displayed vulgarly.  Women are turned off by videos because the plots are notoriously cheesy.  They can’t buy in because their first impression ruins the entire experience.  Men never care about the plots: the interest is in the woman, it’s about the penetration scenes and money shots.  All of these are action shots.  For the woman, the key lesson is mood, mood, mood.

The Animal
A large vocabulary is a woman’s biggest enemy.  Where details are exciting for a woman, they distract a man.  His mind is singularly focused on the interaction of the experience.  In order to create the rich detail, the emphasis should not be placed on the picture but on the background.  This is a harder concept to sell because it’s a more difficult task to master.  The best way to conceptualize it is through mood: make him feel like an animal.  Instead of descriptive adjectives, sentences are short, verbs are emphasized and there is constant action: wrap your legs around his waist, claw at his back.  If you must use descriptions, focus on imagery that emphasizes his primal sense: disheveled hair, bruised thighs, pulsating cunt.  If your cunt pulsates for him, he will fuck you rotten until cum leaks down your thighs.  I promise.

The Object
If the lesson one was to make him feel like an animal, lesson two is to make yourself seem like an object for his animalistic urges.  This lesson goes hand-in-hand and in many cases, overlap.  During phone sex, mastering these two concepts is simple: either he is describing what he is doing to you or he is describing what he is doing to himself or vice versa.  It is a primarily one-sided conversation where your role is either to drive the mutual masturbation or tag along for the ride.  It is oh so easy to be the dirty, filthy slut that wants to be used every which way in an one-way conversation.  In cybering, these concepts are much harder.  There always seems to be an incessant need to keep describing; as if there are no words, you’re not doing anything.  This idea is a death sentence for the necessary mood.  The more words needed to fill a scene, the more…civilized it becomes.  The woman becomes more human.  In simpler terms, less is more.  Sometimes an “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck” is better than anything you could ever write.  A man loves a dirty, filthy cum slut.  Become one.

The Ending
When have real sex, the post-coital encounter is the most awkward situation.  Sometimes, it’s just lying next to each other with stars in your eyes.  That’s the good kind of intimacy.  Sometimes, one or both becomes a blubbering mess because so many emotions fill the body, it’s impossible to understand them and they come out in the wrong way: the “L” word is thrown around, superlatives and compliments are handed out like candy.  It’s not that any of these things are bad and in certain cases, you are probably 100% serious in that moment.  But what about 10 minutes later?  30 minutes?  The next day?  Are those feelings the same?  In some cases they are, in some cases they’re not.  Either way, they leave the wrong impression.  That anticipation and anxiety cast a pall over the beauty of the scene.  It’s always natural to want to linger and cuddle after sex.  To promote the guy fantasy though, the fantasy needs to terminate immediately: the tiger pounces, the tiger conquers, the tiger then slinks away into the jungle.  This is easy to do one the phone or in cyber sex: thank him for making you cum and hang up.  Give him a kiss and close the IM box.  Let him know he was wonderful and walk away.  If he wants you to hang around, he’ll let you know.

Mood. Primal, ferocious, passionate, intense.  The male fantasy is all about fucking and the power exchange.  As long as you make him feel king and get out of the way, you will make him cum deeper and harder than he has ever been done before.

The woman’s sense of erotic fantasy is based purely on emotion.  Granted, her body may crave being stuffed in every possible hole.  Her mind, however, wants to feel the experience.  I’m always told that feelings are unique: what one person sees as pleasurable, another person finds disgusting.  There is some truth to this in the real world- you either like the feeling of anal penetration or you do not.  But the beauty of the mind is that you can control those instincts and turn them into pleasurable experiences for your partner: it’s a matter of mastering how you deliver the feeling.  Learn the mantra: Intensity, duration and connection.

Intensity

It starts with word selection.  She loves words; she can’t get enough of them.  In real life, it’s simply a matter of turning these words into a physical reality.  To heighten the experience, the words you should choose should focus on tiny details that intensify and heighten the mental picture that she creates in her mind of the scene.  Women crave the small little details because it paints a deeper picture.  In fact, they would prefer tiny details over the larger ones because their mind can easily fill in the larger gaps without your insistence.  The possibilities are limitless: the touch of your fingers against her back, gently poking into her skin so that you leave a mark; the intensity that burns in your green eyes that track every little detail as you gaze upon her from head to toe.  The deeper you paint the mental picture, the more intense her orgasm will be when she gets there.

Duration

The goal is to make her orgasm.  In real life, if you fail in this task…at least she has the taste of your cum as a consolation prize.  In the mental world, there is no second prize.  Seduction is the key to prolonging the experience.  It prolongs the experience and excites her in a way that you will know if she achieves orgasm without ever asking.  The actual sex is brief in the mental world and it’s not very describable: the cock slides in and out of the pussy.  Sure, you can change positions…but in the end, you’re describing the same thing over and over.  It’s not a durable impression.  Instead, focus on the foreplay between bodies before and during sex.  It can be anything.  Plant a trail of kisses from the top of her neck and down the curve of her spine.  Trace concentric circles around her cunt, making each circle smaller until your index finger rests on her clit.  The longer you can prolong the experience in a descriptive and meaningful way, the longer she can finger herself in real life and get to the orgasm you so desperately want her to have.  If you do it right and long enough, she’ll cum over and over again.

Connection

Fingers are generally a poor substitute to the real thing.  Some women can only achieve orgasm with their fingers, but they’ll all tell you they’d prefer a thick fat cock any day of the week.  Unfortunately, all you have to offer are her fingers. Connection is hard to do without physical intimacy: there is no cradling her in your arms; you cannot kiss her from head-to-toe.  There is no touch whatsoever, there is only words or voice.  So…how to create an intimate mental connection?  The rookie move is to start throwing out the “L” word and whisper sweet nothings into her ear.  Bad, bad, bad.  The point of this exercise is not to deceive her and use her emotional vulnerability against her.  The correct way to achieve this goal in a healthy way is the word “because.”  The word “because” gives her insight into what you are thinking so that she can connect her emotional experience with what you are doing.  A mental connection is formed and she can ride that connection into a pleasurable place.  She might not like deepthroating a cock in real life, but you explain that you want her to try because you love the sensation of her lips against the very base of your cock…she’ll do it.  The word “because” will give her the motivation and determination.  And now a mental connection has formed between the two of you without any deceit or lies.

Intensity.  Duration.  Connection.  The female erotic fantasy is to be made love to.  Put the pieces together to form this picture and she will be yours.

There is no answer to the second question.  The reasons you listen to me are your own: pleasure, entertainment, insight, or something else.  No one reason is better than the other.  However, I think I’m very good at what I do so it’s at least worth a listen…even if you think it’s a load of shit.

As far for who I am…I am a narratophile as well.  But where THE (so there can be no confusion) Narratophile uses the written or spoken word as a means of sexual and physical release, I use it for mental domination.  I crave power, control and order.  She is the needy slut on her knees, touching her clit and moaning to be filled with cock; I am the man standing silently behind her with my lips into her ear, whispering instructions.  Anyone can slip a cock into a pussy and force pleasurable stimulation.  But to convince and cajole another person to willingly touch themselves in any manner you wish…to control their mind?  Delicious. If she is THE Narratophile, I suppose that makes me The Svengali.  Perhaps The Fnord?

I’ve been tasked with the job of exploring the difference between male and female erotica.  From the start, I should note that while I might not know the precise differences, there is a difference.  Knowing this dynamic is the difference between having a knee-buckling orgasm vs. one that puts you instantly to sleep.  If your first instinct after sex is to fall asleep, you haven’t been fucked.  Not properly anyway.  People that get fucked revel in it and then fall asleep.  Those that roll over and close their eyes right away never cared.

Second aside: there is a huge difference between erotica in its physical and mental forms.  In person, your body and mind guide you towards pleasure.  You can see him (or her) react in a certain way and you can respond to it.  Your mind may say ‘no’ or ‘I can’t do it’ but your body will say ‘yes’ and finds a way.  Simply put, there are more tools and information at your disposal to bridge the gap between the male and female perspectives of erotica to make it a pleasurable experience.  The mental world (i.e., words and pure voice) is a completely different animal because the realm of the physical is gone: you’ve lost half your arsenal.  This inherently means less control; instead of contorting your partner’s body in the way you want, you have to convince them that they should do what you want.  It takes more effort and cooperation to have good sex.  Of course, that doesn’t mean mutual moaning into the phone is a bad thing- it’s just…you can do better.

Most of the “insight” in my posts dwells in the mental world because…well, let’s face it: it’s more challenging.  However, a lot of it applies to both the physical and mental fucking (a more appropriate word than erotica, I think).  Also, my purpose is not to complain about the difficulties of bridging the sexual gender gap when it comes to making a wholly satisfying experience (though it is frustrating), nor is it a long explanation to explain why these differences exist.  Rather, this is meant as an exploration in how one gender can unlock that dirty, forbidden fantasy within the recesses of his/her partner’s mind to achieve mind-bending orgasms.  It is a basic rule of physics: a body that starts in motion stays in motion.  If you can push the fantasy forward in a positive and familiar way, your partner will fill in the gaps to push the sensory experience to new heights.

Sometimes people want to make love to each other.  Sometimes, they need a good hard fucking.  Sometimes it’s in-between.  The beauty of the mental erotic exchange is that it can provide something that the physical world can’t: he can make love to her body while she acts like a wanton, needful whore.  The sex can be tender and violent at the same time- complete opposites and yet exactly what both parties want.  And where there is a possibility to achieve a mind-altering, transcendental orgasm (hopefully, multiple)…that’s what the Narratophile and I live for.