Clueless

Click and play: The Whole Story Needs this Song!

Once upon a time, I had a lover. He was goofy, crazy, and quite the nerd. Within a week of us being intimate with each other, I realized that he was clueless with what to play for make out music - and I mean CLUELESS.

The first hint was given one day when I came over to his house. Being new, we were still impressing each other. I looked hot, all dolled up and sexy. He immediately pulled me over to the bed, and we started kissing. He had roommates, so I pulled back, and breathlessly suggested, "put on some music to block us out."

"Good idea," he said, and proceeded to disappear over the foot of the bed, where his CDs were stored. I heard some shuffling around, and then he popped his head up, holding a CD proudly inquires: "Dr. Dre?". Now for those who don't know, Dr. Dre is gangsta rap. Not exactly romantic, or passionate sexy music.

I wasn't sure if he was kidding. "Um, no, try something else." And down again his head went with the CD, below the end of the bed.

Another hint, and the reason why you're hopefully listening to this incredibly high pitched funny dance song, is that the very next day he decided to try to be sexy for me. In all sincerity, he began to slowly unbuckle his belt, pull it out in his most provocative way, and then pushed play for his "strip" song.

Can you guess where this is going? Yep, The Hampster Dance song came on. Now, he was good looking, muscles and fit, but a true nerd. So in his sexiest moves, he began to circle his head around, maintaining eye contact with me, and then slowly lifted his shirt, pretending to move it down again to be a tease, before it came completely off. A few belly rolls, for lack of anything else to call it, and then he moved to his jeans' button, winking as he undid it. An attempt at some shuffling/bouncing type movement as he lowered his zipper. He hooked his thumbs in the sides of his jeans, and moved in a hula-type fashion while moving the sides of his jeans up on one side and down on the other, and then back again. A few repetitions of this, he turned around, and then yanked down his pants, with his ass nicely in the air. Once he was completely free of his jeans, he turned back around and proceeded to do the same hula dance to take off his boxers, except he didn't turn around for his ass to be the focus, this time it was on his semi-aroused cock.

What is it with men who have a naked penis freely moving? Can you guess his next signature move? It was the helicopter, in which he moved his hips so his penis swung around in circles.

Now, again, he seemed very sincere in his attempts to be sexy. He had no rhythm, and he clearly needed to go to a strip club (I took him to his first one much later in our relationship) to see what sexy moves looked like while removing clothing. But he was putting on a show for me, so I tried very very VERY hard to not laugh, but seriously...how the hell could I not?

To this day, I still have no idea if that was his idea of sexy, or if he was just joking around with me. I never wanted to insult him with "oh hey, were you for real with that hilarious strip dance?" in case that was his best effort. From then on out, I chose what we were listening to...but I can never hear The Hampster Dance song and not think of a goofy but gorgeous guy stripping unskilled for me...and smile.


Not the most wicked, but certainly humorous. See who may be wicked...



Switch

I'm a bit on the sub side of life. I play light with masochism. I enjoy being called a dirty slut or a stupid whore in bed. I like to feel the sting of a palm crack against my cheek or my hair being pulled with enough force to induce the watering of my eyes. I like being told what to do, when to do it. I find pleasure in begging for my release before I am allowed to let it flood my body. I want to be tossed around like a rag doll, used like a toy. Most times those lovely little bruises marring my flesh in unseen places feel like a naughty secret memory I carry on my skin. My favorite are the rope marks wrapped like lovely bracelets around my wrists, my ankles, and everywhere in between.
It's not always that I feel like this. I love the sweet and sensual too; just the frequency of those times are far fewer.
Then, there are times when I switch.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a violent need of expression, a need to control, consume, and demand. The first time I was slapped in the face during sex I was so startled, I just grew wide eyed and paused for the merest of seconds... Then I cocked back my arm, swung full force with the fingers of my hand extended. The second my hand crashed into his face I felt the instant rush of adrenaline. Heat flooded through me and I moaned my pleasure into his mouth. I knew then, exactly how it felt to be those people who Dom. It was a heady sensation.
These cravings for dominance and sadism overcome me, and there's really no accounting for why, no trigger I can discern. At the stripclub with several friends, I met a lovely young military man. He was 6'5 to my diminished stature. Almost every man towers over me but this one even more so. He had lovely eyes, a sincere smile and an innocence about him that called to me.
I wanted to hurt him. I could feel my mouth water at the thoughts running through my head at what I was going to do with this boy who was barely legal to consume alcohol. I wanted to switch. I wanted to not only release passion in a violent burst on him, but I wanted it in return.
At the end of the night I saw him outside. He couldn't find his friends so I said, "that means you're coming home with me right?" My head was tilted back so far just to meet his gaze; my chin only coming up to his navel. He looked with wonder into my eyes and nodded. I held out my hand and he grasped it firmly in his as I led him to the car, the same way I was anticipating leading him astray.
Once we arrived at my house, hands were hastily discarding clothing. Mouths were tasting, biting, teasing. He was my jungle gym and I climbed all over him like my favorite piece of equipment on the playground. After some time spent exploring and licking and tasting of each other's essence, I settled myself on top of him. I gazed sweetly into his bright eyes and asked if he'd ever had rough sex. His eyes turned fevered with desire at my question. He tried to speak, cleared his throat and replied, "no".
Suddenly I bring my hand slamming into his pretty young face, grip his chin as I say, "you have now," then kiss his lips softly, almost lovingly, before I slap him again. I look into his eager eyes and inquire if he'd like to try, tapping my cheek with a dainty finger to indicate the target. He tries but is timid, I barely feel the sting. Here is this tall, virile young man and I am a tiny tempest. I bite his nipple hard enough that I hear the quick expulsion of air from his lungs followed by a moaning gasp as I cause his body to vellicate. I dig my nails into his flesh as I ride him hard.
I instruct him to get behind me and pull my hair. I laugh at his first attempt and taunt him, "really? You're a fucking pansy, now pull it!" I'm being pugnacious, demeaning, and pushy. These taunting words are what finally snap through his meekness and I feel my head snap back on my neck from the force of his fist in my hair, and he snarls in my ear, "shut your fucking mouth, you bitch".
Ecstasy. I find my release at his brutish handling and malicious words. He explodes at the tightening of my body around him and we both sink into bliss. I continue throughout the night to introduce him to pain and pleasure, dominance and submission. I lead, I follow, I instruct. By morning I have used this man until I have wrung every drop of energy that he has.
He's eager to tell his friends, I can tell. I'm well put together and elegant when out and he keeps remarking on how he'd never dreamed the night would go as it had. His puppy-like enthusiasm is adorable, but concerning. He starts a statement with, "since I'm going to be over here a lot now...," and I'm forced to cut him off. I laugh in his face, but consolingly kiss his sweet lips as I tell him there was no guarantee he'd be invited back, and that that was very presumptuous of him. I tell him to savoir and remember the night and that perhaps, if I feel the desire again, I'll invite him back for further explorations.

Visiting traditions

My sister (the one I share this blog with) pointed out to me the other day that we go to a sex store every time she visits me, and a strip club every time I visit her.

In our defense, she has better strip clubs in her area. Waaay better. The strippers are hotter and the men drunker. Entertainment at its finest. And I just happen to be in toy stores regularly, so it's no surprise I go there even if she visits.

I think we're also starting a tradition of me buying her a sex toy every year as well. They're just so many varieties and factors of coolness that I can't resist. You're supposed to give thoughtful gifts,
after all.

Thoughts from A:

I love my sister. She's always given the best gifts in the family, hands down. She got me my first vibrator at 20 (late bloomer with masturbation, early with sex), and she also got me my first rabbit. This last trip she purchased a remote controlled bullet for me with 10 different settings. Now during my long car trips I am no longer in danger of falling asleep.

A very merry Christmas for me, I assure you.

When we first went to a stripclub in her area I couldn't believe it. My patronage of stripclubs started here and that's how I assumed all stripclubs were. Man was I surprised to see what I wouldn't even call the "B" team here up on stage on a Saturday!

The men here... The thousands of men here are not only drunk, they're young, handsome, and ready for anything you want. Sigh, I love my town.... Though not as much as I love my gifts from my sister. At least with myself I know the sex is always good.