"deeply i go down into myself. my god is dark and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence." -rainer maria rilke


he's on a plane ride to the other side of the pond. i'm a trainwreck inside.

i'm still here.

for the time being, i've given up on moving this blog.  maybe someday when i have more readers, i'll put up a real big stink about the glitches i've been dealing with here...and google will fix the problems.

meanwhile, i hate it that i haven't been writing.  it's sort of a shame. 

i suppose i've been drawn back because he's gone to europe again.  and i quit writing when he got back from his last tour over yonder.  i can't bring myself to go into detail about why, but...well.  let me share a dream i had with you.

i am dreaming, and i am following him down a trail in the woods.  it's hard to keep my footing as i struggle to keep up with him.  as we descend a hill, he disappears...and i fall into an enormous mud puddle.  i am drowning in it.  grasping hands search for something solid to hold onto.  i touch fur.  the body of a dead animal.  i lift it to the surface of the puddle, and see that it is a dead beaver.

dead beaver.  if that's not symbolic of what i experienced the last time he hopped the pond, i dunno what is.

then i found myself in an empty movie theater, a home movie is playing in reverse on the screen.  he is walking with a girl with long brown hair.  backwards.  out of sight.  now i am being pushed up a flight of stairs, into an attic.  he is pushing her away as he pushes me into an empty room, locking the door.  locking me in.  and her out, it would seem.

the next day i awoke to an email from him...dismissing me.  the girl with the long brown hair is real.  she is "someone important" from his past.  
i don't remember how long i walked after i learned this.  but i walked and walked.  for days i walked.  shortly prior to receiving this news, i had lost my job.  i had nothing to do but to walk.  i walked all over south st. louis.  sometimes i cried.  sometimes i screamed.  i wrote a short film based on my dream, but have yet to make it.

a lot has happened since then.  i couldn't let him go, and now we're a couple again.  the girl with the long brown hair is gone.  i've seen him three times since his last tour overseas.  

i wish i could write enthusiastically about all the freaky sex we've had.  but i can't.  

because he's over there again and i can't stop pacing inside...worrying over whether or not this is going to be an encore performance.

maybe it's the benedryl and red wine, but all i want to do is lay down in a quiet forest on a bed of ferns and sleep until this anxiety subsides.


i may be moving.

i've been noticing some rather aggravating issues with blogspot that have made me a little less interested in continuing to post here.  i believe i will be moving to a different publisher in the near future.  the jury is still out on which i will be using.  possibly tumblr or wordpress.  i've yet to mess around with either of them...so my mind is not made up.  but be advised that i will soon be relocating, and hopefully will be able to interact with my readers a bit more once i settle down elsewhere.  for some reason, i am unable to respond to replies here.  i find it frustrating enough to move.

i'll keep you all appraised.

meanwhile, the most amazing thing happened.

the devil is now my boyfriend.  as in, really my boyfriend.  not just sort of my boyfriend.

i'm so happy that i kinda cry to think of it.

destiny really can be manifested.


sometimes i get sidetracked.

i have a lot of catching up to do here.  there are couplings i need to write about.  i got sidetracked for a bit.  lost my job.  turned thirty.  had a drastic change in the dynamic of my relationship with the devil.  that last bit threw me for a fucking loop.  i've had a real hard time finding my footing after that experience, but i'm finally getting my head together.

i'll be back in the coming week to tell you some dirty stories.

in the meantime, here's this.


"We either make ourselves miserable or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same." -Carlos Castaneda



texts from last month.

me:  "i'm a deer and you're a wolf.  it's perfect."
he:  "uhhuh!  i'ma chase you thru the forest....bite your neck in half...and you'll take it willingly.  mama nature has told you that this violence is meant to be."

i'm in love.



the week following my tryst with the devil was a total crash.  i dropped really hard.  we continued our hot and heavy texting.  sang each others praises.  but i still bottomed out.  big time.  my entire existence was wrecked from our fuck.

he was wrapping up the tour the following weekend...and started expressing to me how badly he wanted to stop through st. louis on his way back to austin.  he mentioned buying a plane ticket.  i mentioned skipping the motorhead show to pick him up from the airport.  i was laying in bed as i told him this.  writhing.  i felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

this is only drunken grasping at straws, i thought to myself.  there is no way he is coming back on his way home.

but even still...there was no way to deny it.  we both wanted more.  badly.

i gave up on the notion of him stopping through.  dismissed it completely.  no use torturing myself when the torture i was already experiencing from my drop was bad enough already.  i went to see motorhead play.  i rubbed off in the bathroom and sent him a photo.

i woke up the next morning with a slight sting...he wanted to come back last night.  i got up and started thinking up ways to occupy myself so as not to spend too much time thinking about how he was in my bed one week ago that morning.  how his cum was leaking out into my jeans.  his expression after he filled my pussy is forever burned into my mind. 

one week after he left, and he's telling me his bandmate has pinkeye and they are looking for a place for him to see an eye doctor in st. louis.

i couldn't believe it was happening.

i started pacing around my apartment.  freak out machine.

he calls and asks for my help finding an eye doctor.  i make some calls.  target optical.  35 bux for pinkeye.  we'll meet in about two hours.  he'll call me when he's getting close.

jesus christ i can't believe this is really happening.

i go to facebook and tell my pal Z that he's coming back.  and i am freaking out.  and i need lunch.  and a cocktail.  pronto.

several minutes later she is at my place and we are on our way to a mexican restaurant.  i ordered a margarita immediately.  i could barely eat.  yes i'll have another margarita. 

as we're leaving the restaurant, Z is walking behind me.  she yells, "dude!  you have a giant wet spot on the back of your skirt."  we both cracked up at that.  i had figured as much, having gone into the bathroom to inspect my spinnbarkeit after my first margarita.

i dropped Z off just in time to leave to meet him.  i drove like a bat out of hell, weaving my way down the highway.  i pulled into the parking lot at the same time as him.  magic.  we parked.  i didn't know where he was.  as i got out of my car, he was calling me.  i stepped around the back of the SUV parked next to me and saw him, his back was turned and he was walking away from me.

"where are you?" he asked...

i was grinning ear to ear when i answered...

"look behind you," and hung up.

we started making out right away.  he said, "let's get out of here."  and we walked to my car.

our time was short.  i drove, once again, like a bat out of hell.  this time in the opposite direction.  traffic was thick.  i wove through it impatiently.  i was irritated.  he put my hand on his cock.  we groped each other as i drove.

we had only enough time for a whirlwind of a quickie after getting to my apartment.  i dropped to my knees and pulled his cock out immediately, hungry to take it in my mouth again.  i worked my lips, tongue, and throat all over it.  his response turned me on almost more than i could stand...

"oh god..."

and then he said my name.

i fucking love it when he says my name.

i looked up at him, my face spackled with spit from sucking his cock.  he pulled me to my feet and kissed me again, pulling up my skirt and rubbing my pussy...now a torrential downpour of juices from several hours of anticipation.

he pushed my sweater up, exposing my tits.  he grabbed onto one and slapped it.  he spun me around and i bent over for him, more than ready for him to fuck me.  his cock, still wet with my spit, slipped through the lips of my pussy and plunged into me.  hard.  my legs kept giving out.  he was making me almost fall down from being fucked so hard.  it felt incredible.

when he was close to cumming, he pulled out and i again dropped to my knees to finish him off.  he came down my throat.  i don't know that i've ever gotten off on getting someone else off quite as hard as i did as i swallowed his seed.

i washed the cum down with a swig of ten high, and sat on the couch to smoke a cigarette.

he sat next to me and fingered my still dripping wet pussy, slapping my tits, his tongue in my mouth.  he stood me up, and slapped my ass and my thighs.  it was so hot.  we made out more, he finger fucked me a while longer...but the inevitable text alert telling him to get back to the van came through.  i almost cried.  he told me not to.  i reminded him to grab his phone charger.  then we left.

i still could barely believe he came back.

we kissed one more time before he got out of my car.

and i drove off...smiling.


"We need, in love, to practice only this:  letting each other go. For holding on comes easily; we do not need to learn it."-Rilke


well... i'll tell ya.

so, yesterday i had a biopsy of my cervix.  this isn't the first time i've had this happen.  i'm guessing it's probably not the last, either.

but it's definitely the first time i've had one since i had the (for lack of a better term) sexual reawakening that i have been experiencing over the course of the past year.

and, well...i'll tell ya.  it's got me real messed up.

i only recently (finally) came to a place in my life where i feel like my pussy is beautiful.  and i love it.  like...it is a huge part of my identity.  it has experienced traumas in the past.  it has been abused at the hand of another.  it has healed.  it has been abused by the hand of still another.  and healed again.  there have been years of my life where i did not identify with my pussy.  i barely identified with my femininity at all.  sex was mechanical.  i was always detached.  i did it because it felt like some sort of obligation.  and i always checked out.

something changed after i met my ex-husband, even more changed when i started bellydance and started to feel empowered by my femininity.  i started wearing flowers in my hair.  i tried out burlesque.

even though my marriage sent me to hell and back, it was a powerfully transitional relationship.  and well...even though the sex was vanilla...at least i experienced what making love was like.

and so, a lot of the trauma i experienced in the past began to heal while i was with my ex.

some months after that relationship ended...i started to love my snatch.

really love it.  to the point that it has become the center of my being, in a sense.

so, to hear that i had to have tissue removed...that there was something abnormal with my cervix, and my uterus is displaced...it was traumatic.  disturbing. 

i went in for my biopsy frantically trying to focus on something else.  i had a quiz for one of my classes that evening.  i studied my notes in the waiting room.  when they put me in the exam room, i stripped down, put the cloth over my lap, and studied my notes while i waited for the procedure to start.

the doctor praised me for being so studious.  i was like, man...i am just trying to keep my mind off of the fact that you are about to scrape my fucking pussy out.  i didn't say it out loud.  but internally, i was shaking as i thought it.

she apologized when she put the speculum in.  she apologized when she applied the solution that highlights the areas that are abnormal on the cervix.  and she apologized again when she was about to take the samples, saying, "this is going to feel pretty crampy...i'm sorry."

and yeah.  it felt fucking crampy.  it felt really fucking crampy.

all day it was really fucking crampy.  i shoved a giant pad in my panties and asked for some ibuproferen before i left.  fortunately, they obliged.  i went home and passed out.  i couldn't stay awake for the discomfort.  couldn't move without it hurting more.

i went to school to take my exam and it was like hell walking to my classroom.  a half mile walk.  intense cramping every step.  and my menstrual cramps have always been bad.  this was something else.

i couldn't stop thinking about the fact that there was a scrape inside my pussy.  it still gives me the heebie jeebies.

even worse now.

you may have noticed in an earlier post how one of my directives from the devil is to jerk off every day.


i didn't yesterday due to the pain and the fact that i was bleeding out and just...miserable.

today, i tried.

and failed.

for some reason...morbid curiousity, i suppose...i stuck a finger in my pussy...just to check it out...to see if i could take anything in there.  (i was feeling pretty cock-crazed, honestly.)  and that's when i felt it.

the damage.

the fucking damage.

cue the waterworks.

i hadn't realized until that moment just how fragile and powerful my pussy is.  and just how much i care about it.  what is usually supple, soft, tender, silky, wet and warm is now rough, sandpaper-like, dry, crusty even.

it's a giant fucking scab all over the walls of my womanhood.


as i touched it, i felt like i was weeping not just for my own vagina, but for every traumatized vagina that has ever existed.

i was weeping for the entire matriarchal consciousness since the beginning of time.

i can't really even come up with a way to end this post.  i'm sitting here, several hours later, drinking a tall can of pabst with my windows open trying to figure out what to do with myself.  i feel horrible.  i don't want to be seen in public.  i just want to curl up with a book and try again tomorrow.  it bugs me out to know that the devil is going to come across this post eventually.  i...just...

*covers face*


ways to make it work.

i mentioned in my previous post that the devil has gone pond-hopping.  for thirty-seven days.

i heaved the heaviest of sighs when i realized the duration he'd be gone.  obviously, what with us living about fifteen hours apart, the amount of time we get to spend together (i.e. fucking each others brains out) is severely limited.  so we're mostly connected through our cell phones and gmail accounts.  it's rough.  really rough.  but i've accepted that it is what it is because it's supposed to be this way right now...and find ways to make it work.

dirty photos via text, dirty text messages, phone sex, etc.  and he gives me directives here and there.   (you may have noticed how much i enjoy receiving directives from him...)

thirty-seven days of even more restricted contact.  it was rough already.  really rough.  but now, it's like going on some sort of vision quest.

i can't do my daily assignment.  the thought made my heart sink. (i've been instructed to call him every day on my lunch break.) i can't send a text saying, "let me see you...please?" and receive a photo several minutes later...sink, sink, sink.

readers, this is mental bondage. 

at least i have my collection of cock photos to salivate over.

i also have a list of directives to follow.  a couple days before he left, i was sitting outside on my lunch break...enjoying a particularly nice day...and had been "let off the hook" for my daily phone call on account of he was busy getting ready to skip town.  whirling through me was a deep-seated desire to ask for a new assignment, or even a restriction, for while he is away.

and so...ever so respectfully, i sent him a text expressing to him how much his directives please me...and asked if i may have new ones to follow in his absence.  he responded immediately, "oh yeah.  let me think about this one."

i have no idea what kind of idiot grin came exploding out of my face upon reading that...but it was most definitely an explosive variety of idiot grin.  he's spending time thinking on it...

i received my directives later that evening.  they are as follows:

  1. cut off a bit of my hair every day for 37 days.  put it in a bag.   give it to him when he tells me to.
  2. count the days he is gone in tick marks on a mirror in my bedroom.  take a photo of myself nude in the mirror every day.  email him the photos every three days.
  3. beat off every day.  write down three lines in a journal describing what i'm fantasizing about when i get off.  give him the journal when he tells me to.
  4.  have sex with a woman.  write to him about my experience.

i was sitting in a lab at school when these came through, working on a creative brief for one of my classes.  after writing all of this down (i'm a studious little sub), i was barely able to focus.

counting the days?  bits of hair?  he must really want me to feel it.

i told him i would cut off longer bits of hair on the days when it was particularly painful that our contact was so restricted.  he approved.  he's been gone four days now...and i'm starting to wonder if i'm not going to end up with a bob by the time he gets back.  i sent him an email telling him so.  he said it would be cute.  but god damn it.  my hair!  i know you can't see me, readers...but i'll tell you...i've been growing my hair out for a little over a year now...it's grown past my shoulders...and i love it so much.

yup.  he really wants me to feel it. 

as to having sex with a woman... prior to my coupling with the devil, i was on a mission to be polyamorous and explore pansexuality... (yes, pan...)  i've played with other women before, and been a third party to sex with a couple as well.  but never have had the opportunity to do the girl-on-girl scene i've been wanting. 

now i have to do it.

and since it's coming from him, it makes me want it even more. 

it's sort of remarkable how strong this desire is in me to be subservient to him.  i told him recently that he makes me want to live on my knees, and it's so true.  and what's even more remarkable is that it's just naturally like this. 

later that evening, i told him that i love it when he tells me what to do...and how i love doing what he tells me to do.  he replied that he loves it too...then he used the words direction and purpose.  

and i melted inside.

thirty-seven days.

this, readers...is mental bondage.  at least for this girl.  

forced contact restrictions, cutting off bits of hair, counting the days in tick marks on my bedroom mirror.

i'm feeling a lot like a princess locked in a tower



the devil and i have been doing phone sex. 

this is new for me.  i've done plenty of sexting.  that's actually how this whole wonderful nightmare started.  i suppose now that we finally got to fuck, we've graduated to phone sex.  i have to smile a bit when i think about how he was the first person i ever sexted with, the first person i ever sent filthy photos to, the first person i've done phone sex with...and how he's going to be the first person i do anal sex with.

that last bit really gives me a thrill.

the first time we did it, i had to go to my car on my lunch break from work.  i loved that.  i am beginning to think i have a serious exhibitionist streak running through me that is just starting to surface.

the second time, we did it after i got home from work.  i was instructed to remove all of my clothes immediately after walking through my front door, and not to call him till i had done so.  have i mentioned how hot it makes me when he tells me what to do?  well it does.  steamy hot.  just the thought of receiving directives from him makes my pussy twitch.

i did as i was told.  and called him immediately after, while walking from the front door to my bedroom.  

"hi baby..."
"are you naked?"
"good girl.  what're you doin?"
"layin' in bed."
".........touch your pussy."

and off we went.  cursing and muttering filthy ideas into each others ears through the phone.  moaning and gasping and periodically growling "god baby...you're so fucking HOT!"

i came several times over.  getting off so intensely hard from the sound of him getting off on the other end.  he came, and i asked for a photo.  it's sort of an ongoing thing with us.  he jerks off, sends me photos of it, then takes a photo of his cum, wherever it went, and sends me that.  i really fucking love it.  if it's on the floor, i find myself feeling an urge to drop down on all fours and lick it up.

but my favorite, by far, is if he manages to get it in his hand...

as he put it, "feed it to you like you're a deer in a petting zoo."

my pussy just twitched again.  i am such a cum slut.

....i digress.

i received my cum photo, and continued rubbing off...toying my cunt with a dildo.  i couldn't stop cumming.  we were texting back and forth as i did it, and fell into a pattern that was something like this:

i cum.  send him a text telling him so.
continue toying myself.
i cum again, and simultaneously my phone vibrates with a new text alert.
i text back.  telling him i can't stop cumming.
more toying.
cum again.  new text alert.

it went on like that for about five or six texts until i came so hard that it probably looked like i was having a seizure.  and as i did, suddenly, a wind came through my window so hard that it blew everything off of my windowsill.  tarot cards and feathers went flying everywhere.  statues and chunks of gemstones went crashing to the floor.

maybe i should stop now...i thought to myself.  so i stopped.

i was shaking from head to toe.  had to have a drink immediately to calm myself down.

he makes me cum harder than anyone else, ever...and without even laying a hand on me.  his voice in my ear is one tiny orgasm after another.  his dirty texts turn me on to the point of cumming when i shift in my chair at work.

yesterday he asked me via text from the airport(he's on his way to europe to tour for 37 days-more on that in my next post....)

"why are we so fucking hot for each other?!??!"

i told him it was the zodiac.  (it is.)

but beyond that...i'm beginning to believe that what is really going on here is that we've both met our match.


pt. 2

continued from pt. 1

i left kansas city a couple hours after he did.  my trip back to st. louis that day was a drag.  i found myself replaying the previous night over and over again in my head... and, frustrated from being unable to fuck him again that morning, i kept rubbing my pussy through my jeans while driving, squirming and fidgeting in my seat the entire way back.

there wasn't time for us to meet up before the show...so i stayed at my apartment, hung out with my pals, listened to music, dolled myself up, and shared my whiskey.  there was a lot of laughing.  i'm lucky in that i have a really amazing group of pals here, they make me laugh so hard that i cry, and i love that.

later that evening, after his show, we snuck around the venue trying to find someplace to fuck.  we ended up on the balcony of off broadway...kissing.  deep kissing.  ravenous.  his hand slid up my skirt, his fingers into my pussy.  it's remarkable how wet he makes me.  the insides of my thighs were covered in pussy juice.  i wanted that cock.  i was aching for him to destroy me.  put me outta my fuckin misery already.

i don't remember why we stopped.  but we stopped.  i guess he had to "get to work" again...help the band pack up the van...some music dude shit.  whatever.

i paced around anxiously.  i couldn't stop questioning whether or not he was really coming back to my apartment.  my internal dialogue was something along the lines of...

is he or isn't he is he or isn't he is he or isn't he...

over and over.


i went outside to watch and wait.

the scene was intense.

i felt like a caged animal.

like a race horse...waiting in the gate.  waiting for that signal to go go go...

finally, he came up to me and dropped the bomb.  the band was leaving town.  he would stay, but i more or less had to promise him that i would drive him to wherever the band was in the morning.  it could have been anywhere between st. louis and cincinatti.  could have been a real long drive, just to fuck someone.

but a shift had occurred in my perception of who this someone is.  this wasn't just someone.  this wasn't just some fuck.  this was rare.

i agreed.  i promised.  and we went back to my place.

he was adorable.  all worried about where the band was going.  we messed around a bit.  but he was clearly distracted.  so we just kissed and groped and fooled around. 

i still cannot get over that kiss.  even now, over a month later, i can feel his mouth on my own.  our tongues move together as though they belong to each other.  there is no other kiss like this one.   none.  this kiss is perfect.

it's unbelievable how much and yet how little i remember about that night.  i had really lost myself.  dead gone.  over the cliff.  however, my body's consciousness had latched on to specific sensations.  his cock thrusting in and out of my pussy...his fingers in my mouth...his hands in my hair...his mouth on my mouth...his cock down my throat.  ALL THE WAY DOWN MY THROAT.

this was really the thing that blew my mind the most.

i have never had a cock go so far into my mouth that it pushed through my tonsils and went all the way down my throat like that.  my fucking tonsils...which are ENORMOUS by the way...opened for him.  and it was the most incredible feeling.  his hands entangled in my hair at the roots.  me gagging and spitting up ridiculous amounts of that deep throat spit...lover's spit...that beautiful fluid.  he took ahold of my hair hard...pushed in...and held it there...until suddenly, i opened up.

and to hear him talk about how it felt when it happened....just...god...it really makes me feel like a good girl.  i love it so much.

anyway!  i thought i was doing deep throat before!  previous lovers had sung praises of my abilities!   

best blow job ever!  you're amazing!  etc.

apparently i hadn't really been giving deep throat.  or this was just the furthest down a cock has ever been.  or...well...both.

the point is, it went there.  and every time i think of it, my body consciousness conjures the sensation back.  i can feel the texture of his cock on my tongue...that beautiful mess of black pubic hair against my face...my throat opening up...and god it turns me on.  it's the stuff of dripping wet daydreams.

we fucked on my couch.  we fucked in my bed.  my bed went totally crooked from the force of his fuck.  i'm not allowed to straighten it out, per his directives.

god i love his directives...

my pink sparkly american apparel dress is still laying on the floor where we left it.  and he's haunting my bed.  i can't lay on my back without seeing him in front of my face...

the following morning, i woke up to having my brains pounded out of me.  it was at this point that i realized that i had been destroyed.  i was, from here, worthless to anyone but him.  i found myself intermittently looking into his eyes while he fucked me...and he was looking right back.  we had really dug our claws into each other now.  i was on the edge of the bed with my legs splayed open, and then he was on top of me...holding my arms down.  we were fucking face to face, my legs pushed up by my head.  he was so fucking deep in me.  he had fucked through everything that i am.  he had gotten to my core.  and it's difficult to write about.  not because it's hard to describe, but because somehow...i can still feel him in me.

i died that morning.  i died from his fuck.

it was getting close to time for us to leave.  we stopped to look up directions to the where the band had ended up...about an hour outside of town.  we both got dressed.  i felt shell-shocked.  neither of us were saying much. 

filthy thoughts were creeping around in my head.  i want his cum in me.  i want it in me.  i want it to be mine.

i was not about to let him leave without giving it to me.  he walked into my room...and i was visibly not okay.  we kissed, i reached down and put my hand on his cock.  it was hard.  so i dropped to my knees and pulled it out, and began worshiping it immediately.

we both knew what was going to happen.  we had spoken of it, sort of in passing.  but now it was going to be real.

i stood up and pulled my jeans down to below my ass, turned around, and bent over the bed...and invitation for him to pound into me one last time before we left.  and of course he did.

it was unbelievable how hot this was.  his cock felt so fucking good.  my legs were weakening, my pussy was throbbing as i squeezed my pelvic muscles along with every thrust until he was about to cum...

"where do you want it?"

 he wanted me to say it.

"cum in my pussy, baby..."

and he did.  so hard that i heard his boot stomp as he did.  and god, it felt amazing.

he pulled out, breathing heavily, and leaned back against my closet door.  i turned around, pulling my jeans back up, buckling my belt, and sat on the edge of my bed facing him.  we looked at each other for what felt like a long time, but i'm sure it wasn't...not speaking...but saying it with our eyes.

the eyes.  the eyes have it.

and then...it was time to go.

i could feel our comingled fluids seeping out of me during the drive.  we didn't really say much, but kept resting our hands on each others thighs...and eventually...holding hands.


i cried on the drive back.  i knew coming down from that experience was going to be an existential crisis.  it was.  i went straight to bed when i got home.  slept most of the day.

a month later, and i'm famished for more already.  we're meeting again in june.  it's so far away.

in the meantime...i guess i'll have to write some erotic fictions to keep me busy...unless i get a girl to play with me...i can't conceive of any other man but him.  i belong to that cock and the person it's attached to.

and i love it.


pt. 1

it's impossible for me to recount in precise detail the experience i had last weekend.  it took six months for he and i to meet up.  i already knew that no one has ever turned me on so much in my life.  i already knew how perfect that cock was going to feel....god.

i was a nervous wreck the night before i left to meet him in kansas city.  pacing around my apartment, my heart racing, trying to calm down and failing, failing, failing...it was all hitting me right then that this was going to be my most intense sexual encounter to date.  i've never wanted anyone so badly...in such a primal, carnal, animalistic sense.  i wanted to inhale him.  i wanted him to rip me open.

i was so anxious that i ended up leaving several hours late the next day.  i arrived in KC after the show had already started.  checked into my hotel.  went to my room.  put on my deceivingly scandalous vintage dress with the slit up the side that's just higher than the bottom of my asscheeks.

thigh high socks.  check.  white peep-toe high heels.  check.

he was waiting for me outside the venue as i walked up with my friends.  i had been laughing about something that escapes me now, and heard him say "hi..."

i looked up and said, "oh hey..."

and tripped.  immediately after laying eyes on him.

i knew he was hot.  i knew this.  i had been receiving photographic evidence of same via text message for half a year.

but here he was.  in the flesh. 




he's the most gorgeous human being i have ever laid eyes on.

i walked to him.  i hugged him.  we were laughing.  and then he kissed me.  finally.  and this was no pussy-footin'.  his mouth engulfed mine...devouring mine.  there was a hunger in that kiss that drove me completely wild.  it was so intense.  i was on fire.  my pussy started throbbing.

holy fuck...this is really happening.  

we went inside and went to the bar...ordered our whiskeys...and he suggested we sneak past the stage and up to the band room.  within fifteen minutes of my arrival, i was crawling all over him on the couch, his fingers plunged into me, my hand on his cock through his black corduroy pants.  within fifteen minutes of my arrival, i was squirting on his leg,  my dress, and struggling to stay lucid. 

don't go over the edge yet...stay with it.

by the time we got back to the hotel, i had completely lost my shit.  sitting on the bed in my red velour romper...i ceased to have any type of grip on anything other than his fuck...his mouth...his hands...hair...cock...i lost myself in him entirely.  i know i was speaking to him, but i have no idea what was coming out of my mouth.  all i know is i was answering questions, and probably cursing.  whatever it was, it was obscene.  and hot.

his mouth was all over me.  my ass, my pussy, my tits, my mouth...his cock was shoved down my throat and i was laying on my back on the bed...then he was pounding away at my dripping wet cunt...my foot was in his mouth...jesus god fuck...his finger (fingers?) up my ass while he was fucking me...jesusgodFUCK!...

i was being eaten alive by his fuck.  i was in a trance.  this was satan fucking mary magdalene.  he later said, the werewolf vs. the vampire woman.  which is so like him to say...so cute.  so fucking cute.  honestly, i'm sort of pleased with myself that he felt that way...

at some point, i fell asleep next to him.  i awoke the next morning hungry for more.  i got up to piss, and came back...inspired to worship that darkly divine fuck of his...but he received a call that he had to take... "gotta get to work!"

god damnit....

(to be continued) 



...to share a kiss the devil has known...

okay.  done designing this thing, for the most part.  working on a new post right now, but it's taking a lot of time to write.  guess i have a lot to say about a recent experience...

in the meantime, here's this fucking song that played in my car randomly(?) the other day...kinda hit close to home.


plugged in.

he left mid-morning on valentine's day, after two intense nights of copulating, conversing...and god damnit... cuddling. 

half a year i waited for this.  half a year of frustration.  of not knowing if whatever the fuck it was that was going on would ever lead to the consummation that cock and my pussy.

i hadn't realized that "whatever the fuck it was that was going on" was going to end up the way it has.  with his phone charger still plugged into the wall in my kitchen.

he called me in the afternoon the day he left asking if he had left it.  i had been in bed all day.  crying.  rubbing off.  sleeping.  dreaming.  he asked if it was there and i deleriously said i didn't know.  silence.  "can you get up and check for me?"

god his voice is sexy...

"uh huh.  hang on....yeah, it's here...it's plugged into the kitchen wall."


this morning, i woke up for work and came walking out of my room and saw the charger plugged into the wall still.  it's been there since sunday night.  i stood there staring at it.  i don't know how long i was staring.  my heart started racing.  i shook it off and turned right, into the bathroom.  into the routine.  shower.  get dressed.  gotta be out the door by 7:40 a.m. at the latest.  singing along to tapes in the car.  get to work on time.

but as i was leaving...the charger caught my eye again as i was passing it.  i stopped.  staring at it again.  this time i reached out and touched it for a moment.  still staring.  his phone was here.   

he was here.

he was here and now he's gone and his charger is still plugged into my wall. 

my apartment is haunted by the coupling we had.  i can still smell him in my bed.  and that charger is a symbol of what i experienced.  of what i've experienced all along.  the charger goes to the phone.  the phone that he uses to stay connected to me, somehow.  i can't seem to bring myself to remove it.

i don't know if or when i ever will.
Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you.
Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.
And without feet I can make my way to you,
without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you
with my heart as with a hand.
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.
And if you consume my brain with fire,
I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.



"Though I visit him
              In my dreams,
            The sum of all those meetings
            Is less than a single waking glimpse."
-Ono no Kamachi
"in the slaughterhouse of love, they kill only the best, none of the weak or deformed. don't run away from this dying. whoever's not killed for love is dead meat." - rumi