My pussy is better than his hand.

This was The Neighbor’s  reasoning for coming over at 1:30 last night.

“Honestly?  I was about to jerk off when I thought, ‘What the hell am I doing??  There’s a willing girl who loves to fuck next door.'”

I’m not sure if he meant it as a compliment.  I’m not entirely sure I took it that way.  I appreciated his honesty, to be sure, but I still think there’s more to it.  Yes, I’m a willing cunt, yes, I love to suck cock, yes, I’m easy to be around, but one thing I’ve learned about this man is that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t truly want to.  And right then it was me.

An hour before I had been wearing pajama shorts and a tank top reading Leah Lays London.  I’d looked up when I heard my puppy whimper from the other room and my door push open.  There he was filling my doorway.

He quickly closed the distance to my bed.  “What the fuck are you doing here??” I asked.

“I thought you’d like some of this,” and he pulled his shorts down and flopped out his meat.  “What are you doing up still??  I was hoping to wake you up.”

“I couldn’t fucking sleep.”  He deftly shut my laptop, grabbed my phone and put them on the bedside table.  In two more seconds, his pants were off and his cock was in my mouth, my heart firmly lodged in my throat and my heart beating thunderously.

I should be fucking pissed, I thought.  I mean, I had been.  I’d been downright angry, but by the time he’d walked into my room, I’d settled down, made a game plan, reined in my emotions and I was ready for his surprise offering.  I wasn’t doing him a favor by sucking his cock, I was doing me a favor.

He pulled off his shirt and sat on my chest and fucked my face.  I choked on his length as my fingers curled up through his chest hair.  I scratched his flanks and made him cringe and cry out.  I hit him hard with an open palm as I moaned and mewed around his shaft.  He spanked back when I was done.  I didn’t have many swings in me.

He turned out the light and my room was filled with candlelight.  I pushed him off of me and pulled my shirt off.  My breasts bounced heavily as they were freed.  He grabbed them and stuffed both nipples in his mouth at once.  I straddled his erection and rubbed my pajama-clad  pussy along its length, then kicked the shorts off all together and impaled myself on him as he tried to draw milk from my flesh.

I drenched us, I cried, he moaned and bucked wildly into me.  Without disengaging he flipped me under him and nailed me to the mattress.  I scratched his back and sobbed and bucked back; released all the hours of pent-up anxiety and anger at him  through my vaginal walls and muscles.  I tried to choke his cock with my passionate, angry pussy.

Ankles hooked over his shoulders, pussy weeping, my face leaking.  I weaved words of encouragement and filth all around us.

“I love your fucking cock.  Oh god, oh god.  Your fucking cock.  It’s in my throat.  It’s splitting me!”  Sob, sob, sob.

He flipped me again and pushed my shoulders into the bed.  I rocked my pelvis back on him, gaining greater strokes deep in my well.  He rained kisses down on my neck and ears.  “Holy shit, Hy, keep doing that,” he said as I found a stronger pivot point on which to drive down on him.  “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he groaned behind me.

And then his semen burst into me and his midpoint pummeled into mine.  He collapsed on top of me, pulled my wet hair off my face and temples, tucked it behind my ear; he kissed my cheek, took a breath, and began to move again.

“Do you like that?” he whispered as he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked my head up, curling into my pussy with each thrust.

“Yes,” I gasped.  “Do you?”

“I don’t know if I always like it, but I like it when it’s you.”  And then he punched my hole with his fist-like cock some more until I was utterly incoherent.

Finally, we rested and I cuddled up into his nook and he trailed his fingers along my waist, I made patterns with my fingertips from his chest to his balls.

“Tonight wasn’t fun at all.  It wasn’t a good date,” he began to explain.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I say, and I meant it.

“She’s directionless and not interesting at all.  She’s pretty, but not interesting.  I’m sure there’s another better match for her out there.”

“We can all say there are better matches for us out there.”

He paused, surprised. “Even for you?”

“Yes,” I answer easily as I squeeze his mostly hard penis and run a flat hand up to his chest, splaying my fingers through the curls there, “even for me.”

He said he was glad he came over.  I told him it was a dick move to bail on me.  We moved on.  He helped me cum, kissed and stroked me to see me gasp and arch, then held me some more.  At 2:30 he announced he had to go to bed.  I was happy to see him go.  Between replacing his clothes he’d bend over to kiss me again, pressing his mouth down hard on mine, breathing me in.  Then another shorter one, then another.  I wondered what he was doing.

Then, he was gone and I felt 10 different things at once: satiated, nullified, smug, easy, happy, irritated, wanton, precious, weak, powerful — just to name a few.

This blog is supposed to be about my dissolute life, not my dating life.  They are distinct.  I don’t want to keep The Neighbor Drama going.  I am going to pare back on the emotional details for a while, I think.  It’s too much.  I come across as an idiot to some, pathetic to others, and as a superhero to yet more.  It’s hard enough dealing with it in real life, let alone inviting additional scrutiny.  Call me a fucking pussy if you like, I just need to do this.

I meant what I said the other day that you, my readers, have helped bring me here, but I still have to admit that “here” now means I’m going to pull back.  I’ll still share all the gritty details, but I hope to remove the element of weakness from my writing.  I like what I’m doing with this man.  It feels good enough.  I’m not capable of more, anyway, so I need to focus on the beauty of the situation and not the warts.

I appreciate all your intelligent words, your insights, everything.  It’s been such a relief to have friends to rely on, but I also don’t want to take advantage.  I don’t want to be a broken record.  So, hopefully, a little mystery as to what’s going on in my heart might help me feel better about asking you all for some support again in the future.

I dunno… I’ve never done this before.  I’ve never had a 6 month long “thing” with a guy I really like and with whom the sex is off the charts plus a secret sex blog where I get blow-by-blow support and advice because I’m brutally honest about who and what I am.  This shit is weird, y’all…   It’s just weird.  Forgive me.  I’m unraveling a little…

22 thoughts on “My pussy is better than his hand.

  1. ” … I’m unraveling a little… ” Nope … sounds to me like you really have your shit together. I’m impressed.

    Mike

  2. Well yeah if you need to pull back you need to. But it sounds like you’re getting the most important thing — that it’s for you to decide how you want your life to go, and you are the one who will make it happen

  3. It’s hard not to bare your soul when in front of a keyboard, isn’t it? Myself, I find being alone while writing presents me with the illusion that no one’s going to read what I’m typing, even though I know that;s not the case.

    Withholding the emotional context of the sex is going to be harder than you think, I think.

  4. I don’t want to keep The Neighbor Drama going.

    But I do. I guess I should just turn in my Man Card and start reading Nicholas Sparks novels, but I genuinely want TN to break down one of these passionate nights and confess that he has fallen in love with you.

    Of course, in my world, once the two of you have established your love, then you both agree to continue to fuck other people and you continue to write juicy details about it.

What say you?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s