7:57 am
me: leaving for bus soon. looks lovely out. skirt no panties...gonna be an interesting day!
11:53 am
me: I'm gonna run outside for a breath of fresh air now.
H: are you wearing any panties?
me: no...
H: are you at your desk?
me: ...yeeees
H: is anyone around there?
me: ...nooo
H: hm. how does your pussy feel? is it wet or dry?
me: well, I'd say it's moving to the wet end of the spectrum now
H: why don't you, when no one is around, put your fingers up there and find out for me
me: [giddy hesitation. looking around and humming. compliance. naughty delighted savor.]
me: are you expecting something more? it smells good. wet.
H: no [laughter] I just like knowing your over there at your desk with you hand in your pussy. you're such an innocent good girl. thanks for letting me dirty you up.
very much my pleasure.
i'd like, some day, to feel satisfied with my written descriptions of the electricity H (or many wanting to dirty me) create in that naughty box of mine.
electric. throb. drip. swell. puff. grab. pull. shoot. strike. pulse. seethe.
adjectives that will likely prove useful in the paragraphs to be written.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Emily Dickinson
Hadj: Pain's successor will not find us for many years
me: who's pain's successor?
Hadj: Ownership, its replacement
There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain —
'Tis Pain's Successor — When the Soul
Has suffered all it can —
A Drowsiness — diffuses —
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness —
As Mists — obliterate a Crag.
The Surgeon — does not blanch — at pain
His Habit — is severe —
But tell him that it ceased to feel —
The Creature lying there —
And he will tell you — skill is late —
A Mightier than He —
Has ministered before Him —
There's no Vitality.
me: who's pain's successor?
Hadj: Ownership, its replacement
There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain —
'Tis Pain's Successor — When the Soul
Has suffered all it can —
A Drowsiness — diffuses —
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness —
As Mists — obliterate a Crag.
The Surgeon — does not blanch — at pain
His Habit — is severe —
But tell him that it ceased to feel —
The Creature lying there —
And he will tell you — skill is late —
A Mightier than He —
Has ministered before Him —
There's no Vitality.
Friday, July 24, 2009
There is a Languor of the Life
"I have found a new whore/personal blog to adore. Maybe I'll read you a post some time. I feel myself wanting to morph...make my more sultry whore dreams a reality under your steam"
I am offhand about this in some ways. I am lacking the energy or desire to delve deeply into any more relationships, but lacking also any interest in dating when what I want to do is be fucked. I don't want to top from the bottom either, or I would have told the boy from last week he could have me. All he had to do was reach out and grab. He learned this in a small way when he pulled me tight for a giddy kiss. It was sweet and seemed to come from place of mannerisms that are alien to me now. "I'm gonna have to go out for ice cream with you more often!" he called over his shoulder, picking up his dropped bicycle. I wonder what his cock looks like, I thought, smiling and waving goodbye.
"What do you want to do with him?" Hadj inquires. "I think," I respond "the question is more, what do I want him to do with me?"
Yes, you can buy me dinner and yes I will suck your cock with vigor for dessert. Yes, I have been practicing at home.
I morph, taking shapes I perceive as desirable by others, easily. I lose myself in these projections and eventually self-destruct and flee. Hadj knows all this. He sees me there and monitors me closely to ensure I become no one else in our life together. The goal is for me to keep being me. What then, do we do with the resurgence of interest in whoring? I know he has always preferred the company of whores - befitting my fetish for him as a(n ex) Navy man. I know also that my interest in whores and whoring began to surface just about three years ago, and that my link to the profession is becoming more seasoned. But, I am ever an innocent, sometimes foolhardy. I walk these lines very slowly knowing that I am probably clueless.
It dawned on a me, a year later, that my neighbor propositioned me, didn't just "ask me to dinner", despite the fact that he prefaced his invitation to dine with, "Are you interested in...the entertainment industry...?" In my defense, the question was, mostly, in context. I lack the capability to see what others are thinking even when I know what they are feeling.
My interest in sex-work began at money. I am coming to see more clearly now the differences some women have in their reasons for turning to this profession. I read Hadj's reviews on the whore boards of his region and become ferociously aroused. I want to want the men, and I want to please them. The money seems to be shrinking into the background as part and parcel of the job's entirety. It used to be quick, big cash. Now it's personal. It's desire. It's the whore in me coming of age.
I am offhand about this in some ways. I am lacking the energy or desire to delve deeply into any more relationships, but lacking also any interest in dating when what I want to do is be fucked. I don't want to top from the bottom either, or I would have told the boy from last week he could have me. All he had to do was reach out and grab. He learned this in a small way when he pulled me tight for a giddy kiss. It was sweet and seemed to come from place of mannerisms that are alien to me now. "I'm gonna have to go out for ice cream with you more often!" he called over his shoulder, picking up his dropped bicycle. I wonder what his cock looks like, I thought, smiling and waving goodbye.
"What do you want to do with him?" Hadj inquires. "I think," I respond "the question is more, what do I want him to do with me?"
Yes, you can buy me dinner and yes I will suck your cock with vigor for dessert. Yes, I have been practicing at home.
I morph, taking shapes I perceive as desirable by others, easily. I lose myself in these projections and eventually self-destruct and flee. Hadj knows all this. He sees me there and monitors me closely to ensure I become no one else in our life together. The goal is for me to keep being me. What then, do we do with the resurgence of interest in whoring? I know he has always preferred the company of whores - befitting my fetish for him as a(n ex) Navy man. I know also that my interest in whores and whoring began to surface just about three years ago, and that my link to the profession is becoming more seasoned. But, I am ever an innocent, sometimes foolhardy. I walk these lines very slowly knowing that I am probably clueless.
It dawned on a me, a year later, that my neighbor propositioned me, didn't just "ask me to dinner", despite the fact that he prefaced his invitation to dine with, "Are you interested in...the entertainment industry...?" In my defense, the question was, mostly, in context. I lack the capability to see what others are thinking even when I know what they are feeling.
My interest in sex-work began at money. I am coming to see more clearly now the differences some women have in their reasons for turning to this profession. I read Hadj's reviews on the whore boards of his region and become ferociously aroused. I want to want the men, and I want to please them. The money seems to be shrinking into the background as part and parcel of the job's entirety. It used to be quick, big cash. Now it's personal. It's desire. It's the whore in me coming of age.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Squid Pro Quo
I fucked up on Sunday in a big and a few small ways.
I had my old friend Pete over. We've been friends since we were 17. We went and had a few Guinesses down the street. We split the bill. Pete still lives with his parents in the suburbs we grew up in, while he waits for his rock band to get bigger, or his patience to deteriorate entirely. He works only part time at the Walgreens photo counter and he is always strapped for cash. I'm strapped for cash because I put myself through college on private loans and because I've been too stubborn in my lifestyle to have a roommate for the last two years.
I knew some sexual friction was present, but I didn't know what the outcome would be. When, on the phone with my Daddy before going back in to chill with Pete, I was asked how things were going I said I thought Pete and I were eternally platonic. He'd made no moves and I hadn't either. I like being used to not making the moves. I like the simplicity of obvious and traditional gender roles these days. I went back inside. An hour later I was riding Pete's cock.
I had not planned on that. I had hoped that perhaps I would suck him off. That I would have the opportunity to practice the jaw relaxing skill I've been working on and to affirm my deftness as a good little cock sucker. I did get to do so, and got praised too. I had fun sucking his long, hard cock and knowing he was watching and loving it. The orange flavored condom even tasted good. He moaned and told me how good I was when his head rolled back. He told me I "should take off my shirt", because nice boys don't know how to order around nice girls quite right.
"You should take off your shirt."
"Take off your shirt."
"Get this fucking shirt off."
36 hours later I had to make a confession to Pete that I should have made before I ever climbed on top of his cock. When he asked me later how I could have over looked the thing I confessed I realized and told him two things:
1. because I got carried away in the heat of the moment (slut)
2. because I'm not used to fucking someone without lots of very explicit talk about the fucking/sucking/slapping/tying up that will occur.
Had Pete and I met without all the familiar history I would have disclosed to him while still on date number 1. I don't go on dates with new people without the hope that fucking will happen. I did go out with Pete hoping that some sucking or making out would happen, but I really wasn't sure. Also, I don't really know how to be at ease, as the little slutty sweet I am, with Pete. I know how to be good old Shasta; friend with history, buddy, tom-boy, pal. It's a weird mental shift for us both (that went really well over all).
Bad little girl mistake number 2. I am also supposed to get dinner in exchange for sucking cock, but I let myself think, it's Pete. This is a practice swing. He's so broke. The truth is more that I don't know how to verbalize this quid pro quo set up. Daddy is going to tutor me on language soon. In the meantime I practice feeling as sexy as I am on my own - so I can own my trade. Confidence is the key to pandora's box.
Well, confidence and knowing I don't want to break Daddy's rules on accident or on purpose, out of ignorance or out of sneakiness. Sometimes I have to swallow the old innocent so the sweet slut can grow as big as she aught to.
I'm going out with a brand new possible suitor tonight. He's only 24, but he's cute. Think he can play in the kitchen with slut girl, or is he too inexperienced/immature? Can I tell him what trade options there are, or am I too shy and sweet? This innocence thing is a double edged sword sometimes.
Two new rules for me:
1. Don't jump on the cock and ride it to its "Most logical conclusion." Suck it.
2. Quid pro quo for Daddy and me.
I had my old friend Pete over. We've been friends since we were 17. We went and had a few Guinesses down the street. We split the bill. Pete still lives with his parents in the suburbs we grew up in, while he waits for his rock band to get bigger, or his patience to deteriorate entirely. He works only part time at the Walgreens photo counter and he is always strapped for cash. I'm strapped for cash because I put myself through college on private loans and because I've been too stubborn in my lifestyle to have a roommate for the last two years.
I knew some sexual friction was present, but I didn't know what the outcome would be. When, on the phone with my Daddy before going back in to chill with Pete, I was asked how things were going I said I thought Pete and I were eternally platonic. He'd made no moves and I hadn't either. I like being used to not making the moves. I like the simplicity of obvious and traditional gender roles these days. I went back inside. An hour later I was riding Pete's cock.
I had not planned on that. I had hoped that perhaps I would suck him off. That I would have the opportunity to practice the jaw relaxing skill I've been working on and to affirm my deftness as a good little cock sucker. I did get to do so, and got praised too. I had fun sucking his long, hard cock and knowing he was watching and loving it. The orange flavored condom even tasted good. He moaned and told me how good I was when his head rolled back. He told me I "should take off my shirt", because nice boys don't know how to order around nice girls quite right.
"You should take off your shirt."
"Take off your shirt."
"Get this fucking shirt off."
36 hours later I had to make a confession to Pete that I should have made before I ever climbed on top of his cock. When he asked me later how I could have over looked the thing I confessed I realized and told him two things:
1. because I got carried away in the heat of the moment (slut)
2. because I'm not used to fucking someone without lots of very explicit talk about the fucking/sucking/slapping/tying up that will occur.
Had Pete and I met without all the familiar history I would have disclosed to him while still on date number 1. I don't go on dates with new people without the hope that fucking will happen. I did go out with Pete hoping that some sucking or making out would happen, but I really wasn't sure. Also, I don't really know how to be at ease, as the little slutty sweet I am, with Pete. I know how to be good old Shasta; friend with history, buddy, tom-boy, pal. It's a weird mental shift for us both (that went really well over all).
Bad little girl mistake number 2. I am also supposed to get dinner in exchange for sucking cock, but I let myself think, it's Pete. This is a practice swing. He's so broke. The truth is more that I don't know how to verbalize this quid pro quo set up. Daddy is going to tutor me on language soon. In the meantime I practice feeling as sexy as I am on my own - so I can own my trade. Confidence is the key to pandora's box.
Well, confidence and knowing I don't want to break Daddy's rules on accident or on purpose, out of ignorance or out of sneakiness. Sometimes I have to swallow the old innocent so the sweet slut can grow as big as she aught to.
I'm going out with a brand new possible suitor tonight. He's only 24, but he's cute. Think he can play in the kitchen with slut girl, or is he too inexperienced/immature? Can I tell him what trade options there are, or am I too shy and sweet? This innocence thing is a double edged sword sometimes.
Two new rules for me:
1. Don't jump on the cock and ride it to its "Most logical conclusion." Suck it.
2. Quid pro quo for Daddy and me.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A Dirty Limerick from my Love
Displeased with shastaschism.
Feeling like a cataclysm.
This long distance trick
is somnambulistic.
Empty hands and dreams of shastajism.
Feeling like a cataclysm.
This long distance trick
is somnambulistic.
Empty hands and dreams of shastajism.
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