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.