While I did have a lovely idea for a Halloween HNT, I thought I’d show you the effect this past weekend has had on my own roaming fingers and save the witching hour for next week. I simply can’t keep my hands out of my panties – and yes, they are a brand called “Hot Bottoms”.
HHNT! Check out Osbasso for more!
Conversations from last weekend:
Coquitten: So, um, did you wear a school uniform, too?
London Guy: Yeah, I mean, we all did.
Coquitten: What did it look like?
London Guy: Blazer, tie, black pants… y’know, like all of them. And I was a prefect, so I had a badge.
Coquitten: *already fantasizing* Did you punish all the younger boys with detentions?
London Guy: Sometimes, sure.
Coquitten: I bet you were perfect to all the teachers and then really cheeky with everyone else… *imagining LG with his tie askew, giving cocky grins to older secretaries like Daken in The History Boys*
London Guy: Pretty much.
*long pause*
Coquitten: So… do you have a picture?
London Guy: Are you still on that?
Coquitten: We don’t have schoolboys in uniforms…
London Guy: I might.
*another pause*
Coquitten: *sly look* Do you still have the whole uniform…?
Image from an article on "The Making of The History Boys"
~*~
Coquitten: I bet you were a naughty schoolboy.
London Guy: *starts laughing and doesn’t stop for a good two minutes*
Coquitten: *narrowed eyes* What was so funny?
London Guy: The way you say naughty… Say it again!
Coquitten: *self conscious* Noooo, you’re just going to laugh at me, tell me why it’s funny!
London Guy: Just say it.
Coquitten: Er… naughty.
London Guy: *cracks up again*
Coquitten: I don’t get it!
London Guy: Well… It’s just that… with your accent… It sounds really filthy.
Coquitten: What, like pornographic?
London Guy: Exactly. Say it again for me!
Coquitten: I’m not even saying it in a sexy voice! *drops into sultry tones* Like this… Naughty.
London Guy: It’s filthier the other way.
*long silence as I realize the other people on the bus are listening*
London Guy: Hey… say “naughty nanny…”
~*~
Coquitten: I think I want to start a travel blog to describe all these amazing sights I’m seeing!
London Guy: Would you talk about all the sights? *suggestive glance toward his cock*
Coquitten: *giggles* Well, no, because my mum would read it.
London Guy: You could start some other kind of blog. I don’t know, some sort of wild blog that talks about all the other things you did this weekend. *grins and nudges me*
Coquitten: *straight face, though dissolving into giggles internally* What a fantastic idea. I just might do that, too.
You may remember I was trashed out of my mind last time. To a point where I was a little worried I wasn’t going to recognize him when he arrived at the rail station. But I did recognize him, thanks to some hidden workings by some lusty love goddess, and he was even sexier than I remembered. I just wanted him to pick me up with his big arms, toss me over his broad shoulder, and carry me home.
London Guy should have been a porn star. Seriously. He is muscled and handsome and oh my lord, his dick is amazing. It’s big and thick and you just want to stick it in you. And did I…
It hurts, it’s so big. It’s like being a virgin again, except I know where to touch, lick, and suck now. It hurts in a good way, a pain that arches my back and soaks me a little more, urging him deeper than I thought I could take. His hands are equally as big, wrapping around my breasts and waist and running up and down my back, feeling incredibly gentle for a man who is so big in stature and… other things.
Mick Payton's Pure Passion
We fucked all weekend. Quickies in the afternoon, marathons at night; it was sex for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We took time out only to dance in dark, sexy clubs, grinding against one another, licking the salt off one another’s skin, taking shots of tequila, and then sucking the limes from one another’s lips. And except for that (and one swelteringly sensual shower together), he spent the weekend nestled between my cabernet-coloured bed sheets, using me and being used by me, my piece-of-meat man. And, panting, flushed, and content, we stretched out side-by-side after our ferocities and let our hands roam until we could do it again.
I definitely think another trip to London is in order…
[The Mating Game - Bitter:Sweet]
It didn’t take long, did it?
A month in and I have two amazing prospects. Not just prospects: conquests. The one I’ve written about last post and a boy who’d you’d know of if you follow me on Twitter. I suppose I might need blog names for them, even. We’ll call the first London Guy and the second Narcissus.
London Guy called me this week wondering if he could come up to my Uni and see me. I agreed immediately – he is gorgeous, charming, and witty. The memory of his body, not to mention his beautiful cock, makes me slick. He might be here Thursday, maybe the weekend after. I owe him, anyway, after his patience with me in my uber-drunken state, so you best believe, readers, he will be shown a very good time.
As for Narcissus… Well, I’m sure you can figure out from his nickname what he’s most interested in talking about. Why did I even bother answering his texts after we met at a club? I don’t know. I had a strangely good feeling about seeing him again. Despite his incessant blather about his job and his money and his car and oh, he’s got a modeling job, and this, that, and the other (all of which sound like boastful lies), I took him back to the dorms anyway and my good feeling was correct: he was fan-fucking-tastic in bed.
His narcissicism seems to dissolve the moment his clothes come off. He becomes an incredibly giving partner – licking and burying his fingers in me until I can’t stand it, then fucking me every which way. I needed to bite down on my hand to keep from moaning too loud and revealing to my flatmates what was going on. It was like this both nights – though the moment we were finished, it was back to “Chat-lie-chat-chat-lie-me-me-lie-me.” By the end of the second night, I wasn’t putting up with it, told him he could let himself out, I was going to sleep. It wasn’t as rude as that sounds, but it certainly made me feel good to get some silence in my room.
I know this is just a quick update, but I have some erotica in mind to start writing soon. I’m just so excited about London Guy coming! I’ll be letting you guys know what happens when it does.
Now that I’m settled in, my room in my flat has become a mess. Clothes, shoes, make-up, books… Everything has exploded all over my floor. Buuuut that’s what my room looked like at home, so I guess I won’t feel homesick!
However, if I get an inkling that I might bring a guy home, I should probably clean this place up. I couldn’t even bring myself to show you guys a picture of the floor, but here are a couple of the room and who is in it!
Don’t forget to *click* for a better look of what’s in the mirror…
If you *click* this one, you might see what a Coquitten looks like when she’s studying…!
HHNT! Head over to Osbasso’s and see who else is up today.
Happy HNT, guys, I’m fully back. Nothing half-nekkid about me, buuut… I’m sure no one minds.
[The Boy Next Door - Meet Me in St. Louis
New layout! I like it; based off an old HNT. Cleaner, I think, than my old one, which had some html kinks. What do you think?]
Sometimes, someone indulges some information which just makes you change your mind entirely.
There’s been a flirtation between a Flatmate and I for a week or so now. He’s nice – witty, cute, and cocky, but he is, as most people in my flat are, a fresher – young.
So many of my experiences here have shot me back to high school and a time when just kissing someone was exciting. In fact, tonight at the club, we played Spin the Bottle. It was surprisingly fun. Three girls and six guys (two gay, though, and one too drunk to kiss).
Spin! Make out with a gay guy. Spin! Kiss a girl on a cheek. Spin! Kiss Flatmate.
Great. He was a good kisser. I thought for sure I was going to be lusting after him all night. Well, until the bus ride home. He revealed a tidbit I wasn’t expecting from this bantering rogue of a fresher – “I’m a virgin.”
Scratch that shit. There’s nothing wrong with virginity, I just don’t want someone else’s as a ‘gift.’
So I remain fruitless in my quest for a British man. London this weekend, so I expect to find someone more my style. Wish me luck!
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