Got A Slit in Your Skirt

[Jezebel - Ricky Martin

150 Words]

Next time you visit, I’m going to wear a mini-skirt when we go out. I’m going to wear that black one, the one you met me in, with the slits on the sides that it doesn’t need and the lacy edge. It’s my favourite, actually, just barely covering anything, soft, and almost demure if it wasn’t so short. I’ll wear a black lace thong to match, though when you slip your hands between my thighs in the dark club, I’ll wish I hadn’t worn anything underneath. I might even take my panties off in the bathroom, slipping them, wet and smelling like sex, into your pocket.

When you fuck me, I’ll keep my skirt on. Maybe it will happen in the club, pressed up against one another, grinding to the heavy beat. It will feel rushed and spontaneous, but I planned from the beginning that is how it will happen.

Post #100! Oh, and HNT – November 5th, 2009

This is my official post #100! If you’ve been following me from the beginning, you may know that there were a large number of posts I cut out when coworkers found my blog. But as it stands now, this is number one-zero-zero! And I’m very proud.

To commemorate this occasion, here are 100 things you may or may not have known about me sexually!

1. I love sex.
2. I lost my virginity at 18, in the back of a car, on prom night.
3. I had my tongue pierced for four reasons: a) it was 2-4-1 piercing day at the parlor, b) I loved the way it looked, c) I admit, I did want to use it while giving head, and d) my man at the time had his done and ohgodyes did that ever feel good!
4. I like it rough.
5. My ‘number’ is between 15 and 25.
6. I regret only one of those.
7. I’ve been titty-fucked.
8. I’ve had a MMF threesome.
9. I haven’t had a FFM threesome (but I want to!).
10. I’ve dated and/or slept with guys of these nationalities: Persian, Saudi Arabian, Russian (x2), Indian, English, Lebanese, Kurdish, Cuban, South African, Mexican, and American.
11. I have an FBI record for dating the Saudi Arabian… and the FBI knew details of my sex life I hadn’t given them myself. Creepy. [Only now, I share my sex life with the entire internet, so I guess I can't really complain.]
12. I used to get sent home early from pre-school for taking my clothes off and trying to chase the boys so I could kiss them.
13. My first serious boyfriend (age 16) once tried to get me to touch his penis (I had never before touched one!), and when I said no, we compromised that I would just “look at it for a little bit.”
14. I was once choked during sex (by someone I trust to the highest degree). It was hot.
15. I used whipped cream as a sex toy for the first time when I was 17.
16. I love being on top… but I love it more if he’s grabbing my hips and moving me up and down.
17. I have a clitoral hood piercing.
18. I’ve had sex on a kitchen counter… that wasn’t mine. Or his.
19. I’m incredibly aroused by women, especially lesbian porn… but in practice, I’m totally straight.
20. I’ve been tied up.
21. I’ve tied someone up.
22. The oldest person I’ve had sex with was 17 years my senior.
23. I once stuck the handle of a hairbrush up someone’s ass.
24. I only have one nipple pierced, and I’ll probably keep it that way.
25. I once got fingered in a sandbox at a playground (I was 17). It definitely wasn’t a repeat experience.
26. My favorite movie sex scene is in The Red Violin, when the gypsy girl is fucking the violinist as he plays.
27. I’ve had sex in front of a stranger.
28. I like to read Craigslist ads searching for a girl for a FFM threesome. I’ve never responded, but I think it would be really hot to be a “couple’s toy” for a night.
29. I like nibbling on ears.
30. A recurring theme in my fantasies is being slammed up against the wall.
31. One of my hottest sexual experiences was Engineer fucking me as we both watched ourselves in the mirror.
32. I love watching guys masturbate.
33. I’ve always, always wanted to have sex in a library.
34. I used to work for Starbucks and I always wanted to do an HNT in just my green apron… Unfortunately, I gave them all away when I quit.
35. I think champagne is the sexiest drink to have with a lover. It has a sexy name, it comes in a sexy glass, and it has a sophistication to it that even wine does not.
36. In that vein, I have always wanted someone to drizzle champagne on me and lick it off.
37. In high school, I was the romantic and my best friend Bear was the sex goddess. Not that she isn’t any less goddess-y, but now, the roles have sort of switched. As is, she prefers relationships and I enjoy casual sex.
38. I buy bedsheets based on how sexy I think they look.
39. I love water sex – I’ve had sex in a pool, a shower, and a hot tub. I also love making out in the rain and hope to have sex during a thunderstorm.
40. I’ve never owned more than two sex toys at a time.
41. In Israel, I once had to deter a guy who was trying to have sex with me in a bathroom. My Hebrew isn’t great, so the only thing I could think to say was, “Bad time of the month!” (which wasn’t true!).
42. I used to fuck a customer from the bar who we all called Motorcycle Marty.
43. Since getting to the UK, I’ve had sex only seven times.
44. I had sex in the middle of a baseball diamond.
45. I’ve fucked a college football player.
46. My almost first kiss resulted in me laughing in the guy’s face. Oops! But to be fair, he tried while my dad was driving him home and we were in the backseat. It was not the time nor the place.
47. Ever since I became confident sexually, I’ve wanted to have revenge sex with this guy I met freshman year. I had sucked, and he was a jerk.
48. My favorite toy right now is my LELO Lily that RainCityBaby got me.
49. Three people I’ve slept with know about this blog. I don’t think any of them read it regularly and I’m not sure one of them has ever even looked for it.
50. In the last week, I have made myself cum at least three times a day.
51. The most used tags for my blog are (in alphabetical order): breasts, cock, dating, fucking, HNT, pussy, sex, and the Engineer.
52. I think my ass is my best sexual feature. So do most of my sexual partners.
53. Despite that, I’ve never had anal sex.
54. I have been rimmed though.
55. I prefer finger-fucking to oral sex, but it’s best if they’re combined.
56. I used to hate having my breasts touched. It reminded me of my first boyfriend.
57. My first vibrator was actually really good. It was a multi-speed/multi-function ribbed bullet which was incredibly powerful and lasted a year and a half until I dropped it.
58. I started reading sex blogs when I googled “How to give a blowjob” and landed on The Over-Educated Nympho’s How-To. I was 18.
59. My roommate freshman year and I once tried to learn how to dirty talk by writing an anonymous naughty letter to one of the boys down the hall. We taped it to his door and ran away giggling. It had choice phrases like “I love your coffee-colored skin and want you to put your cream in my cup.”
60. I once gave someone a blowjob in his kitchen while a party happened in his living room.
61. I think the sexiest thing about a man is the V of his hips leading down to his cock. I love when his trousers slip just enough that it’s subtly visible.
62. I once had sex on a giant trampoline.
63. I’ve had sex with a guy who had a Prince Albert.
64. I really want to fuck a guy with a strap-on.
65. The second guy I ever had sex with was a frat guy with a “reputation.” Screw the rep, we were safe, and he really knew what he was doing.
66. I like ribbed condoms better than smooth.
67. I hate when guys are quiet in bed. I like to hear you moaning as you cum.
68. I always tear up a little when I deep-throat… and for some reason, I love how sexy and slutty that makes me feel.
69. I don’t like 69ing. Can’t concentrate on what I’m doing. Two people doing half-assed oral isn’t as good as one person giving their full attention.
70. I like (rationally) jealous boyfriends.
71. I like silly sex.
72. I once had sex after drinking a few shots of Absinthe. It was incredibly heightened sensation-wise and we had to stop because it felt so good it hurt.
73. I am really turned on by being told what to do.
74. I have never ‘made love.’
75. I love teasing a guy while he’s on the phone.
76. One of my hottest first kisses with a guy was in a theatre dressing room.
77. I am often the one to take initiative sexually.
78. I think spontaneous bondage – being tied up with a tie, a belt, or some other everyday object – is infinitely hotter than bondage toys.
79. Until recently, I could not always make myself cum during masturbation.
80. My first real orgasm was during a bubble bath.
81. I once signed up for a Sugar Daddy dating website. I went on one dinner date, but it was really not my thing. Nothing happened.
82. I read somewhere vanilla, as a scent, is one of the strongest aphrodisiacs for men, so I always try to have something with vanilla in it in my bathing/perfume routine. Currently, it’s a vanilla bodywash.
83. I love playing with nipples.
84. If ever necessary, I have music picked out to striptease to.
85. Before I leave university, I really want to fuck a professor.
86. I don’t own any panties that aren’t thongs or boyshorts. No granny panties or even bikini briefs in my underwear drawer! (Oh, wait. Except ONE pair that is lacey and leopard print, but y’know. Close enough.)
87. I really want to fuck Jonathan Rhys Meyers.
88. My best friend Bear taught me how to give head with a big, black, suction cup dildo.
89. I love having my hair pulled.
90. I sometimes forget how non-vanilla I am and how many non-vanilla things I’m aware about that others aren’t and shock people.
91. I’ve had sex with a sexy firefighter, though he wasn’t wearing his uniform at the time. Backdraft was on in the background, though…
92. I wish more guys would want you to put your finger up their ass.
93. I love being naked.
94. I think it’s fun to go out somewhere “freshly fucked”.
95. A partner and I once broke a key off a keyboard AND a blender in what he referred to as the “throes of passion.”
96. I hate sex terms like “donkey punch”, “Dirty Sanchez”, etc. I especially hate “superman”, but that’s mostly because Soulja Boy is an idiot.
97. I think sexting is totally hot.
98. I was once given a joke candy-cane shaped vibe for X-mas… and he totally used it on me later that night.
99. I have incredibly nice canvas posters on my wall… of yummy erotica.
100. I’m cheating for #100… It’s my HNT! But you get four pictures this week and a bit more than I usually show (above the neck, anyway ;P risky? perhaps… but I like a little risk!), so I think it’s worth #100.

*click*

Last week for Halloween, I was a faerie. I found this wonderful Venetian carnival mask…

*click!*

Don’t forget to stop on by Osbasso’s! Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday everyone, and Happy 100 to me!

Everything a Big, Bad Wolf Could Want

"Little Red Riding Hood" by Gustave Dore

[Little Red Riding Hood - Sam the Sham]

This story is another challenge post between Amy of Sex, Chocolate, and Red Lipstick, Z of Phaedra Fallen and I. The challenge was Fairy Tale Erotica, 1000-1500, and I am over a day late. Oops! Check out their blogs to see Cinderella and Snow White, Rose Red. But just a warning, this particular story is a little dark, and while it is certainly sexual, it might not be as ‘hot’ as some of my other posts. The original Little Red story is incredibly morbid and I wanted to keep that feel (though I admit I left out the part about her drinking her grandmother’s blood from a wine bottle…). My final disclaimer is that the Little Red character is of the age of consent where I grew up (sixteen), and not the child she is in the original story.

Once Upon a Time,

Little Red Riding Hood grew up, as little girls do. She married the Huntsman not but three days after he saved her from the Wolf, a prim and youthful bride of sixteen with rosy cheeks and a dark little secret which kept her wet between the thighs. She cried out on her wedding night, but not because she was a virgin, only because he wasn’t the Wolf. That night, and many nights after, she sobbed softly into her pillow after her husband had gone to sleep, letting her hands coax from her clit sad, wonderful orgasms as she remembered her secret over and over again.

She remembered his large, calloused hands touching her trembling lip, reaching up and pushing the hood of her little red cloak away off her head, stroking her dark ringlets… She knew he was bad, knew Mother’s warnings, but there was something so teasing about his smile, something hidden at the side of a smirk, a hint of a fang, maybe, but more like a dare to be bad. Oh, all little girls want to be bad, sure enough, and all little girls want to succumb to a bad man once or twice in their lives. And he was the worst, which, as far as she could tell as a good little girl who wanted to be bad, made him the best.

She protested, of course. She was expected to, wasn’t she? And with every feeble no, he seemed to smile a little wider. He asked her where she was going. She knew she shouldn’t say, but the words tumbled from her mouth like precious pearls and he gathered them up with care, as if she didn’t realize he was a rogue, a thief, and certainly not to be trusted. He led her down the path a little further, pointing one of those large hands toward a field of wildflowers.

She gave in. Less to bring something pretty to her grandmother and more to please him, to do as he had said and gather a bouquet of the best. She felt his eyes, hungry, following her through the field, settling her pert new bosom and rounded backside. She knew he was behind her when she bent to pick up the perfect little bunch of bluebells, and she felt exhilarated and terrified when he pressed himself hard into the back of her skirt. He reached his arms around her, catching at her wrists as her basket of goodies for her grandmother toppled to the ground. Her heart was in her throat and between her thighs, as he held her captive against him, his strange, masculine hardness pushing into her soft buttocks.

“Please,” she whimpered softly, suddenly sure this game was too adult for her, but he forced her to face him. His mouth was rough, and he nipped at her lips with sharp teeth. Her knees buckled and he grasped tight onto her arms, leaving huge handprints on her flesh from a necessity to hold her up. His tongue tasted her, moving from mouth to ear to neck, nibbling at her skin and savoring her salty-sweet flavor.

Finally, he let her fall to the earth, crushing the perfect bluebells. He undid the laces on his trousers and there was furry hair everywhere, and in the midst of it all, his hard, eager cock. He put it in front of her cherry lips and she stared up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. He wrapped her curls around his fingers and pulled, and then she understood what he meant. She took his cock into her mouth, tentative, but he showed her what to do with each painful tug of her hair.

He nearly howled when he came, pulling himself from between her lips to cum hot and sticky across those rosy cheeks and down her dimpled chin. He smiled down at her, that twisted, fanged smile, and then he ran off, leaving her in the dirt. She stared after him, licking her lips, enjoying the strange, foul taste he’d left there, an odd delight spreading over her body.

 

She had gathered up the bread and biscuits for Grandmother, tucking them neatly back into the basket before finding the path once more. She couldn’t get his thick, hard cock out of her mind. She wanted more of it. She wanted him to pull her curls once more and make her heart beat faster in her chest. She felt slippery and moist, ready and not at the same time.

She opened Grandmother’s door slowly when she arrived, expecting her to be sleeping soundly in her bed. She saw instead the dark form of him, and she felt a rush of fear and excitement.

“Grandmother,” she called softly, and he stirred in the bed, pulling the bedclothes up over his face. “Is that you? What shall I do with my basket?”

“Oh, little dear,” he answer, his falsetto obvious and his smirk of a smile trickling into his tone. “Come get undressed and climb into bed with your sweet grandmother.”

“But Grandmother, where should I put my basket?”

“Oh, onto the table, dear! You shan’t be needing it anymore.”

“And Grandmother, where should I put my apron?”

“Throw it into the fire, dear, you shan’t be needing that anymore, either.”

She untied her apron and dropped it into the flames. “And my bodice, Grandmother?”

“Throw it onto the fire!”

“My dress, too, and my petticoats?”

“And your stockings and your shoes but…” he looked at her, shivering and naked except for her brilliant red cloak wrapped around her body. “Leave on your little red riding hood and come climb into bed with me.”

She climbed into the bed, nervous and barely able to breathe as she realized he was also completely nude. “Grandmother, how hairy you are!”

“Oh, the better to keep warm, my dear.”

“Grandmother, what big arms you have!” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, his dick erect and pressing into her thigh.

“The better to carry firewood with, my dear.” She gasped as his hands pulled and teased her nipples, tracing down her stomach to wriggle in between her legs.

“Grandmother, what big hands you have…!”

“The better to hold you with, my dear.” He climbed on top of her and she stared into his face.

“Grandmother, what big ears you have…” His mouth twitched and he smiled, leaning in close and murmuring to her in his own voice,

“The better to hear you with, my dear.”

“Grandmother, what big eyes you have,” she said to him.

“The better to see you with, my dear,” and he slid himself into her. She cried out, first in pain, then in pleasure, as he began to fuck her. He held her arms down, one of his large hands able to clasp her two wrists, but she did not struggle. Instead, she let her body rise and fall to meet his, frenzied and rousing. His free hand reach beneath the bedclothes, sweetly tormenting parts of her body she had never knew existed.

She felt herself burst. Her body tensed in unknown joy around his as she fell into his wild brown eyes. As she started to relax, he began to thrust harder, untamed, harder and harder and harder into her until it hurt again and she cried out once more, loudly. He closed his eyes, a grotesque serenity on his face, before she felt him cum, hot and filthy and fantastic inside her.

“Grandmother, what a big mouth you have…” she whispered as he lay next to her, and he turned to look at her, that hunger in his eyes no less abated. He smiled his awful smile and bared his fangs.

“The better to eat you with!” She shrank back as he lunged at her, not knowing if he was going to bite her or kiss her.

 

She never knew, for at that very moment, the Huntsman murdered the Wolf, his blood spilling over her, masking her own loss of innocence spattered on the bedsheets. She was supposed to be happy, grateful, and now, a good wife, and she threw her blood-soaked cloak into the river to forget. But somethings are never forgotten, replayed underneath her fingertips while tears roll down her cheeks, and no one actually lives happily after after.

Oh, Baby, Baby

I wasn’t going to write about this. I was going to pretend like it had never happened. But I write about sex as a university/college experience and I realized, in the end, I should write about it. I think it’s a legitimate fear and sometimes reality for many Uni students, especially the girls, although it clearly affects the boys as well. I know this isn’t the first time this has happened to me (although it is certainly the most dire). Warning: This got incredibly long, but I hope all the information is beneficial.

WHAT TO DO IF YOU THINK YOU’RE PREGNANT AT UNIVERSITY

1. This is incredibly easy to say and sometimes not as easy to do, but step number one is take precaution. What is the saying? An ounce of caution is worth a pound of cure? Something like that. Anyway, my point is: USE CONDOMS. Take birth control. In fact, most effectively, use condoms AND take birth control. I should hope I don’t need to remind my readers of this, but reliance on only the woman’s birth control such as the pill, the shot, or an IUD will not protect against any STIs.

If you’re curious about how to effectively put on a condom, take a look here. If you want to buy condoms which do some good in the world, take a look at One Condoms. UK readers can buy One Condoms at the Co-Op, by the way, since they aren’t available online in the UK. If you don’t think you can afford condoms and are living on Top Ramen/Cup-O-Noodles in your dorm, most campus health centers and Planned Parenthoods, as well as most free walk-in clinics, offer FREE condoms. And sometimes even lube! My secret condom supplier when I need free stuff is the gay bar my flatmates like to go to. They always have free packs of condoms and lube (next to pamphlets on how to come out to your parents and poppers safety…).

ALSO: many UK clinics/doctors are offering an implant which I believe goes in your arm, although I have very little information about it except what the doctor told me as I shook from preggo-scare-fear in his chair. I think he said it lasts three years? If anyone has information about this, let me know!

2. But if everything was perfect, I wouldn’t be writing this post, would I? I had an incident with condom breakage. Because yes, condoms do break! They are very effective when used properly but say your partner carries his in his wallet, where it isn’t exactly safe, or you accidentally use a condom which has expired, there is a chance of tearing. Or you might be a typical college kid and you’ve just had a long night out drinking, getting wasted, and blacking out, and you wake up next to some guy whose name you don’t know and you’re not sure what happened the night before, and you don’t see any condom wrappers anywhere, and you’ve forgotten to take your birth control because it’s finals week and you’re so stressed out about exams that it slipped your mind…

Well, you get the picture. Shit happens. Things don’t always go as planned. And luckily, there is an option. The “Morning After Pill”, also called Emergency Contraception, which is usually 1.5 mg dose of levenorgestrel (Plan B, Levonelle, NorLevo, Postinor-2). I imagine this is what you’ll get when you go to the pharmacy and ask for emergency contraception, as the three times I’ve had to do it, that’s what I received. Yes, three times. Twice in my drunken sophomoric youth and now, here, in the UK, when a partner and I had a condom break. But as many times as I’ve had to use it, please don’t rely on this as a form of birth control – it’s not. It should be for birth control mishaps, birth control misuses, and the odd drunken mistake (and I don’t mean a ‘mistake’ like you woke up next to that awful D-bag from your art history lecture, though you wouldn’t want his baby, anyway).

Where can you get it? I can only give advice on the USA and the UK here, but your local pharmacy should have it and willingly dispense it. It’s similarly priced in both places – about $45. Planned Parenthood also offers it (I find PP to be hard to get into in my home state and often paid the pharmacy price to avoid the long waits. Some places will be better than others, obviously). Boots in the UK has it for sure, and you can pay, or go to a walk-in clinic or GP and get a prescription to receive it free. In both countries, your campus health center should have resources either to dispense the pill or to send you to somewhere which can. I highly recommend utilizing your campus health center. This is a common issue for more students than you think and I assure you, they’ve dealt with it before and probably have exceedingly good advice about emergency contraception and contraception/safe sex in general. In all locations, they may refuse to dispense it if your worrisome sexcapade was more than 72 hours prior to your request for the pill.

Speaking of 72 hours, this is the recommended window of time in which you should get emergency contraception. GET IT AS EARLY AS POSSIBLE. Emergency contraception is more effective the sooner it is taken after sex. I don’t mean you should run out to 24-Hour pharmacy down the road ten seconds after he’s cum and you’ve got man-juice still leaking down your thigh, buuuut it is best to take it ASAP. Even just before sex is effective (though sort of weird if you already have it handy…).

For more resources on Plan B, check out the company’s website here.

3. Well, here we are. You’ve fucked up your BC, and now you’ve waited too long or are unsure about your EC. I kid, no blame placing here, because that’s where I’m at. Limbo. Purgatory. Am I or not? This is the height of Pregnancy Scare – hyperanalyzing your symptoms (was I *craving* those pickles or just hungry? Was that morning sickness or did I down too many tequila shots last night?), googling “Am I pregnant?”, and ticking down the days until your period starts.

The next step is to take a pregnancy test. Home pregnancy tests are usually quite accurate, measuring the levels of hCG in your wee. This is really best if you’ve missed a period, since that provides a timeline. The first day after your missed period will show levels of hCG, and the levels become stronger every day after that (peaking during the third month, or the 60th to 90th days).

Where do you find one? Grocery stores, pharmacies… They’re pretty widely available. My friends have all shared pretty funny, awkward stories about buying them (I bought mine with a box of tampons [just in case it comes!], two huge bars of chocolate, and a large bottle of water). To be fair, it rests on the cashier’s shoulders to be professional about your purchase and I guarantee they’ve had girls in buying them before. Also, some brands are better than others (First Response, Clear Blue), but are more expensive due to a clearer reading/higher sensitivity to hCG. That isn’t to say that grocery store brand won’t work, it just means you might not get an accurate reading until later in your cycle.

I think the two-pack is best for putting your mind at ease. At least, that’s what I’ve done this time around. It makes it easy to use one early on to sort of settle yourself and de-stress, and then if your period still hasn’t come, the second one is always there to cement the answer. I still don’t have the urge to pee yet, though, so mine is still up in the air…

Pregnancy tests can, obviously, also be done by a doctor, either with urine or blood. I haven’t had this done, but I believe they usually do a blood sample. This is much more reliable, but sometimes more nerve-wracking. Home pregnancy tests are quicker and more private, but if you do get a positive, call your doctor/go to campus health and arrange for a blood test. After you’ve had a good cry, anyway. And some ice cream.

Do bring along a sorority sister or bff, even just on your way to get the pregnancy test. Some people would rather do it alone, and I won’t knock that, but for most young women, I think it’s nice to have someone you trust around. This can be a really emotional experience, especially if it’s your first big pregnancy scare (which, for most college students, it will be). I do advise picking a friend who is supportive of sex and whatever decision you might need to make in the end, and NOT a friend who will guilt you for your sexuality or the choice you make if you are pregnant. The last stressor you want is your own friend frowning on you for something you can’t change.

4. Okay. So by now, with the condom failure, emergency contraception woes, and the big pink plus sign indicating a positive you hadn’t planned for… What now?

Well, I don’t intend this to be a post on “You’re pregnant in college, what do you do?” I think the options list is too wide and too extensive to explore in this particular post. But again, I stress campus health and Planned Parenthood (and your regular GP or doctor if you’re comfortable with that). They will always talk to you about all your options and help you make the decision that’s best for your view and your situation physically and mentally.

A quick run-down of those options is:

A) Carry the baby to term and keep it.

B) Carry the baby to term and find an adoptive family, making the decision about either an open or closed adoption process.

C) Abort the fetus (using medicine within 49 days of gestation or surgically in first 12 weeks to 16 weeks, after which it is illegal to abort in the USA).

I admit that it isn’t always the right thing to do to talk to your partner about the decision, though in any case, I do believe the man has a right to know if the baby has been carried to term. Some situations warrant not informing the partner of a decision to terminate the pregnancy (one night stands, for example, since you might have ‘accidentally’ deleted his number due to his poor finger-fucking skills or disappointing whiskey dick). In any situation, don’t forget about your mental health as well as your physical. Sometimes knowing a pregnancy termination is the right decision for you may still result in mental duress.

In any case, campus health, campus health, campus health, Planned Parenthood, Planned Parenthood, Planned Parenthood! To find your campus health center, access your school website. For your closest PP, check out the website here. These are least expensive and most helpful and readily available options for most college students. If you’re living in a dorm, these are great because they are usually nearby or accessible by public transportation, even when your usual doctor is not (after all, you may be out-of-state or even out of the country!).

I hope that was helpful – I know my first pregnancy scare at university was a horrible experience, and this one, being so far away from home, hasn’t been great either. Feel free to leave more questions in the comments and to offer any other resources if you have them!

Wish me luck, by the way… I finally have the urge to pee…

No Time for Sleeping

[Bomb - Bitter:Sweet]

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…

Step Right Up, You’re the Next Contestant

[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.

My London, London Bridge Wanna’ Go Down

[London Bridge - Fergie]

In case you haven’t noticed, I am a party girl. I love dancing and booze and wearing miniskirts and heels. I adore the bustling noise of a club, lights flashing, the bass in your bones. You can imagine how a Friday night in London touring Old Street and Leicester Square made my heart skip a beat with joy.

Tiny skirt? Check. Sexy backless clingy top? Check. Gorgeous new red pumps? Double check.

Armed with my hot outfit and a double vodka/red bull, I began to peruse the merchandise. There are hot men everywhere. There was a slick in my panties every time I turned around, and by the second club, I’d found him.

Tall and muscular with a strong nose, we met when he told me a trick to getting in the club for less money. We met again later on the dance floor, and he pulled me to the side and bought me a drink. We danced and danced, and drank and drank, and then my lightweight petite-ness kicked in and I blacked out.

Flash of a rickshaw ride in the drizzling rain, another flash of me yelling loudly about sexual satisfaction on a bus. I was just getting a more sober point where things were coming into focus and bam! Another club, two-thirds of a bottle of wine, and it’s back to flashes. Flash of a key in a cigarette case, being sick on my hostel bed, and then nothing.

Until I woke up.

In a hotel.

In Clapham.

Next to a guy whose name I did not know.

He WAS the guy I met in the queue, luckily, and I admired him once more in a mostly sober state. Definitely worth the night, though I knew so little of the details. I figured we hadn’t had sex since I woke up clothed, and as he came to himself, we chatted for a little while and then began to remedy the situation.

The man’s pants came off and I think my jaw dropped. His cock was huge. Not scary-huge, but not at all what I was expecting. It was as gorgeous as he was, which was lovely and fitting and oh God, felt so good… I must have still been tipsy because I remember so little else except cock, cock, big cock, amazing cock, want it in me right away cock. Unfortunate, that hazy bit, because I do have a solid remembrance of it being great sex.

But fortunately, when I got back to the hostel, my travel buddy knew his name. We texted for the rest of the weekend – he may come visit me at my Uni. Impressive, considering what a drunken fool I was. I would never have wanted to see me again. And honestly, if I don’t see him, I’m quite content with my wild London night. Planning to do it again sometime soon, even.

So Please Don’t Stay in Touch

[Fuck You - Lilly Allen]

I am, in fact, alive and here in the UK safely.

I am not, in fact, having a wild sexcapade every night and seducing all the British boys. In fact, it’s become my main culture shock. The dating/fucking/whathaveyou scene here is QUITE different. It turns out, I’m only attracted to Englishmen if they’re gay rugby players (of course, that’s not entirely true, English readers, but it does seem to be a trend in the men I’ve approached in clubs…).

Now, as depressed as I am about the lack of sex, I need to make it fairly clear that I have had my chances. I’ve been on two dates already and it’s only been a week and a half. Unfortunately, neither turned out to be prospects I really was interested in. The first seems like he’s more interested in getting wasted with his mates than actually flirting with me.

The second guy did get me over to his house – under the pretense of photography and music discussion. We hung out in his bedroom and it was like high school. I had to force myself not to roll my eyes when his hand ‘accidentally’ brushed against my thigh. When he held my hand, I wanted to throw up a little. He nuzzled my shoulder before kissing me and oh, good lord, how he does not kiss well.

It began with pecks. This was no melt into his lips sort of kissing. It was a series of peck, peck, peck, peckpeckpeckpeck, peck. I thought maybe it would be better if we added more of the “french” variety in. Picture your tongue, a rather flexible muscle. Now imagine if that muscle were held rigid. WHILE KISSING. Our tongues didn’t tango so much as tap-dance.

And of course, he kept his hands roaming. For all this unpassionate kissing, his hands were quick to action. I pretty much knew the moment he caressed my fingers that this was a bad idea. I don’t know why I continued to give it a shot. I ended up having to tell him to slow down (as early on as him trying to unclasp my bra). The whole thing just felt so… off.

He wanted to keep kissing but I gave him an incredibly bullshit excuse and asked him to take me back to my flat. I felt like shit. I hate lying, but I don’t know how to nicely tell someone I’m not attracted to them. And plus, he tried to lick my lips with his rigid tongue! It was fucking weird.

I will find a British boy to fuck, damnit! I am determined and not deterred after this mess of an experience.

I Think I’d Rather Misbehave

[Dirty Laundry - Bitter:Sweet

Another challenge post, this time with both Z of PhaedraFallen and Amy of Sex, Chocolate, and Red Lipstick. 1000-2000 words, theme of “Back to School”, three elements - plaid skirt, stolen glance, and something ripped. It wasn’t exactly how I expected it to turn out, so… well, you’ll see.]

As much as I enjoy school, there is nothing worse than the first day and going over a stodgy, tenured professor’s expectations of you. Luckily for me, the first stodgy, tenured professor I had of the school year was far from stodgy and light years away from tenured. Taking my desk, I was unexpectedly pleased to see the young man opening his laptop up at the front of the room was a nervous, but gorgeous, graduate student. This might be more fun than I anticipated, I thought gleefully, because if he’s boring, at least I’ll have daydream fodder.

But drifting off into fantasyland was soon forgotten as my goal became to distract him from his first day of school speech. I crossed my legs overtly, trying to draw attention to my too-short shorts and bare skin. I nibbled thoughtfully on the end of a pen, wetting my lips and batting my eyelashes when his gaze passed my way. I stretched with a phony yawn, my breasts lifting high as my back arched, my alright tight tank-top pulling tighter to show every curve. His derailed stutters were tantalizingly adorable, his panicky motions endearing. But when I looked around the classroom, I realized I wasn’t the only girl trying to catch his eye with flirty tricks. Every damn sorority sister and busty coed in there was pulling the same shit!

I frowned. With all of us trying for him, this had gone from lecture distraction to the semester’s challenge. I would need to do something dramatic; something different. Something that didn’t involve repeating trips to his office hours.

“Don’t forget to pick up your textbook within the week. And just remember, I’m always available by instant messenger if you have any quick, burning questions. Well, not always, even grad students sleep sometimes!” He let out an anxious laugh and cut it short as he realized no one was laughing with him. “Okay, see you next class.”

His final words gave me an idea, so I made sure to bring my laptop the next time class met. Sure enough, his was also open and running, and it was a gamble, but I bet he had his messenger program going, too. I signed in. Yep. There he was, “c8h10n4o2”, whatever that meant, online and unsuspecting.

LibraryLust: Hey. I’m in one of your classes and I had a question.

I watched him glimpse his screen and then look at the clock. It seemed like he was deciding if he had enough time before class started to answer or not. He leaned down to type a reply.

c8h10n4o2: Hey, I’m about to start class, why don’t I message you after?

LibraryLust: Do you know how sexy you are?

His eyes widened and I hid a smile. I guess that meant he didn’t.

c8h10n4o2: Please only message me if you have a serious question.

LibraryLust: I’m wet just looking at you right now.

Now he looked startled. He coughed uncomfortably, then looked around the room, eyes shifting quickly from girl to girl, realizing almost all of us were on laptops. I bit my lip to keep from grinning.

As he started class, my game became even more fun – his notes were on his laptop, and I knew he’d see that flashing IM window and be too curious not to check. After all, if he’d been truly offended, he would have blocked me.

LibraryLust: Don’t bother responding, I’ll talk, you teach.

LibraryLust: If I had my way, I’d be stripped down naked on that desk of yours.

LibraryLust: Other students in the room or not, I’d trail my hand across my nipples…

LibraryLust: Get them hard.

LibraryLust: Get you hard.

A tinge of pink crossed his cheeks the next time he looked at his notes, and he gave another nervous cough. Ah, so he was keeping the IM window open. Dirty boy. I smirked. He launched into a distracted discussion of the chapter we were to have read, and instructed us to turn to the right page. He held his copy tightly, his knuckles white, and his eyes searched the room for more than just studious compliance. I opened my book in my lap and waited until he turned to write something on the board about the author’s intentions.

LibraryLust: I bet the secret thrill of this has your cock already climbing to attention.

LibraryLust: I would love to get it hard in my mouth.

LibraryLust: Kneel in front of you as you teach.

LibraryLust: Suck you off as you lecture.

“And you’ll notice, if you turn to page, ah…” He swallowed uneasily and looked down at his computer screen, presumably to see which page we were supposed to be on next. Instead, he read my messages, and there was a “rrrriiiiiippp” as he accidentally tore the page out of the book in surprise. The class giggled, and the pink tinge turned into a bright red blush. “I’m s-sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me today.”

LibraryLust: I’d like you to get into me.

He shut his laptop quickly. The class was looking around, amused at our instructor’s ineptitude, tittering noisily. I was bummed at having to play nice, but sat back and listened to him wing it for the rest of the lesson.

The next few classes, c8h10n4o2 stayed offline. I was delighted to think I might have frightened him that much, but disappointed that my game was cut short. But a week later, there it was:

c8h10n4o2 is online

As the class sat down, I planned my attack. Today I would really make him sweat.

LibraryLust: I had a dream about you last night.

LibraryLust: You were studying in the library.

LibraryLust: Naked.

That familiar blush began to spread across his face and he reached toward the keyboard, seemingly about to sign off. I quickly began to type.

LibraryLust: Wait!

LibraryLust: Don’t you want to read what happens next?

His hesitation was sexy, in a naïve and unsure way. He began to type back, checking the clock to see if he had time before beginning the class.

c8h10n4o2: Yes.

LibraryLust: I’ll tell you if you drop your pencil as you start class. When you pick it up, bend over – ass to the class.

There was a rush of power as he did exactly as I said. I could practically feel myself getting wetter watching him apologize – flushed crimson red – and then bend over. The class giggled while I almost sat on my hands to keep them out of my pants. The lecture began, and I started to detail my “dream.”

LibraryLust: You were naked in the library.

LibraryLust: I crawled under the table you were sitting at.

LibraryLust: You tried to look busy in your books

LibraryLust: as I sat between your legs and licked your cock.

LibraryLust: You tried to keep quiet – it was the library, after all…

LibraryLust: But as I ran my tongue up and down

LibraryLust: Putting my lips around you…

LibraryLust: My hands switching between touching you

LibraryLust: And touching me.

LibraryLust: You moaned and came.

A whimper, inaudible to anyone except the girl listening for it, escaped when he next looked at his computer. His concentration wavered and his eyes roamed the classroom again, looking for his sweet, public tormentor. But I feigned involved note-taking and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. His eyes passed over me.

Over the weekend, I found myself distressed at his dismissal of me as his admirer. After all, I wasn’t unattractive. I wasn’t a bad student, either, just a bit distracted during his class. It was time, I felt, to reveal myself. If I was going to get anywhere past cybersex, he would have to know I was.

Sunday night I signed on and, sure enough, he was available.

LibraryLust: I want to make you cum.

c8h10n4o2: WHO ARE YOU?

LibraryLust: Tomorrow I’ll be wearing a schoolgirl skirt. Don’t talk to me until after class.

c8h10n4o2: Why are you doing this?

c8h10n4o2: Who are you?

c8h10n4o2: Hello?

c8h10n4o2: Are you there?

c8h10n4o2: Hello?!

When I walked in Monday, my game had taken a little twist. Two other girls were wearing plaid skirts. I smiled as the teacher’s eyes flicked from girl to girl to me in a daze. This just made things more fun, in my opinion, so I flounced my way over to my desk without even looking at him.

I waited until the middle of the lesson to even sign on, dutifully keeping up with my notes so any typing wouldn‘t seem out of the ordinary. He’d been mostly calm with nary a stutter, though I noticed his eyes lingered on the three of us often, as if trying to read our actions and see which of us it was.

LibraryLust: Three girls, three plaid schoolgirl skirts. Which one am I?

LibraryLust: I’ll give you a hint.

LibraryLust: I’m the one not wearing panties.

As if on miraculous cue, one of the other girls chose that moment to bend from her chair and retrieve something out of her book bag. He faltered as he tried to grab a stolen glance up her skirt, trying not to be obvious to the rest of the class as he acted like a sneaky pervert. I almost laughed aloud, then continued.

LibraryLust: After class, I want you to push everything off your desk.

LibraryLust: I want you to run your fingers up my skirt.

LibraryLust: Slide them into me and feel how wet I am.

I crossed my legs, turned on from my own teasing words. He was blushing again, and I couldn’t tell exactly, but I thought I glimpsed a hint of a hardening dick in his pants. Better get it harder.

LibraryLust: I want you to punish me for distracting you in class.

LibraryLust: For making you tongue-tied, embarrassing you in front of the other students.

LibraryLust: Bend me over the desk.

LibraryLust: Flip up my skirt, my bare ass pushed out toward you.

LibraryLust: You know you want to spank me.

LibraryLust: So do it. Spank me. Hard.

LibraryLust: I deserve it.

LibraryLust: Spank me until you’re hard as rock.

LibraryLust: I’ll be even wetter, then.

LibraryLust: I like to be punished.

He had stopped lecturing entirely, and was staring at the screen, shocked and mesmerized. The class began to murmur, wondering what the fuck was wrong with our young teacher. I clenched my thighs tight, aching to touch myself, breathing a little faster.

LibraryLust: I want you to unzip your pants.

LibraryLust: Order me to sit on the desk.

LibraryLust: Put your cock in me.

LibraryLust: Fuck me on your desk.

LibraryLust: Fuck me in this classroom, fast. Relentless.

LibraryLust: Punish me for making your first time teaching a joke.

LibraryLust: Watch my tits bounce up and down as you slam into me over and over.

LibraryLust: Just when I’m going to cum

LibraryLust: Pull out.

LibraryLust: Order me to lick my own pussy taste off your dick…

LibraryLust: Knowing another student could walk in at any moment.

LibraryLust: And when you cum, cum all over my face.

LibraryLust: So when I walk into my next class, your punishment is visible.

LibraryLust: I want you.

He let out an audible groan. “Mister, are you okay?” a student asked, and he looked up, as if realizing for the first time the class was there. When he spoke, his voice was high and tight as he strained to speak without revealing how turned on he was.

“We’ll resume from here next week, guys, I’ll let you go a little early today.”

As the rest of the class trickled out, I lingered in my seat, slowly putting my things away. His hard-on was obvious as he turned and beckoned to me to come to the front of the room.

“I think you’d better stay after class,” he said, “I believe we have some discipline issues to discuss.”

Looks So Nasty in Those Khakis

[Bitch of Living - Spring Awakening]

It was an hour drive to the hotel he’d booked, and we began our journey as the sun began to set. The mood was light-hearted – 80’s music playing on the iPod, bellies full from a good dinner, lots of smiling and laughing and catching up with one another. But as it is with us, the trip was only half-through when his hand began to snake up my thigh. I switched the playlist to something a little more… suitable.

We were rubbing at one another furiously over our clothes, his fingers trying in vain to get beneath the hem of my shorts, though his cock had somehow already been released from his business khakis. My fingers coiled around his hardening penis, his world slipping through my fist. He became frustrated with my ass-clinging denim and demanded I take them off.

So I took them off. I like being told what to do.

Half-naked and having my clit rubbed in the passenger seat as we passed other cars had me salivating from sheer excitement. I didn’t care about the danger – I needed him in my mouth.

“Just pull over if you get too distracted,” I murmured as I leaned over, leaving my naked ass practically pressed against the passenger side window.

His cock, as I’ve said, is glorious. Long and delicious and I wanted it. There wasn’t time to play around with teasing licks and maddening caresses – this was take-it-to-the-hilt, down-my-throat time.

I started sucking, slipping my lips over the head and then plunging down to get the full dick. I began slurping like I needed that cock, no longer a naive newbie and frightened of sounding unladylike. No, this was a wet, noisy cock sucking. If I had been able to pull my mouth away from it, trails of spit and pre-cum would have followed, glistening off the head of his dick and ending at my slutty, satisfied smirk.

He was moaning loudly, clutching the wheel with one hand and the back of my head with the other. I love that – it’s like a challenge. I can’t always make it all the way down, to be honest. He’s too big, but that’s okay, because he loves when I gag. And when my gagging sets him off into another groan of pleasure, then I love it, too.

I also loved the idea that anyone might have driven by and seen my ass in the air and my head buried in his lap. Some lonely trucker or shocked traveler catching a glimpse and realizing, with a double take, that yes, that girl really is doing what it looks like she’s doing. It made me wet to make the trucker hard or the traveler pant with just the idea of what’s happening in the lane next to them. It was so arousing to ostensibly be caught in the act and not even know it as we fly by in the rental car, defiling it with our dirty fun.

He began to thrust toward my mouth and I relished the added momentum, taking him in and letting my tongue wrap and unwrap around his cock as he bobbed against my lips. I gripped the bottom of his dick with one hand, rhythmically adding it to our road head machine. I began a pattern of tip, tip, tip, deep-throat and he went wild, absently pressing the gas as he got closer and closer to cumming.

70 – I sucked the tip, playing my tongue against the seam of his cock I love so much, running my piercing up and down it, alternating warm flesh with hard, stimulating metal.

80 – I slipped my free hand into his half-off boxers, playing with his balls as my mouth continued its frenzied fascination. “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails shuffled onto the iPod and we both groaned appreciatively as “I wanna fuck you like an animal…” reminded us of why we took this drive in the first place.

90 – I bucked against his hand, which had moved from the back of my head over to my lifted pussy – I couldn’t see from my desired position, but I hoped someone was driving next to us to watch him plunge his fingers in and out of me.

100 – I took as much of him as I could, choking on him and loving every second. “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, trying to concentrate on both the road and how deep I’d managed.

110 – He frantically began thrusting again and I matched his eager movements, one hand on his balls, the other pumping him against my lips and tongue. I was moaning now, anticipating his cum and begging for it wordlessly with my unbridled attention to his cock.

120 – He came, speeding down the freeway, shooting into my mouth. I stayed with my lips pressed around him, easing every last drop down my throat. He took his foot off the gas, breathing hard and I sat back in my seat, grinning, loving the filthy deliciousness of road head.