Next story coming soon. 

In other news, Colin Meloy is now fond of calling me “the kinky sex goddess.” 


personal records

Listen to this song while you read!
It’s been one of my favourite remixes of the last two months, so do it.

Before this story, I want to quickly celebrate: just hit 1,000 unique visits in under two months! Can I just say…holy shit!?!?! You all are awesome. Blows my mind, seriously. I have so many stories I’m excited to tell you. But for now, let’s stick to the recent past. 
I called Colin Meloy after my long Wednesday. I slipped on the dress pictured below that you can barely see because I like the look of photos taken with my grainy laptop camera. And I like crawling up the end of my bed toward you. 

Colin is really tall…like 6’3” or 4” or something huge. My purple heels are fun in those situations. Oh, and of course crotchless tights with only my pussy lips underneath. They didn’t come like that. They aren’t garters. Just tights that have conveniently split from certain past activities. 

I arrived at his place where we downed a few beers, discussed his science fiction collection, and almost ended up not going out due to quick kisses. We rewarded our desire to dance with a boner in the elevator, then straggled forth to the long club line. Which we then abandoned for the bar to wait it out. Of course everyone we both know was there. I don’t prefer misconstrued monogamy so we played it cool, as I tend to do in public. Nope, not a PDA girl.

Unless it’s the kind where it’s not visible. Where we’re not kissing, but his fingers are banging me in the dark corner of the crowded stage of sexless bodies attempting to bump to the beat. We were certainly bumping. I hadn’t told him about the tights before, but I clued him in as we swiveled away from wandering eyes. His expression communicated straight-up lust as his index finger sunk into me, meeting me wet. It smelled fantastic. His big body shielded my silent gasping face as he flicked my clit. I saw someone I knew and smiled in her direction. If only she knew that several of his fingers were feeling me up from the inside as the speaker boomed beside us. If only we could get out of that place faster.

I beelined through the public building for my apartment. His plans involved tucking me around a corner by the post office and swirling me up a bit more. I kissed his neck as he teased, escalating the turn ons. I dragged him off when we heard voices, but then he stopped again in the alleyway, pushing me up against the wall. Cold air rushed up my tights but was met with warm liquid and his large hands.

More please?

We pawed through the dark into my bed, removing clothes faster than you can say foreplay. He wanted that I wanted his cock. His sensitive shaft enjoyed the saliva I poured around it. The only way to describe the start is it was like I was giving corn on the cob a wet, delicious blowjob. My lips moved back and forth across until I encompassed his head. Then he grabbed my legs and positioned himself under my cunt. Our heights at a 69 angle worked like magic…I opened and deep throated him hard for what may have been my personal record. His hard flesh got lost as I swallowed up and down, taking in more and more. His tongue worked me to fantastic places. Like buck wild riding his face as the darkness tipsily spun around me. An orgasm or two (or maybe three) in the bucket…

"Let’s fuck now."

He pushed me off of him, condom on, me circumventing his missionary impulse. 

"I want on top."

I grabbed his shoulders as I slid down onto his thick shaft. All of that energy from the club? I unleashed it on his cock. I would call it pounding with nothing to lose, except for come out of my vag and onto his base. He gets this serene, dazed look when I fuck him. It’s that look of losing control that comes from an otherwise dominant person. It’s that look that makes me slam harder to hear that slapping noise of my stomach and chest against his, then flipping around in reverse so my ass makes the same satisfying sound. Of his hands reaching and grabbing it. Of me saying, through moans, “Smack it hard.” 

Cock twitching confusion. “Are you sure?”




I was disappointed in his attempt. I turned my head around, I could see he was still unsure. 

Continuing turning my hips in figure eights, “I mean it. Smack my ass harder.”

He paused. 


"Ohhhhh that’s better!"

I love the mutual teaching and learning process that happens in the bedroom. He’s dated and had sex with a lot of really sweet, innocent girls. Through later pillow talk I learned he’s waited out and enjoyed the rewards of fucking many virgins, determining when they’re “ready” and teaching them to fuck. Rough sex hadn’t been in his vocabulary. Obviously, I’m changing that.

He got the hang of it. We fucked for a long, long time. He loves taking oral sex breaks and pleasuring me with his tongue. I thrash around, my orgasms collapsing into each other. Then more. More orgasms. Okay, now more sex. Him thrusting as my moans echo through the apartment. He slowed down to an exhausted stop. 

We discussed a mutual friend who didn’t believe I was”fantastic” in bed. He assumed I was good, but when Colin couldn’t adequately explain to him what “fantastic” sex consisted of, he refused to be convinced. We agreed that we were concerned, because it’s people who have never had fantastic sex who tend to not comprehend what it is. So we went through the exercise of articulating it. We agreed that fantastic sex was the variety, the cycle of tension and release of our bodies together, the technique we both want to constantly improve, the enthusiasm we shared about gifting pleasure.

Now obviously I’m not “fantastic” every time. He queried, “Is it possible to have bad sex with you?” I told him that I’m sure it’s possible/has happened. I’ve certainly had plenty of mediocre sex. Only a few times I would call “bad.” But for him, I stand out from the crowd because most of the women he’s been with don’t come often or not at all and only orgasm once or twice max despite his best efforts. Given his skills, I don’t think it’s him. 

He asked, “Do you know how many orgasms that was?”

"Honestly, I have no fucking clue. They blend into each other for me, they’re peaks in a continuous stream of pleasure. Or some metaphor like that."

"That makes sense because I can’t tell with you either! But I think tonight was the most orgasms I’ve ever given a girl in my life."

Yes, this makes me proud.

"I wish I could keep track of my PR like that! I need one of those clicker things that they use for keeping capacity at events." We laughed. He vowed to buy me one so that he could set my first record.

More sex ensued since he hadn’t come before. He took me from behind with my legs shut tight around his cock. My snug cunt and flexing walls caused him to fall on top of me, unloaded. We slept until more sex. Not quick and dirty morning sex either. Long, lengthy, adjectives-you-use-to-describe-a-great-cock kind of morning sex. Mid-fucking, ”your pussy is like butter. You just keep on coming and orgasming.” Butter, I like that. He also likes my skin. And the way I smell. Yum.

We conversed into the afternoon, toying at more sex. Except his ex who he still fucks when she visits was arriving that evening. He’s obviously grateful that I’m not into monogamy or that jealousy bullshit. As he departed, I wished him good sex this weekend, but to save a little something for me on Sunday or Monday. He joked but sort of didn’t that I’ve spoiled him. Ah well. I’ve done it before, I’ll do him again. 

The remix is probably not over yet. But you should queue up the original version and watch its accompanying hot video. I want the drummer plus the man in the turquoise blazer and checkered tie in bed with me. I would use his tie for naughty things.

best kind of skirt for public sex?

So Colin Meloy and I are having a public sexcapade on Wednesday. Either at the club or at the library…we’ll see where the night takes us. But I’m not sure what makes the most sense!

What’s best for public but discreet sex? No underwear on either option, of course:

a) a short, tight skirt that can be hiked up
b) a short, still sexy, but more flowy skirt/dress that can be flipped up
c) something else insightful I haven’t even thought of?!

Help me out male and female readers! Answers or comments (especially with anecdotes) will be appreciated! ;)

mission accomplished [part II]

Hey you! Don’t skip part I of this post.

Listen to this song while you read!

I can’t stand those boys who know how to clock their hips, grab your arm at all the right moments, who aren’t afraid to lower themselves toward the ground and stare up at you with a sexy glare. By “can’t stand,” I don’t mean dislike. I mean they make me trickle and weak in the knees so sometimes I literally can’t stand upright.

Now this may seem counterintuitive, but I have to call him Colin Meloy of the Decemberists. I looked on youtube for videos of Colin Meloy dancing to see if there was any connection. Alas, none. But his demeanor, appearance, use of words…those all line up pretty well. So I’m just gonna go with my intuition here.

We circled each other in the pushy crowd. I assessed. I remember thinking to myself, “You can dance with him but you’re NOT allowed to fuck him.” That plan only lasted until his hands brushed along my sides and I leaned my head back onto his chest and trailed it down until it hit his belt buckle, eyes locked upward. I could sense the co-worker paralysis between us as we attempted to draw imaginary boundaries but consequently crossed each one. I finally faced the music and slammed my lips against him like our pelvises had been doing for several tracks.

After that, all bets were off. Drinks and pouring sweat kept us lubricated. He had such a great conception of distance…we would grind it back, down, around and then mutually back off so we could lose control with lots of space to spare.

I wanted to be close to his body though. Colin is significantly taller than me, which is rare considering how tall I am (5’9”ish). He’s barrel-chested but not jocky, still has nerd appeal. It never ceases to amaze me how dancing skill can seriously change how attracted I am to someone. While working with him we got along well, had thought-provoking conversations, but I wasn’t interested in jumping in bed with him. As soon as his body swung with the sporadic might of the infused beat, my curtains were drawn.

Our tongues worked synchronously, lightly tracing to the high tones and then shoving perfectly when everything around us dropped. I wanted more. Of the music (gah being anonymous sucks sometimes, I want to share tracks!) and of him. Midnight passes, the DJ yells into the microphone, “Happy Valentine’s Day you crazy bitches!!!” You got that right.

We took a break on the second floor balcony that surrounds the dancefloor. As we people-watched and swayed seductively, I kissed his neck. He nodded his head, grabbed my waist, and lifted me onto the drink counter. My legs locked around his ass and we lip locked furiously just as the biggest hit came on. Dirty dubstep interludes to the sweet melody perfectly encapsulated our interaction…public as can be, perched above the scene with him thrust-humping against my spread skirt, leaned back on open air with the coat check line staring at my crossed ankles and our gyrating bodies. I opened my eyes to a security guy leaning on the counter next to us, smirking at me. He didn’t tell us to get down, he was clearly enjoying the show. Colin picked me up off the counter, I jumped off his waist and we broke it down for the remaining minutes of the song. I’m not kidding when I say that’s my kind of romance.

Later when coats were retrieved, friends bid farewell, we headed to my place. I seem to have a system now. Boy and I canoodle on the leather sofa, do everything but have sex, move into my bedroom, recommence oral sex, fuck each other, fall asleep, wake up, fuck some more, talk for hours, then he peaces out. But that description obviously didn’t include enough details.

Our ears buzzed as we kissed passionately, not usually my style but I was getting into it. Shirts off, his body qualifies as just right for his stature. 

Pants off. My immediate reaction: “Oh my GOD your cock is so thick!!!” His ego: inadvertently boosted.

My mouth dove for it. But he grabbed my shoulders a moment too soon and kneeled before my pussy. His look of concentration was endearing, except I couldn’t pay attention to it after only a few seconds because I was slapped across the face with an almost-orgasm. My moans skyrocketed, my head spun, my clit throbbed. His tongue lightly vibrated against my insides as my body flush increased. Soon the squirms kicked in and he had to pin me down as I escalated out an orgasm. 

All the while his hard, wide flesh was calling for me. I took a quick breather, licked around the edges of my lips, and got used to the stretch of fitting him inside my mouth. I flashed back to us dancing, heads turning, the mix between overt filth and casual brush ups against his contained cock inserting mental pictures of us fucking the whole damn time. Now I had him completely naked before me. My hand gripped the base while I set my puckered lips to work, sucking him off through suction and then by easy mouth-fucking. His eyes were closed and my EDM playlist boomed in the background. I worked him up, saliva sloshing everywhere. Intentionally messy. After hitting my gag reflex many times in a row, I felt his dick twitch and he pulled my face away. 

I tore open a condom unlike the night before. Now I had full and steady hardness to work with. My sore cunt, despite its wetness, rejected him at first from all the finger-fucking I had enjoyed the previous evening. I relaxed for his width though and he slid inside. I groaned with ecstasy (except I wasn’t on any, alas) as his tempo increased. I didn’t need the added pain for pleasure like Kevin's ass smacking streak contributed. I just needed Colin banging the hell out of me to produce half the effect.

A delicious climax later, I climbed on top. My tits and hips swung, I placed a pillow underneath his head so he could get a more-than-desirable view. He was incredulous, I was on a sex high. I grinded and slammed onto him at close to breaking my own record speeds. I felt maniacal. I alternated pushing forward and hitting on my clit, then leaning back to clench my ass onto his thighs. Erupting with moans after a solid twenty minutes of working myself up and down, he stayed inside while we switched positions. More missionary. His mission was definitely to fuck my brain into puddle form and then lick it up off my chest.

We weren’t done there though. I don’t know why but guys usually ask me if they can do me from behind. Why do they ask? Are women seriously crazy enough to not want it from behind that they reject these poor guys and force them into a state of perma-asking? Just flip me around, lean me forward, thrust in and start slamming already! [Quick addendum: consent is great. I just get frustrated sometimes.]

After my sarcastic “no” to his question, his brief look of confusion, and my laughter that signaled both my humor and my assent, he fucked me until I couldn’t moan anymore. Tall and powerful, he creamed me until I oozed and collapsed on the mattress. At that point I mechanically started jacking him off via hand job as the clock struck 4:45am.

"Are you one of those guys who’s tricky to get off?" 

"Yeah, I am. Don’t worry about it, seriously. I’m fucking exhausted."

Happy with his answer after all the exertion, I laid back on the soft pillows. He got up for a glass of water. Rather than crawling up beside me, he went back in for seconds on my sleepy pussy. It woke right up to him as he gasped one more orgasm out of me.

"Okay, now I’m good.”

We crashed until 10am. Morning kisses, jokes about my occasional snoring, then him laughing to himself. “I can’t believe it’s Valentine’s Day.” Proceed conversation about the commercialism, insincerity, and romantic template of the ridiculous holiday I have never celebrated even during long-term monogamous relationships. He appreciated my sardonic approach. I know this because he said it and because he began fingering me after chuckling at my commentary. 

Although he had done a stellar job in the prior hours, he hadn’t stumbled upon my clit. Or at least the way you touch my clit to where I literally cannot control my limbs. I buck wildly, my body reacts as if trying to escape because it doesn’t think it can handle the fantastic intensity of pleasure. He was pleasantly surprised when he stumbled upon this trigger and spent a half hour messing with me and my wild reactions. I sucked him off more, he fucked me more, it as quick and dirty and lovely. Mainly because we wanted to continue talking.

We spent the next two hours conversing in bed about Western philosophers, post-modernism and how various disciplines react to it, how he’s known as a big asshole in his classes because he’s not afraid to push the discussion intentionally without tact. I explained my perspective on polyamory, he provided details on his current relationship situation (no, thank god he does not have a girlfriend) involving two exes in nearby cities who he still sees from time to time. He wants to learn from me. And fuck me some more. I’m oh-so down.

So, to recap. Random goal of fucking two different guys in one weekend? Check. But not just that, as a bonus prize I also got magnificent head from two lovers of cunnilingus! Oh, and getting laid on Valentine’s Day? I’m gonna call that mission accomplished.