Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Some Things Never Change....

I think I spend too much time finding fault in men and if, in theory, I find someone who is faithful, that man is abnormal by all counts and I’d double my efforts to prove he isn’t really as faithful as he claims to be.

Once, I was so mad at my boyfriend and I took out all my frustration by fucking a married man who had seemed very in love and faithful to his wife. Earlier that day at a coffee shop, I had met a man named Fred. He was in his forties and was married to a young Filipina in her late twenties. He had wanted to introduce me to his wife, saying I and his wife will get along perfectly because we both loved clubs and parties. He talked about his wife like he was really in love with her and had repeated a few times too many that he had not fooled around since he married her five years ago. He even showed me a picture of his wife which he kept in his wallet. I didn’t have it in me but somehow, I backed off because I believed he was faithful and in love. I didn’t flirt with him but gave him my number nonetheless.

But as I said, I never really believe that crap. Married men who say they don’t fool around say it out loud because they wanna believe that they are. They really aren’t.

Late that night, after fighting with Ed over the phone and crying like a raving maniac in my favorite club, I was in bed with Fred.

I remember calling him up, asking where his wife was and him saying that she was out partying in the same club I was at. She doesn’t come home until around 5 in the morning, he told me.

Can I come over then? I asked him.

I will pick you up and we can go somewhere.

We had drunken sex..or at least I did.

Nothing ever happened again after that. I had lost his number. He hadn’t initiated contact.

And well, Ed…He does the same thing, fucks someone else whenever he gets the chance but mostly, he likes young girls.

I’m still the same me. Out to prove to the world that men can’t be trusted and yet I am with the one man who is the epitome of distrust.

And he is still the same man. He claims to love me but won’t think twice to sleep with someone else, blaming distance and missing me too much as reasons why he sleeps with other women. You’d think in a few months Ed and I had fallen madly in love and we’ve gone exclusive.

Some things never change and I'm getting tired of him.

I had been gone for nearly three months but I am back now to continue my love story. This may not be best love story but it is a story of love nonetheless.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

The Greek Doctor's Iranian Friend

In all my years of adventure, I have never walked into a man's house for sex
without knowing him for a couple hours at least
or without seeing even a picture of him.
This night was bound to be a disaster so I kept my expectations low.
Perhaps a pepper spray, too?

* * * * * *

The Greek Doctor has been busy since he came back from vacationing in Greece over the Christmas and New Year holidays. Since January, I have only had sex with him once before I settled into my comfortable, wonderful life as Ed's mistress.

On Friday, he finally crossed my mind and I decided it can't hurt to fuck him again. We haven't seen each other for months so he should be missing some hot cunny-licking action with me. He was the doctor I taught how to please me with his mouth and tongue and he learned quite quickly, much to my happy surprise.

I need sex. That was the text message I sent him while I was hanging out with my girl friends on Friday afternoon.

I'm doing good. Thank you for asking, was his reply to my message.

So I asked him if he was free that night to spend a couple hours with me. Unfortunately, he had to work until dawn.

Would you like to try my friend? He offered instead. He's 30 so not too old for you. But nice guy. Clean. Iranian med student.

I thought about fucking someone I have never met nor seen a picture of. I then remembered my weirdly funny experience with another Iranian doctor who had a massive cock but who wouldn't even touch my pussy. Is he cute? Can you promise me he won't want to cuddle and talk after sex? Coz that will be weird. And tell him I like my cunt licked.

I can tell him now. He's here.
The Greek Doctor and I are indeed good friends. He's volunteering his male friends to have sex with me. I can't thank him enough. Moments later, he sent me the Iranian's number and I couldn't resist calling him just to check if he speaks English.

Luckily, he spoke better English than the Greek Doctor. The first question I asked him was if he is free to fuck me that night. He laughed a bit nervously and said he will call me when he's ready. Great, I thought. My Friday night won't have to be so boring. I told him to check out my profile online if he wants to see how I look first before agreeing to fuck me but he said the Greek Doctor assured him that he need not worry about looks. We agreed to meet at his condo. I will show up and we will have sex and then I will leave. Simple. Quick.Covert.

For a moment, I re-evaluated the situation I was in. What if this guy was so ugly and when I refuse to have sex with him, he will grab me by the neck with his huge Iranian hands and rape me..without a condom. I shivered at the thought. In all my years of adventure, I have never walked into a man's house for sex without knowing him for a couple hours at least or without seeing even a picture of him. This night was bound to be a disaster so I kept my expectations low. Perhaps a pepper spray, too?

The elevator ride to the 24th floor took ages. It seemed to stop in all floors and I was left with a lot of time to rethink the whole plan. When I rang the doorbell to his condo unit, I stepped away from the door, planning to walk away or even run the moment I see him and decide he doesn't suit my taste.

But what I saw surprised me. As far as physical appearances were concerned, the Greek Doctor had done his research right and I might have to thank him profusely when this night is over. The Iranian was tall, about six feet three and a total catch. His gorgeous eyes were dark and seductive and his lips looked juicy enough to eat. We stood looking at each other, smiling at each other for just a few seconds and before I had a chance to introduce myself, he grabbed me by the waist and kissed me on the lips, pulling me inside his condo as he did so and closed the door behind us.

So much for conversation, I thought happily.

"Call me Amir", he whispered to me in between kisses.

"Call me anything", I told him, laughing.

He lifted me up and carried me to his room, placed me on his bed and started to undress. His cock was hard and ready but I wasn't. Standing there, he started rubbing his cock and while he did this, I wondered why his dick was small for a very big man. His cock was almost abnormal to Iranians, it seemed to me. He told me to take my clothes off but I didn't move. Seeing that I wasn't gonna do as he said, he stopped playing with his cock and knelt in front of me. He leaned in to kiss me and it was at that point that I blurted out nervously:

"Stop....I have a boyfriend...and he'll be angry that I'm going to have sex with you...without telling him..Um, can I call him first?"

That definitely ruined the mood for him, though his cock didn't go limp. We stared at each other and I couldn't bring myself to grab my bag and get my phone and call Ed to tell him that I am going to fuck someone else.

I hesitated, thought about how much I loved Ed and how wonderfully perfect sex with him always is. There was no doubt that while this Iranian is humping me, my thoughts will be with Ed and sex with this dude will be nothing but mediocre.

"I should go..." I told him. I composed myself, ran my fingers through my hair and fixed my disheveled clothing. I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry", I said, without any remorse.

"It's okay. I'll tell the Greek Doctor we had awesome sex if he asks...if that's okay with you", he smiled, a bit embarrassed.

I could only be thankful the Iranian did not decide to force the issue because I might change my mind and just have sex with him. "Tell him you made me cum many times. I will tell the Greek Doctor the same thing."

He walked me to the door and asked if there will be a next time, when I'm in the mood and when I have asked permission from my boyfriend before hand. I said yes, but that was a lie.

* * * * * *

Lying in bed that night, I wondered if it was worth it giving up sex with the Iranian for another night wondering what my lover is doing at home. I wanted to call Ed, tell him how much I loved him...but I couldn't, I didn't want to. The wife might pick up the phone...

It was late. I was tired and sleepy, my pussy still wet. I fell asleep, confused about how I had allowed Ed to torture me this way, torture me with love for him, knowing in the end, I will never own him.

But somehow, I knew deep in my heart it will be worth waiting for a few days more to see Ed again and make wonderfully perfect love to him.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Finding Mr. Big

I’ve never put much thought into my friendship with Ken. He is the guy who does my plumbing, the one I call on if my light bulbs needed replacement or if I needed help with airconditioning and heavy lifting. He is the one man I am most comfortable with. He’s the kind of friend who bangs at your door at dawn and it’s not for booty call. He just really needs a place to stay after getting so drunk.

When he’s at my apartment, I can walk around in my underwear and I won’t even catch him staring. He’s the kind of friend who gives you advice about men and tells you if your perfume stings the nostrils. He would even go shopping with me and he won’t excuse himself to go someplace while I choose lingerie. He’d contribute to the whole shopping process and bear with me. In the absence of a full time boyfriend who’d date me on a weekend, he was always the substitute. I always thought he was either gay or just treated me like a little sister. He is, after all, eight years older than me and we’ve known each other for four years and have been very good friends only. He never made advances and at one point, I wondered if he never found me attractive.

Today, he showed up at my apartment. When I opened the door, he looked so happy and his eyes were shining and I knew instantly he had some good news for me. I instinctively embraced him and asked him what was up. He held me for a little while longer and said I will be so happy for him.

He finally got the girl he had been courting for several months. I’ve challenged him to give up because the lady just won’t budge but he told me he really likes this girl. Get laid or find another girl, I keep telling him. Don’t waste your time on that one girl. But he seemed so sure about this particular lady.

We’ve had countless conversations about this girl and I’ve given him loads of advice on how to make her fall for him so I suppose some of those worked because here he is now, like a happy little puppy, telling me how she finally said yes to him. Long courtships are, it seems, non-existent in my world so I didn’t think Ken would endure six months of bullshit from this lady.

Are you gonna cheat on her? I teased him.

Wow, the questions you ask, lady! Why? Is that what a man who courted this girl for six months gonna do the day after she said yes to him?

I’m just asking. I retorted. So two weeks ago, I guy I know just out of the blue sends me a message on Yahoo and tells me he now has a real girlfriend. So I asked him the same question and he said he’s not sure. If he will be loyal, I mean. Why is that? The answer is only yes or no.

I don’t know, Trin. I really don’t.

If you were my boyfriend, would you be loyal to me?

Hell, yeah! But will you?

Um, I really don’t know, Ken.

See, you sound like that guy.

I just bit my lip.

You'll find your Mr. Big, kid, Ken said, but it'll probably take 10, maybe 15 years, before you do. We used to watch Sex and the City on DVD and he always told me I'd find the guy for me, like Carrie did when she found Mr. Big.

He gave me a peck on the cheek and left. And we left it at that. I’m just happy for Ken. He finally has the girl of his dreams, or so he tells me. I feel jealous because he won’t be able to spend time with me whenever I need him. Of course, the girlfriend will be the priority. Secretly, I wished I was this girl he pursued for six months just to know how that would feel, to know what it would be like to be someone’s dream girl.

But, anyway. Congratulations buddy.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Sweet Vengeance

I knew I was gonna hit two birds with one stone with this sexual act.

One, I had my revenge on Ed.

And two, Chris will not cum tonight.
* * * * * *

I should have spent the Holy Week holiday doing something religious or spiritual. When one doesn't have family or friends nearby to keep one company during long holidays such as this, one is ultimately forced to confront demons, demons that for me are loneliness and lust. Somewhere in the metropolis is another person who feels just as lonely as I am, lonely enough to become desperate to contact anyone--even the girl he hurt just a couple months ago. That girl was me.

My apartment was eerily quiet and the air was thick. I prepared to go to bed at 11 pm as my lover has already sent me a message that he will be going to sleep. Like a good mistress, I sent a message back saying Good night. Somehow, my sleeping patterns have become similar to his. I am awake when he is and asleep when he says he is. I think subconsciously, I just rearranged my life to fit his.

My phone rang at half-past midnight. It was an anonymous caller and while I prefer not to pick up calls from unregistered numbers, I gingerly reached out for my phone on top of the nightstand, half-awake, cursing under my breath.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I mumbled.

Trin...It took only second for me to search the archives of my memory and match the voice to a face and a name.

I bolted upright, instantly fully awake. It was the voice I am all too familiar with. Suddenly, I felt giddy with anticipation on being able to play out the conversation I have rehearsed countless times in front of the mirror. It was my American Doctor. I broke up with him -in style- in February and since then I have never heard from him again. Before I can say the script that I have memorized by heart, he threw me completely off guard by saying I'm sorry for what happened to us....

The cynic that is me just laughed and told him this wasn't how I imagined him apologizing to me. He asked me how I imagined it. "On your knees, licking my cunt with tears in your eyes". I laughed at my own joke. It was, after all, just meant to be a joke. There is no redemption for him as far as I'm concerned.

"Let me in and I'll do as you want."

He was standing outside my door all along. When I opened it and saw him again for the first time in so many weeks, my initial reaction surprised me and the violence with which I welcomed him was unprecedented.

I didn't know I can hit someone that hard. My palm stung after slapping him twice but he just stood there, void of any emotion, defenseless. I try my best never to be emotional with any of the men I have sort of loved and lost. The events these past days, my frustration over Ed, and the gloom and tranquility of the entire city during Holy Week somehow connived to make me feel the way I did last night. Angered. Frustrated.Horny.

We didn't say anything to each other for a few moments. We stood there, gauging each other, as I rubbed my palm against my night dress, trying to soothe the pain.

Come in. I just bought some coffee beans from Starbucks. Would you like some coffee? The American Doctor and I have spent many dates over coffee at different coffee shops. It was the one thing we shared in common aside from the friendship and sex which we both lost when I caught him with another girl.

I sat on the couch, watching him silently as he went about the mundane task of brewing the coffee. He caught my eye and I had to look away. There was something totally wrong about the situation we were in.

I imagined his 9-inch cock. God, how I remember every detail of it, every vein, the huge cockhead that thickened when I licked it or whenever I licked his balls, the feel of his massive cock inside my pussy. All these thoughts raged through my mind. He was one hell of a good fuck.

Come here, Chris. I told him, my eyes closed, hoping he wouldn't hesitate and just come sit beside me and pull me close to him.

He kissed me softly. I savored his kiss for a moment. He kissed me again, this time letting go of his inhibition, offering his tongue to me. I kissed him back, reciprocating his need, feeling the warm wetness of his mouth and tongue. At the back of my mind, I felt I had broken that precious contract with Ed but I haven't forgiven him for not telling me he went out with another girl.

Chris sat on the floor and knelt in front of me. I spread my legs apart and pulled my thong to the side, revealing my pussy to him. I was already wet but not as wet as I would have expected. The thought of also cheating on Ed made me guilty but just a little. I figured a little revenge even without Ed knowing will make me feel better and in control again.

Chris licked my pussy lips in slow, calculated strokes. Up and down, his tongue slithered on my wet slit. He lingered on my clit, making circular strokes with his tongue and I felt like peeing under his expert ministration. He inserted a finger inside my pussy, pulling it out and pushing it in again, his finger curved upwards inside as if to say "Come hither'. I removed my nightdress and Chris pulled my panties down.

I kissed Chris again, tasting my pussy juice on his lips then made him lie down on the couch. I straddled him by the shoulder so I can fuck his face and mouth. I held his head in place while he inserted one finger inside my ass.

I rocked my hips back and forth. Chris tried to keep up with my motion until we got a good rhythm going. With my hands on his head, I maneuvered his head's position so that his tongue can go as deep inside my pussy as possible or pressed firmly against my clit just the way I liked it. I rode his mouth, building momentum, chasing after a brewing orgasm.

But I didn't want to cum yet.

Chris was fully clothed, his stiff cock tenting his jeans. I fumbled with his fly and freed up his cock. I knew it needed attention but I didn't take it inside my mouth. I held his cock with my right hand and lowered my pussy on it. When his cockhead hit the hilt of my pussy, there was no turning back for me. Rocking my hips, my hands placed firmly on his chest as I fucked myself with his cock to reach my orgasm, I knew I was gonna hit two birds with one stone with this sexual act.

One, I had my revenge on Ed.

And two, Chris will not cum tonight.

I reached my orgasm and slumped on Chris's chest, feeling that peace I always felt when I am with him. At the back of my mind, there is no forgiveness for Chris at all..or ever.

Chris rolled on top of me but before he could start pumping his cock in and out my pussy, I looked away from him and bid him "Good night, Chris." I released myself from his embrace, put my panties and night gown back on, walked to the door and held it open for him.

"Please go before I say something you don't wanna hear."

I didn't look at him as he composed himself. Without another word, he stepped out of my apartment and hopefully, out of my life for good.

The coffee smelled wonderful. I sat with a cup of coffee without drinking it for about 30 minutes as I thought about the events of that night. Ed and I are now even but I did something more horrible than what he did. I held my phone, contemplating the consequences if I called him now, after I fucked someone else, instead of letting him know before it happened, as was our deal.

I never knew why Chris suddenly showed up at my doorstep. I didn't care. It doesn't matter.

I turned off my phone, poured the coffee into the sink and went back to bed.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Cry for Help

Some may think I'm insecure.
But to me, I just seek control.
Without that control over Ed, I am just one of the girls he's banging.
I resent that.

* * *

I have more issues in this relationship with Ed than I ever had with any other guy. Thus, the reason for post after blog post. I've been reading Cyndi's blog posts regarding therapy and I feel that I seriously need the therapy more than she does and because of that, I should seek it.

Not that her issues are lesser in magnitude than mine. We have different issues but mine have become so destructive and I fear I might do something silly. I know Ed has nothing to do with the depression and frustration and anger I am feeling now. It's not a matter of IF I can walk away from him because I can. The question is WHY I don't want to and WHY I am in this fucking messed up relationship.

I found out he dated another girl last night without telling me.

I lashed out at him instantly. "This is the exact reason why we are in an open relationship. So that we can both be honest about what we're doing, who we're banging, who we're dating. I'm a control freak. You know that. And because you didn't tell me, I feel like I'm losing control and it's making me really mad."

His response was not far from what I expected. The deal was for us to tell each other if we are gonna have sex with other people (and of course to place safety as a priority) and he didn't have sex with the girl.

"But I am your girlfriend/mistress. I deserve the courtesy of knowing your whereabouts after more than 12 hours of not hearing from you."

Sex could mean totally nothing to him and I understand that. I feel the same way about sex. I have embraced the impermanence of love and I don't seek the "happily ever after" ending with him.

What I want is to be in control of our situation, over any and all situations. This relationship is unstable as it is and the slightest threat to my status among all the other women drives me crazy.

Some may think I'm insecure. Perhaps. But to me, I just seek control. Without that control over Ed, I am just one of the girls he's banging. I resent that.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Pain and Mistress Dilemmas

Pain has been a staple in our relationship.
And today is one of those days.
No phone calls, no messages.
But I am a mistress. I couldn't complain.

He was naked on the couch and leaning back comfortably, legs spread wide. His cock was erect, the head purplish and engorged in blood. I claimed my rightful place and knelt between his legs, ready to worship his cock. I licked his balls first then slithered my tongue on that spot between his balls and anus. With my lips wound tightly around the engorged head, I readied myself to take his massive cock down my throat.

I love the feel of his cockhead as it hits the back of my throat. Tears were streaming down my face as I gagged on his dick. He hit my cheeks with his open hand repeatedly, each slap harder than the one before it. My face started to burn and sting but he won't stop hitting me. I didn't want him to.

He pulled me up and I sat on his lap, facing him, legs apart. He guided his cock inside my pussy. I was aching for the feel of him inside me and started to move slowly up and down his cock, grinding my clitoris against his pelvis.

You're slow today, darling, he challenged me. Impaled on his cock, bouncing up and down on it harder and faster upon his command and screaming each time his cockhead reached the hilt of my pussy canal was a truly addictive feeling.

I whispered to him in between gasps of breath, my small fingers wrapped feebly around his strong right hand as he choked me to near asphyxiation. With a little more coaxing from me, he would have extinguished my breath completely. He never loses his control and if he does, I trust him to be able to revive me. And if he doesn't, dying as I orgasmed seemed like a good way to go.

* * * * * *

I am easily amused and aroused by the sight of his bite marks on my breasts. Lately, my nudity is less spectacular to me if there are no markings on my body to remind me who I belong to. The reddish spots around my neck have forced me to wear turtlenecks and scarves in the humid tropical weather. When colleagues ask in amazement why I have opted for less revealing and uncomfortable clothing, I just smile inwardly, careful not to give away clues to my dirty little secret.

Memories of his mouth around my nipple as he sucks hard on it with reckless abandon and my ear shattering screams fill my mind despite the chaos in my office. As the people around me zoom by, flustered and rushing to meet deadlines, I am in a state of calm and in my imagination I am back inside the hotel room where I spent a lovely weekend with him.

My thighs hurt from spreading wide to accommodate his body between my legs while his hands were on each of my thighs, forcing me to spread further. My pussy and asshole still hurt from the merciless pounding it got for two days and two nights, with only a few minutes of rest in between. I can no longer remember if we ever craved for food. Much of my memory of the weekend with him is about his cock down my throat, tears in my eyes as he slapped my face repeatedly. I was unaware of this pain while he fucked me senseless but now as I sit here writing this, I am conscious of every muscle that aches whenever I move and conscious of the pain that is starting to tug at my heart as he again forgot about me today.

* * * * * *

Pain has been a staple in our relationship.
Be it during sex or as an everyday commonplace occurrence, he never fails to hurt me.

And today is one of those days. No phone calls, no messages.
But I am a mistress. I couldn't complain.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Even If This Isn't Love

If this is love,
I want to feel it,
regardless of the magnitude of the consequences
or the depth of my scars when it ends.

* * *

I spent these past few weeks on nurturing my relationship with Eduardo, getting my heart broken on a regular basis and being won over again and again.

If I were just a little bit smarter, I would stay away from him. I should have done it a long time ago. Yet I am still here and I seem trapped in a prison I have no plan of escaping from or being set free. Perhaps after the first time we made love –sex—I should have left it like it is. But I wanted and got more of him.

I think I am in love again, after a long, long while. And it has been a bittersweet, wonderfully frustrating, abnormally exciting ride with him so far. I have only been with him a little over a month and the emotions he has evoked and stirred frustrate the hell out of me. I shift from happy to sad in an instant. I am happy because he treats me right, does all the things a perfect lover should do but sad that I am so cynical of him, so cynical of love. I shift roles from princess to slave. The princess gets whatever she wants, like sex toys for instance, only to be abused like a slave using the toys he got me for my own pleasure. I move from certainty to confusion. Do I really love him or am I in this relationship because it is forbidden and I get off from things that are not acceptable? Do I stay with him and wait for him to break my heart? Or do I leave now while I am still partially in control of my emotions?

I fear I would wake up one morning, stripped of all my pride and hating his wife for taking away what little time I have with him. There are days I would just lie in bed, waiting for him to come to me and when he does, he will fuck me to insanity then leave me to go back to the woman he has married. He tells me he loves me and I proclaim my love for him just as openly and yet there are times I just want to take back every I Love You, every kiss, every smile and every touch we shared. I let my guard down so easily, so quickly.

Each time I see him feels like that first time I laid eyes on him. Our lips and hands find their way to the erotic spots of our bodies the instant we are away from the public eye. We kiss furiously, urgently, my hands groping for his hard cock as his fingers trace the wet outline of my pussy lips. In the car, in the elevator, I get a high from sucking on his dick knowing any moment, someone might see us. The thought of the sheer danger he will be in if anyone finds out about our illicit affair fuels our need for each other even more. We know this is wrong. I know I want this even if it is wrong.

I am falling for him quickly. To prevent myself from falling too hard and too deep, I want and am allowed to continue sleeping with other men to remind myself of several important truths about us and what I am to him.

I am his mistress and mistresses don't end up marrying their lovers. I have no illusions that he will one day ask me to marry him.

Even if he wants me to fall hard for him, he will also break my heart. It will only be a matter of time. The harder I fall for him, the greater the pain I have to survive the moment he leaves me. I am better off hurting myself little by little so I can get used to this. When the ultimate heartache comes, I can just shake it off and move on.

I am his princess but there is no happy ending to this fairy tale.

We are in love. I can see it in the way he looks at me, the way he needs me, the way he kisses me. But I know he doesn’t love me enough to change his life to be with me. I don’t care. If this is love, I want to feel it, regardless of the magnitude of the consequences or the depth of my scars when it ends. Even if this isn't really love, I like the way this feels and I will hold on to it until it consumes me.

Saturday, March 14, 2009


I just wanna die..

Sorry, dear readers. My pain is beyond words...When I am sane and sober, I shall write about it...

Have a great Saturday, y'all.

Monday, March 9, 2009


I have seen it happen to other people and often wondered how it would be like, wondered if a mistress is ever truly loved...

* * * * *

I have become not just someone's sex slave but also his mistress. When he asked me if I was comfortable being his other woman, I just laughed and agreed to my fate without hesitation. There is no remorse in my heart for his wife. Yet. I hope it doesn't come at all. I regret only that by believing in the pretense of a relationship and agreeing be the other woman, I am further away from finding someone to truly love and be mine completely and closer to stolen moments of pagan passion, clandestine encounters and dreams meant never to be fulfilled. Being his mistress might not be so bad. Just when I think my life couldn't get any more complicated, apart from being mistress, we are planning on an open relationship. It's the perfect concoction for sexual adventure and the consequent heartache.

"What are the benefits to being a mistress?" I asked him as we were lying on the bed, my head on his chest, my fingers toying with his chest hair. It was so sexy on him. Eduardo is a mestizo-- a white boy of mixed Spanish-Filipino descent-- but it was strange at first to hear someone who looked Caucasian talking in Tagalog. We never spoke to each other in the native tongue, though. Call it conditioning or deception but if you've been reading my blog, you know I prefer not to date Filipinos. Now, here is a guy who has the proclivities of a sweet and charming Filipino but the features and sexually liberal attitude to be expected from Europeans. And he's 39 years old. I got lucky.

He didn't answer my question. "Does she get flowers, too?" I volunteered. He nodded his head and smiled. I smiled back, thinking about the last time I got flowers from a suitor, my memory failing me yet again.

He gathered me in his arms, my naked, child-like body molding into his, arousing my incestuous fantasies. It is only our first night together. The chemistry is undeniably strong, the conversation had been nothing short of intellectually stimulating and the rare moments of silence between us was not awkward. We looked into each other's eyes for what seemed like a very long time, searching, waiting for that moment when one of us will pull away. Neither of us did. We kissed again and with every kiss, every smile, every touch, I started to abandon my plan to fuck him tonight and leave him when morning comes.

I rolled on top of him. Holding my face with both his hands, he planted a gentle kiss on my lips. I kissed him back, parting my lips, offering my tongue to him. He sucked on it, offered me his in return. I kissed his neck, his chest, kissing my way to his already hard cock. I rubbed my lips against his cockhead, kissed it as a sign of my appreciation for making me cum intensely just a few moments ago.

I took his tool in my hand and stroked the head, gently, slowly. He sighed when my tongue slithered up and down his shaft. I let a good amount of saliva fall slowly from my tongue to his cockhead. He liked to watch me doing that. "Get it nice and wet", he urged. I wrapped my lips around his cockhead, licking it, one hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking it and the other touching his testicles.

Engulfing his cock in my mouth, I allowed the engorged cockhead to hit the back of my throat very briefly. A moan ensued from his lips from that brief contact. Releasing his cock from my mouth, I went back to just sucking on the cockhead, slobbering it with more saliva. He threaded his fingers around my hair and pushed down in a calculated force so that the swollen head of his penis hit the back of my throat again. He stiffened, and held my head still for a few seconds fighting the urge to push deeper or thrust harder. I sucked his dick enthusiastically, greedily, my eyes on his. His fingers tightened around my hair again and he thrust his cock deeper in my mouth, fucking it with deep, slow strokes, groaning loudly everytime he buried his cockhead in my throat.

Grabbing me by the hair, he forced me to sit up and kneel in front of him. "That's how you suck cock, you slut." He hissed at me. "Open your mouth." It was a command but the lust in his eyes betrayed his harsh tone. He held his stiff cock with one hand and pulled my head forward with the other, pushing the cockhead between my pursed lips. I resisted a little, but it was all just a show. I opened my lips, welcomed his dick inside my mouth again. Hearing him moan and hiss between his teeth was all I needed to know that I was a good cocksucker.

He reached for my nipples, pinched it softly at first, just to tease. That he had a taste for pain and dominance was not unknown to me. He was just holding back, testing to see how much pain I can take. The next time he pinched my nipples, he was anything but gentle. I screamed inaudibly because his cock was still lodged between my throat. He pinched my nipples again and again, each one more intense than the other so that I stopped sucking on his cock and screamed loudly. His face didn't show any mercy. He touched my pussy and the wetness of my slit told him I was enjoying the pain. He will give me more pain.

He told me to stand up and face the mirror, my hands on the table for support. He knelt down behind me, hands on my butt cheeks, spreading them apart. I pushed my ass back, spread my legs apart further for his easy access. My pussy leaked with cunt juice and when his tongue touched my clit, my lips quivered violently--a first for me. No one has ever had that effect on me. Sure, a guy can make me cum with his tongue. But my lips have never trembled this way before.

With his tongue, he pleasured my asshole, two fingers were inside my pussy and his other hand caressed my clitoris. I admired myself in the mirror--hair tousled, skin flushed, breasts red from his merciless pinching, lips pressed together to muffle my screams of delight. It was an erotic sight. His tongue's expert ministration on my clit and asshole was incredible. My hips jerked forward and backward convulsively. He growled a command to be still but I couldn't no matter how hard I tried.

I begged him to let me feel his cock inside me. He grabbed me by the wrist and led me to the bed, pushing me down so that I was on my hands and knees. He stood at the side of the bed, stroking his cock. I looked back at him, begged to be fucked.

He brought an open hand down on my ass cheek with more force than I had anticipated, the loud crack echoing against the walls of our hotel room. "Please, make it hurt," I coaxed him though he didn't need any encouragement. Another sharp blow. I bit my lip, whimpering in pleasure. He brought down each strike with a resounding crack, pausing a few moments to let the pain remind me of his dominance before striking again.

He traced my pussy slit with his cockhead, his thumb rubbing my asshole. I played with my breasts, rolling my nipples between my forefinger and thumb. The sharp pain on my nipples reminded me of his abuse. He guided his cock to the entrance of my wet, hot cunt and just before he pushed all the way in, he wrapped his big hand around my neck then pulled me back towards him, choking me.

His one hand around my neck and the other on my hip, my back arched, his lips against my cheek, he fucked me with an intensity and speed that was so painful and yet surprisingly pleasurable. I couldn't stop screaming in pleasure and I couldn't give a damn about the next door occupants who had earlier complained that we were too noisy. His cock felt so wonderful inside me and for a moment I didn't realize that his strong hand started to tighten around my frail neck. He could break me so easily if he lost control. I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for my breath to leave my lips temporarily and my orgasm to wash over me.

I bucked and struggled against him, feeling light-headed, a strong orgasm building up inside me. He held me tightly as I came, kissing my shoulders, my cheek and my ear as I reveled in the intensity of my orgasm.

Breathless, I slumped forward on the bed. He was on top of me in an instant, spreading my legs with his knees. I felt the tip of his cock pushing against my tight asshole. I was so wet that the entire length of his cock slipped so easily inside. He pressed his lips against my cheek and I cocked my head to the side so I can take his lips while he humped me from behind. We kissed deeply while he fucked my asshole.

It didn't take long for him to cum. He moaned and sighed against my lips when his orgasm swept over him.

* * * * * *

Kissing, touching, our eyes communicating, there was little need for words as I melted into his arms again after our lovemaking. This was only our first night together and already I know I will sleep with him again and again. I can't get enough of him. There is more to say, more stories to tell.

I am his mistress. And mistresses have all the benefits that a wife doesn't have. I am wanted, needed, lusted for. There is a thin line between a fuck buddy and a mistress. I am somewhere in between. I do not live under the false pretense that he will leave his wife and marry me. I know only that between now and the end of our relationship, he will either break my heart or I will break his.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Portrait of An Open Relationship

At 26, I think I am scarred beyond repair, a paradox of sorts, several women in one body, women who can't make up their minds.

I start a relationship convinced that it will end, sooner rather than later. I embrace that eventuality. I prepare myself for the end even if I am still at the beginning. When it does end, despite how prepared I think I am for it, I still want to cry. I still punish myself. I still want to go through the entire cycle of loving, losing, crying and then getting over it. It makes me feel like a normal person. I enjoy the ride, knowing nothing lasts, that I will fall in love now and tomorrow, that love will be gone.

I know nothing lasts...

Yet, I still hanker for a love that will.

I know that I can never be in a monogamous relationship. With this knowledge and understanding of myself, I seek out the men who will be interested in sharing me with other men and women. I want to be loved by someone who will unselfishly feed my fantasies and enjoy it,too.

But when I find a man who will share me, I don't know how I will feel about seeing him fuck someone else in my presence.

Will I be able to sleep knowing the man I love is fucking other women?

* * * * * * * * * *

Francis knew from the beginning that I might fall in love with him. He knew how vulnerable I was then. In between relationships that never last and a reliance on sleeping pills to help me out of my depression, I gravitated to him and started needing him. We have never met yet but in my state, I can fall easily for anyone. We chatted for hours on the internet. We texted each other the whole day. We were having sex on cam. I would come home right after work to see him on cam. It was a pathetic situation to be in--to need someone you haven't met or know if he's what he claims to be.

I was his slave. To some of you who haven't experienced it, it meant I can't fuck anyone without his permission. It meant I had to grow my pubic hair even if I don't want to and showing him my pussy so he knows I am following his command. He doesn't like pussy hair but it made him feel in control that I do what he tells me to. It meant not wearing panties or not wearing a bra. It meant he will choose the guy who will fuck me. If he wanted pictures of me fucking myself with a dildo, I will do so. To be dominated by someone you haven't met and follow what he tells you is probably surreal to some of you. It was real to me.

I fall in love easily. He cared about me. Or pretended to. He listened to me talk about my pain, watched me cry, checked on how I was doing constantly. It felt a lot like love to me. I told him I might fall for him. And I did. But he said I shouldn't.

We enjoyed sharing stories of our sexual adventures. Whenever I come home from a night out at a club or drinking myself to paralysis, he would ask me to tell him everything I did, the men I met, the men who propositioned me. He always looked for erotica, sent the stories to me and demanded that I read them. He tells me about the women he has been with, the women he was gonna fuck. He sent me naked pictures of women he fucked. That he gave me permission to say no to a woman he wanted to have sex with gave me some control over him. It felt like a wonderful relationship to be in. We were honest about who we are, what we did. Too much honesty.

Once, he called me up while he was fucking this girl he met online. He made me listen to the girl's moans. You wanna lick my asshole, baby, the girl was saying. I listened to them fucking. I listened to them but all the while I wondered if I could stand seeing him fucking someone else, or if I will be able to share him with a woman and not feel hurt. Or jealous.

He would tell me he loves me. I would tell him I was in love with him, too. Then he tells me Of course you know what I mean when say I love you, right? He meant he loved me the way a master loved an obedient slave and not the kind of love you have for someone you wanted to marry. It was confusing to me. I love you is universal. How can there be another meaning to I love you?

The online relationship went on for some time and culminated when he visited me in my city and we had our strip club adventure. Part of the reason we weren't able to take Hannah the stripper back to our hotel was because I had second thoughts about having sex with him and another woman. I didn't know how I would react if Hannah made his eyeballs roll back to his skull, if Hannah made him moan louder than I could, if Hannah was a better lover than me. Making out with Hannah at the strip club was erotic but taking her home with us so she can please my lover better than I could was something I wasn't prepared for. She was hotter, had more experience with men and even if I knew she was a stripper who does this for the money, knowing Francis got her number for future encounters made me uneasy.

I was falling harder for Francis. He told me if he isn't married by 40, we would get married and we can continue to have sex with other people. Oh, the fun we will have, he told me. It was tempting but he was in his early 30's and it will take a long time for him to realize he is in love with me,too. At the back of my mind, I wanted him to want me, only me, and to love me back intensely, to reassure me the other women were just to satisfy his lust, that I was his number one. I wanted an open relationship, too, but without the assurance of love, how can it last? But if there is love, can I live with an open relationship?

He didn't promise me anything except for an obscure plan to marry when he is left with no other choice. I did wake up. I was disillusioned. It wasn't love I felt for him. I know it now. I cut all my communication with him, changed my number, moved to another house. I decided I was ready to move on--lose him, cry over it and get back in the game with no strings attached, no love involved.

* * * * * * * *

People learn from past mistakes, avoid pain and the situations that would lead to it. I know well enough that sharing more than just your body with someone can eventually lead to a false sense of love. If you share your life, your pain, your thoughts and dreams with someone you sleep with, it could lead to a relationship, one that will eventually lead to more pain.

But here I am again, revisiting my past, clawing at half-healed scars and considering an open relationship with someone new. Like Francis, I haven't met him in person. But unlike him, I can fall in love with this new stranger. I am allowed to. He wants me to fall in love with him--to fall hard and deep--but to do so only after I have fought the feelings strongly enough until I can't control it anymore. I am becoming someone's slave again.

We plan to have sex with other people, to try and get used to having people share our bed. We will do this so we will know if an open relationship suits us. Then, when we know how it will make us feel, we can decide if we should fall in love or continue to just be friends with benefits.

That love has to be reduced to a decision is excruciatingly sad. I want to just fall in love without thinking about it. While I am not yet in love with him, I know I will enjoy having group sex with him. When I fall in love with him, I wonder if I can sit still when he is away, or if I can sleep knowing he is fucking other women.

It is painful to think I can only hold a man's interest as long as he knows I am a slut. When I meet someone new after I lose this new stranger--because I know we will not last even before we have begun--should I try to be a good girl and see if the next guy will love me beyond what my body could offer?

* * * * * * * *

At 26, I also wanna be loved, to be courted like other normal women, to get flowers, love letters, chocolates. I know these gestures lead to sex anyway so why don't I just skip all that courtship crap and jump into bed with the man?

I am a paradox of sorts, a moving, living, breathing body of contradiction. I don't know what I want.

I don't know what true love feels like anymore. I wonder if I did. But I want to feel it again. I might be too scarred to truly love but I am not giving up yet.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Spa Therapy Session With Brian

"Babe, I found this awesome place. It's disguised as a spa and well, you're really gonna get a massage. You also get a handjob or blowjob. I asked one of the ladies if they do girls and they said YES! So, you wanna check it out tonight? It's just near my place.”

Brian comes in and out of my life. He was my fuck buddy years ago and he disappeared from my life for nearly two years, made a come back last month and arranged a group session for me. In my sexual explorations, Brian served as both mastermind and accomplice. He always thinks of ways to make me happy. The spa is his latest discovery.

For your eight hundred pesos (less than 20 dollars), a masseuse in a bikini will give you a hot or cold shower, a sensual massage and a blowjob. I know of several brothels disguised as spas but this particular spa is different because it will not allow you to have sex with their masseuses. Or so the receptionist claimed. You also don't need to pay extra for a blowjob. It already came with the service.

When Brian and I approached the receptionist, I ogled at the masseuses. I was amazed at how lovely the girls were. They were all wearing floral bikinis and seated on a couch. I hear stories from guys at the office about less attractive masseuses but these girls looked like Playboy Playmates. They are your typical Asian beauties, not very tall but have lean bodies and did not wear too much make up. It was obvious this place specializes in catering to foreigner clients. And before you say I am racist, let me just mention that most American men --or foreign men, in general--whom I know prefer the more exotic Filipina beauty: brown skin, black hair, petite. These women, though, were samples of the more attractive Filipinas.

Brian and I had to choose a girl each. I chose the girl who had fairer skin, sexy legs and shoulder-length hair. She looked shy and young and had an innocence about her that made me suddenly horny. If I prefer my men to be older, I want my women to be younger. Brian wanted us to be together during the shower and in the same room during the massage. The receptionist hesitated but agreed after Brian tipped her with 10 dollars.

Inside the shower, Brian was grinning from ear to ear. The perv immediately started to chat with his girl—a buxom woman in her late twenties who was also very chatty and had a high-pitched laugh. The ladies started to undress us. Brian was naked in an instant and the girl was spraying water on his torso. My girl was smiling shyly and I tried to make her feel comfortable. I wondered if she had done this with a woman before. I wondered if she had even kissed a woman before. This place was designed for men and the girls probably don't get to service women often. To make things easier for her, I undressed on my own, leaving only my bra and panties on. I took her hands and placed them on my waist. She giggled and I found her giggle to be very seductive. I smiled at her and asked her how old she was. She was only 18 (again, readers, you all know how anal I am about age) but she looked more like 16.

Can you help me take off my bra? I asked her. I turned around and she fiddled with my bra and unhooked it. And my panties? She was an obedient little girl and complied. She pulled my panties down and I told her to hold my panties as I stepped out of it.

Brian's eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. His girl was now lathering soap on his body and his cock was standing in attention. He murmured something to the girl and she immediately went down on her knees and took Brian's cock in her mouth. He hissed and said Fuccckkkk....between clenched teeth.

My girl started to spray water on me, first on my breasts, my tummy and then my legs. Holding the shower with one hand, she used her free hand to rub my breasts. Her hands were so soft. I grabbed her hand and pressed them harder on my breast. She was eager to please and took my other nipple in her mouth while her other hand fondled my other breast. I met Brian's gaze and he winked at me.

She lathered liquid soap on my body. With her beautiful, tiny hands, she rubbed my shoulder, gently massaging it. Her face was so close to mine and I can smell her shampoo. I felt light headed. I looked at her cute face and her lips were beckoning to me. I wondered how she would react if I kissed her. I haven't had a woman in a rather long time and this girl was attractive enough for my taste. Her hands were now on my breasts, making circular motions and lightly brushing her fingers against my nipples.

I looked at Brian and his hands were planted firmly on his girl's head. He was humping the girl's mouth mercilessly. The girl's hands were on his thighs, pushing against him as he pushed inside her mouth. Brian is a very rough lover and I could hear the girl gagging. She turned her head sideways so that Brian won't plunge his cock deep into her throat and cut out her oxygen supply.

My girl knelt down in front of me. I spread my legs so she can soap my legs and inner thighs. Her nipples were visible against her wet bra. The outline of her pussy against her wet bikini was an erotic sight. I longed to feel her pussy. I wanted her to feel my pussy against her thigh.

Her hands came so dangerously close to my pussy. She lathered soap on my inner thigh, avoiding my pussy crack to tease me even further. This girl isn't very innocent about girly love.

Still kneeling, she pushed her breasts against my groin, looking up at me with those doe eyes, waiting for my instructions. I held her head and gently pushed her between my legs. She showed me her tongue before devouring my pussy.

Ahhh..A girl's tongue is a magnificent creation. Fingers cannot equal it's skill, a man's tongue cannot mimic the way a woman's tongue gently glides along pussy lips and clitoris. A girl, expert or not in cunnilingus, experienced or not in girly love, can cause a massive electric shock through your groin and spine the moment that tongue touches your clit. There are no bad blowjobs. Some are just better than others. In the same way, all girls know how to lick and cannot be bad at it. It is a natural gift.

This girl had a long tongue, longer than other women I have been with, and she knew how to use it. She pushed her tongue inside my pussy hole, her nose pressed against my clitoris, fucking me with her lovely tongue. In and out, her tongue went..She licked my pussy lips, pulling at the sides with her teeth, lightly. I reached in between her face and my pussy and rubbed my clit, pressing it with my thumb and forefinger. I turned around and offered my asshole to her. She hesitated but then obliged and pushed her tongue inside my hole. I sighed deeply and encouraged her to insert a finger inside my pussy while she tongue-fucked my asshole.

Brian moaned loudly. His body tensed and he held the girl's head firmly in place. He had cum, his first for the night. The girl toweled Brian off and led him to the adjoining room to start on his massage.

I hadn't cum yet. The short time spent showering was not enough to make me cum yet. I asked my girl if they were strict about customers having sex with the masseuse. She said that the spa had strict rules but she wasn't sure if that applied to women as well. I was certain she would make an exception for me.

I pulled her up, and pushed her against the wall. I hastily pulled her panties down to her ankles, not giving her a chance to protest. I looked into her eyes and I didn't see any fear in them. Placing one leg between her legs, I pushed my thigh against her pussy. She did the same and I inhaled sharply when her thigh brushed against my clitoris. I pressed my body against hers and took her lips. She eagerly opened her mouth to me and I took the tongue she offered. We ground our thighs against each other's pussies, my one hand on her neck,the other on her waist as we kissed. She grabbed my ass with both her hands, pushing me closer to her.

We danced to the tune of our lust. Thigh against pussy, breasts on breasts. She leaned down and took my nipple in her mouth, alternating between the two, biting gently. I caressed her body, lingering on her waist, her beautiful ass. Her pussy was warm and wet against my thigh.

Her breath grew short and ragged. She ground her pussy harder against my thigh. Faster, faster, harder and harder. She held on to me, buried her face between my breasts and continued grinding her pussy against my thigh. She was close to cumming...

She shuddered, still riding my thigh, chasing after her orgasm. She threw her head back, started panting and moaning louder and with one final thrust, she came. She collapsed on my breasts again and was still for a moment.

I needed my own release.

I motioned for her to sit down. Stick out your tongue, honey. I offered my pussy to her and she eagerly lapped at my pussy lips. Holding her head in place, I started fucking her mouth and face. My little girl was eager to please. I fucked her mouth and tongue faster. Harder.

I came all over her face. Seeing her face glistening with my cunt juice was too much for me to take. She stood up and I pulled her into a deep embrace, kissing her mouth, licking her face to clean up my cum


When we stepped into the room, Brian was naked on the bed, the girl between his legs and giving him another blow job. His body wasn't oily. He probably didn't get his massage,

But I did get my massage. My girl's hands felt wonderful on my skin and I just can't leave this place without getting my money's worth.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The Marine

You are beautiful .

This night had been beautiful.

And I want to keep it this way.

I want to remember you this way.


Saturday night came around again. Valentine's Day has come and gone. The Marine kept me smiling in spite of myself the entire weekend. My spirits were high, my libido was high but I was content with the few hours we spent talking, flirting on Valentine's night. Sex would have been an inevitable outcome. Were it not for his restraint and my monthly period that came at the most unfortunate date, I would have once again ruined the lovely memories of an acquaintance that, despite being fleeting, left me with a renewed faith in crap like destiny and serendipity.


The bar was full of people. The band's poorly selected repertoire for the night managed to dampen my spirits even further. A fledgling singer croaked the last few notes of Bon Jovi's This Aint A Love Song and the conclusion of the band's one-hour performance was welcomed with astounding applause. An entire crowd's sarcasm proved too much for the bar manager who scurried back and forth taking song requests himself. That one hour was probably the first hour of the end of his career. The crowd was unappreciative. I love Bon Jovi but who would seriously want to listen to lonely love songs on a holiday created solely for the furtherance of hedonistic pleasure? My own legion of single women wanted to listen to R&B and this bar had been famous for the best music mixes of this genre. That night was the worst night to lose these single ladies as customers by having them sit for an hour reminding them they probably won't get laid on the most important night of the year.

These girls had been planning Valentine's night for at least two weeks. It was like planning for a Christmas party except they were more excited about February 14th.

When the first notes of fine R&B music played, the crowd whooped and we gathered on the dance floor. My married lady friend, who came with us seeking adventures with another man for one night, went up the small circular stage in the middle of the dance floor and started dancing. I was terrified she would fall off but also curious to see the outcome of what she considered to be the ultimate form of seduction: dirty dancing by herself. I did not have the heart to tell her off despite the sharp looks my other colleagues gave her. My colleagues begged me constantly to have a word with her but I brushed off their suggestion. I realized she must have felt like a prisoner the whole time she was with her husband and tonight is the night she sets herself free. I don't have a strong opinion on married woman who seek adventures with other men. I am certainly not in the position to judge her. Besides, her dancing didn't attract any men. On this matter, I feel qualified to be a judge but she was having such an awesome time jumping up and down, gyrating her hips stiffly and flipping her long hair thisaway and thataway. Had I been a bad friend for not telling her she looked far from seductive? Certainly not. If I had competed with her, yes, that would have made me a bad friend. Tonight is all about these other single ladies whom I spend at least 10 hours of my life daily. I wish the rest of them would just loosen up and enjoy the night.

Standing just beside the circular stage where the married lady friend attempted to make a fool of herself, sipping on my cocktail, I went into my own zone and started dancing. I must have withdrawn into my own zone for a few minutes, slow dancing and enjoying the music with my eyes closed because when I became once again aware of my surroundings, this tall handsome guy with a body that was totally to-die-for was standing in front of me, his look a mixture of admiration and amusement. He looked very young and I don't like younger men so I just rolled my eyes and turned my back at him, resuming my slow dancing while instantly becoming conscious of how I moved my body. I'm never the shy type but I could almost feel his eyes boring into the back of my head and that wasn't a nice feeling.

I turned around quickly and shouted my question. What do you want?! He said he was just watching me. Go watch someone else! Or pay me if you wanna keep watching! He just smiled at that. This bar is the loudest but...daym, he is so gorgeous. I bit at my lower lip,smiled at him and decided I won't be a bitch tonight and just be nice to him. If only he were a bit older, I'd whisk him out of the bar in a heartbeat.

I moved closer to him, tiptoeing to scream at his ear. I'm Trinity. You are?

Chris (insert German last name).

He didn't shake the hand I offered him. Instead, he pulled me close to him and with his arm wrapped around my waist, we started to slow dance. I didn't complain. My face was just inches from his chest and his fragrance was intoxicating. If I didn't know myself better, I would have said I came right there but I know I didn't. I started thinking Damnit! Why do I have to have my period now?! With my head resting on his chest, his hands touching my bare hips and waist, I felt virginal, like I was in high school and he was my prom date.

I would ruin this romantic grinding of groin against groin just to ask him for his age. And I did just that because I'm totally anal about older men. I looked up at him and he understood I wanted to ask him something. He offered his ear to me gingerly. Above the din, I asked him how old he is. He told me he was 92 and I said What are you? Another Benjamin Button?

Another smile. He was melting my heart. He told me he was 34. American (check), 34 years old (check). Marine(check check check!). Perfect. Now only my period is standing in the way of my dream lay for the month.

A few more moments of dancing with him—sometimes slowly, sometimes seductively and other times,depending on the music, we just jumped up and down, laughing at our craziness—we decided to step out of the bar for fresh air. I said goodbye to my other colleagues who had been watching me and Chris all this time. I couldn't find the married lady friend. At some point, I just stopped caring what she did. I figured she had either gone to the restroom or met someone and is now making out in the restroom.

Outside the bar,there were groups of annoying drunk people laughing at their own silly little jokes and jeering at passersby. I felt safe with my very own Marine. The real Trinity took a backseat and refrained from making untoward (read:slutty) advances. I thought Why not be a darling tonight?

The next few hours went by like a blur. When you're enjoying someone's company so much, you hardly feel the hours tick by, you don't hear your cellphone ringing and you don't care about your surroundings. We joked a bit, talked about my work at the magazine, his life as a marine and discussed a few relationship idiosyncrasies. I wasn't skeptical, didn't think he was lying to me like I usually would when meeting people for the first time. This cynicism didn't have a place in my mind. I looked at Chris in a whole different light and never, for one second, did I think that he has probably fucked so many Asians in his foreign assignments.

By dawn, we felt like we have know each other for a month. His arm was around me and my head was on his shoulder. My hand was on his while we continued talking about random stuff under the sun. It was such a beautiful feeling to have someone to talk to on a night where everyone else's goal was to get laid (myself included, irregardless of my period). It was refreshing not to want to have sex with him that night because being with him was beautiful enough and I didn't want to ruin our moment. It wasn't only because I had my period. There are other ways Chris and I could derive sexual pleasure from each other. If he was into ass fucking, then we would easily manage to check into a motel for the next three hours. If he wasn't into ass fucking, I'd give him a blowjob inside a taxi cab while driving around the city for 30 minutes. But, no.

There, under the starless sky, among a throng of drunk teenagers, unhappy, married women seeking sexual adventures and single ladies in their late twenties eternally pining for that elusive lover, I felt lucky to have Chris even if it was just one night.


Soon, it would be time to go. It will be time to let go of Chris. His fellow Marines stumbled outside the bar, girlfriends in tow. For a moment, I couldn't believe my eyes. The Marines were with my colleagues, hand in hand with their partner, the others kissing torridly while onlookers observed curiously. I smiled in spite of myself. This night hadn't been such a waste of their time.

I saved the most important question for that moment just before saying goodbye to him. I turned to Chris. When are you leaving? He said they'll be flying to California by noontime the following day. There was no way I'd get to fuck Chris.

His friends saw him,waved and told him they were going. They said their goodbyes to their girlfriends for the night. Up until that time, Chris and I hadn't kissed. I looked at him, my eyes imploring.

He kissed me. Just one soft kiss on the lips.

We didn't break eye-contact. His hand was still on my waist, my lips were still slightly parted, and his breathing was still ragged. He took my lips again and this time, it was a passionate kiss. Our tongues sparred, we were softly biting each others lips. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled him close and kissed him with an urgent longing. When he broke that kiss, I was panting. My eyes searched his. I wanted to ask him to take me somewhere and we'll do the best we can with my circumstances. I couldn't say it but I guess he understood.

His lips traced the outline of my jaw, sending electric shocks up and down my spine. He whispered to me:

You are beautiful . This night had been beautiful. And I want to keep it this way. I want to remember you this way.

And with that, he kissed me one more time, let go of my embrace and walked towards his friends.

Can I find you on FaceBook? I shouted after him. He turned around and smiled at me. He nodded his head and then went on his way.


The married lady friend had sent me a message at 1 am saying she was headed home. I didn't read it until 6 am. By that time,us, single ladies were eating voraciously at this breakfast joint just near the club that was popular for its tapsilog. Uncombed hair, smudged make up and looking totally disheveled, we stopped caring about appearances. The ladies happily exchanged their stories, each one trying to outshine the other's sexy story. I silently chewed my fried rice. I thought about Chris's beautiful smile and wondered if I would see him again.

I haven't looked him up in Facebook but I know he is on there after doing a Google search. Would I "friend" him in Facebook? Or should I wait for him to find me? I think I'd go for the latter. But I am notoriously impatient....

If we meet again, serendipitously, y'all will know about it.

Saturday, February 14, 2009


I reached out my hand,
Into the darkness, so helplessly.
I searched, yet not one did I find,
I touched, yet not once did I feel

Blind, my eyes and heart in the dark.
I feel so cold and unwanted;
I weep and ask the eternal darkness:
When? When will I truly feel?

This warmth I've been longing for.
Will I forever stay in this unlit crevice,
Where hearts are cold and passionless
Where love is strange, affection unheard?

I ran, I searched, I broke the spell
Of this gloomy dusk wrapping my heart.
I want to love, to live, to feel;
Your love, your ardent touch.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Don't Forget About Us

I stared at the computer screen, the cursor blinking at the password field. I hesitated, telling myself he is a part of the past I have buried, left behind. I had no acceptable reason to scrape at the old scars that took at least a year to heal. My curiosity took the better of me like it always does and I typed in the password he has entrusted to me some years ago, knowing all too well he hadn't changed it.

He was a lost soul, misunderstood, the kind of man who is both mysterious and yet an open book. Everyone knows his life but no one really understands the reasons behind his actions. Many times he had lost himself in his addiction to liquor, struggling to keep a job and his self-confidence. He tells me his life had been a failure. At 25, he couldn't be too far gone. There was hope for change. And I threw myself at his feet, convincing myself that if he had me, he had a better chance of coping with his issues. I had been wrong, oh so wrong.

His morbid outlook about life fascinated me, as if his own confusion about where his life is headed made my own issues less disturbing. For once, I found a man who opens his heart to me, tells me what he thinks, what he feels and allows me access to the innermost, darkest and most disturbed crevices of his mind. That he was more messed up than me made me feel like I was a better person, a person who could change him, mold him into a better model of himself.

We spent nights drinking together, pouring our hearts out as profusely as we poured liquor to our glasses. At bars, he would unceremoniously punch a man if he had the slightest suspicion that the helpless guy had been checking me out. I didn't stop him. He was overprotective because he owned me. The guy who ogles at his woman deserved his fist. It was the right thing to do. I was prohibited to look sexy, lest he get caught up in another fist fight with some drunk who looks my way. I found myself enjoying his power over me, staking his claim over me as his woman wherever we are and to whoever dared ask.

Sex with him was dark and rough, almost emotionless and oftentimes the culmination of a drunken spree we both engaged in. There was no conversation during sex, there was little foreplay and we fucked usually with our clothes still on our bodies. We rarely kissed and we didn't care. Our lust for each other was enough to make me wet and make him hard. Inside his car, or in my apartment, wherever he felt the need to take me, he would claim me. I loved the aggression, loved the way he spreads my legs forcefully, pulling my panties to the side frantically and with an urgency that made me feel dizzy. When he buries his cock inside me and humps away like I was a whore whom he didn't have to please, I grow more excited.

I knew he loved me. You ask me how I know, I really cannot answer. There is a kind of love you cannot understand, that you don't have to explain to know it really exists between you and another person. You just know it's there. That we needed each other was an irrevocable truth and I feel it when he comes home to me at night, holds me in his arms, holds me tight like there is no tomorrow. I feel it when I look for his face in a crowd of strangers, when I feel him around me even if he isn't there, when he occupies my thoughts every waking hour of my life.

Jealousy was a constant in the relationship. Apparently, I am not the only woman attracted to a man with issues. My obsession over him drove me to the extremes, demanding for his time more and more, wanting him near me all the time. I demanded access to all his personal information, held on to his passport, his ID's and account information as if this would prevent him from ever leaving. It didn't bother him. We owned each other.

But the bindings we created for each other consumed us and became my heart's undoing. He struggled to break free from me. The night he left, he had left me a message on our bed.

I will never forget you. Don't forget about us. I love you.

For over a year since he left me, I hacked his emails. He had traveled to another country for work and there is a girl waiting for him in the Philippines, waiting to be with him soon. I had followed their love story, reading the emails they exchanged and recreating the story of their love. She loved him and he loved her. They had plans to be together...and to get married someday. I looked for him, emailed him for nearly a year but my imploring messages fell on deaf ears. I continued to follow his life, lurking in his email and reading the messages the woman sent him even before he got to read them.

I stopped hurting myself after a year. I had been obsessed with claiming him again but every desperate email I sent him took him a step further away from me. I tried to forget I even knew his password...

News of his upcoming marriage reached me just today...and I hacked into his email, promising to do this just one last time to find closure. He had proposed to her. A jubilant email was sent to the few friends he had in the Philippines, saying he is marrying by mid this year.

I should be happy for him. I think I am. I know he hasn't forgotten me. And neither will I.


There is a kind of love you cannot understand, that you don't have to explain to know it really exists between you and another person.Maybe this girl saw Jay for what he really is and he loved her even more for that. I thought I was going to change him into someone better, someone better for me. The girl he is marrying loves him for what he is. I read about their fights. He begs her to take him back. She is won over. It is a vicious cycle of fights, break ups and make ups and they went at it for over a year. She persevered for him and he endured for her. Despite their distance, their love survived. I wish both of them happiness, the happiness I thought I would find in Jay.

I was wrong, oh so wrong.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

One Night

Saturday night, February 7th

Saturday is a welcome relief. It is that day when stress becomes a thing of the past and whatever bad memories the week before had wrought on me can now be replaced with something more interesting, less appalling. Whatever the outcome of this weekend, it is a step away from the Doctor. And so, I welcomed the surprises that the night has prepared for me.

A dinner was in order and I dearly wished I had declined. Sitting across him in a restaurant for an hour was not a chore, just unnecessary. Conversation over mundane subjects during dinner is obligatory and I didn't feel there was a need to get intimate about each other's personal lives. I did not like questions, choosing to conceal facts about me or just answering "
secret" to his inquiries. On a first and most likely our last date, there was no need to reveal my life story. I had him talk about himself instead, murmuring mmm or oh really or that's interesting in between his sentences. My disinterest wasn't obvious. I made sure I smiled throughout the evening. There is nothing wrong about him or the dinner or that he wants conversation. Drinks would have sufficed, a few tequila shots would have set the mood in less than five minutes.

His arm was wrapped around my shoulders, my lips pressed against his neck just below his ear. I let my tongue slide on his earlobe, once, twice. I started to unbutton his shirt.
I think it's best we stop talking now. In fact, let's not bother with personal stuff. The bit of you that's interesting to me is this one right here. His burgeoning hard on was straining inside his pants. He wrapped his arms around my waist this time, pulled me so close he almost crushed me, then planted a wet kiss on my lips. My place is a bit far. Let's just start right here, he told me between kisses. The driver couldn't keep his eyes on the road and I thought it won't hurt to let him see a bit of action right here. His kiss was torrid and invasive, sucking on my tongue and biting my lower lip. His touch was rough, aggressive and urgent, hands undecided on what to explore first.

As soon as he closed the door to his apartment, he pinned me against the wall, holding each of my wrists, restraining my movement. He dived between my breasts, running his tongue on my skin. He placed himself between my legs and ground his cock against my pussy.

Leading me upstairs to his bedroom and taking two steps at a time, he had a smile that made him look years younger. He looked like a child eager to open his present. I was laughing, trying to keep up with him.
I think we should freshen up, he said, motioning to the door of his bathroom. We started to undress each other, kissing the skin revealed by every piece of clothing we shed off. Brushing his lips against my shoulder as he pulled the straps down, licking my breasts and sucking on each of my nipples as my bra came undone. When my dress fell on the floor, he drew in a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. He said something in Spanish. Although I didn't understand it, I recognized bonita. I asked him how he learned Spanish and he told me he had picked it up from his friends in L.A., having lived there for nearly 40 years.

He guided me to the bathroom. The water was cold and I shivered, pressing my body against his. This night, he started out as very aggressive which led me to believe both of us will only cum once and this will all be over in an hour, maybe less. But then he took his time. Under the light, steady flow of water, we explored each other's bodies with our hands and lips. He held my face with both hands and gave me perhaps one of the closest imitation to a woman's kiss.

I turned to face the bathroom wall. He was behind me, kissing my nape, shoulders, my back, my butt. I bent over and he knelt down behind me, pulled my ass cheeks apart, and pressed his tongue against my asshole.One hand touching my breasts, pinching my nipples and the other reaching out behind me, I pushed his head closer, spread my legs wider, forcing him to stick his tongue deeper inside me. I watched myself in the mirror, aroused by the sight of my nudity, bent over and tortured with pleasure by this stranger. We spent a long time under the shower, kissing, exploring. This foreplay was slow and sweet and many times he would whisper his appreciation of my body. We exchanged several knowing smiles, the kind that told each other we were both enjoying this slow, sensual seduction. He wasn't in a hurry to penetrate me, nor was I in a hurry to feel him inside me.

Without need for towels, we stepped out of the shower still dripping wet. Sitting on the side of his bed, legs apart, he told me to crawl towards him. I did my best to look cat-like yet very feminine and seductive. When I reached him, he kissed me on the lips once and told me to take it down your throat. He gathered my wet hair with one hand and then pushed my head down between his legs. I eagerly opened my mouth and forced his tool down my throat. His hand was planted firmly on my head, controlling the movement and speed of my mouth up and down his shaft . Several times, he forced his tool down my throat and allowed me to gag on it for a few seconds, taking my breath away. When he allowed me to pull his cock out of my mouth, spit was dripping from the side of my lips. I spat on his cock and devoured it again. He murmured his encouragement. He laid on his bed moments later and I crawled on top of him to a 69. We lingered in this position for moments more, listening to each other's sighs and moans whenever our mouths and tongues hit a certain pleasure spot. He shivers beneath me every time I lick his balls. I rocked my ass back and forth, achieving the right speed and force of his tongue on my clitoris that was necessary for me to orgasm.

I felt my orgasm slowly building up and I stopped sucking on his dick so I can straddle his mouth and watch him when I cum. I'm cumming.....I told him between ragged breaths.

I faltered, fell down beside him, savoring the remnants of my orgasm. He wasted no time to flip me over to my side, taking me from behind in a spooning position. He lifted my right leg and pushed his cock inside my still throbbing pussy. His thrusts were deep and very urgent. With his face pressed against my nape, breathing hard and thrusts that were faster and shallower this time, I knew he was so close to cumming.

He pulled his cock out quickly and I turned to face him, kneeling between his legs to suck on his balls while he beat furiously at his meat. Swallow it, he tells me. I wrapped my lips around his cockhead and received my prize for the night...


We stayed up through dawn fucking and talking. In between sex, he talked to me about his life. He wasn't yet divorced, just separated, and he has a toddler. He talked about his business and I found myself asking him questions, eager to know more about this stranger. I still refused to talk about myself but rather enjoyed listening to his voice and watching his lips as he spoke instead of looking into his eyes.

We finally fell asleep in each other's arms. I dozed off wondering why I decided to spend the night...even more, I wondered why I enjoyed sleeping in his arms when I can just pull the covers over my head, turn away from him and close my eyes.

In the morning, I refused his offer to take me home himself and settled instead to have his driver take me back to my place, promising to send him a message as soon as I arrived. The Saturday night had been beautiful and I fear it might turn out the same way with the Doctor. It was wonderful when it happened yet it was fleeting like a shooting star. Now, days later, I am thinking of changing my number. His persistence at seeing me again is irritating to the point of being....sweet and romantic. But, who the hell am I kidding?