Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Seduction of Trinity Shaw

Hands furiously grasping
Two beautiful mounds
Of flesh on her chest
Head thrown back
Fingers tracing her skin
Thighs pressed closely together
Her body an inferno

Masturbation. To my mind, the ultimate expression of love for oneself.

My own hands become the hands of a lover--- or the hands of lovers. My fingers become the toy; the hot, hard cock throbbing inside my pussy; the tongue licking my pussy and asshole. My mind becomes the playground of lovers and adulterers in the vilest acts of copulation, some of them I have experienced, others I can only fantasize about. In my mind, I can play back the beautiful moments where I was fucked because I was loved or just fucked because I was a slut. My lovers do anything I want, know everything I want. And best of all, I can fuck anyone I want in my solitary explorations. The mind is a powerful organ, even more powerful than the force of a cock pushing inside me or deep down my throat.

Tonight, I make love to myself.


On my bed, naked, the air cold on my skin, my nipples hard and erect, legs spread, exposing my bald cunt to a non-existent audience. I suck on my fingers....I am sucking on his cock, kneeling between his legs.

He is standing, naked in his six-feet-three-inch glory, his cock head between my lips. He tells me to look at him. His head is thrown back in ecstasy, lips slightly parted, sweat breaking on his neck and chest. With his fingers wrapped around my hair, he murmurs his approval, telling me I am doing a good job and that I am his best slut. He holds my head in place, pushes his cock further, past my lips and into my mouth. He pushes his cock deep down my throat. I gag a bit, he shushes me, pushes further.

My fingers are wet, my pussy soaked in my juices. My clit aches to be stroked. One hand reaching between my legs, I continue sucking on my fingers. He spreads my legs...

“It's Daddy's turn”, he whispers to me. I am lying on his bed, legs wide open, my pussy lips wet, clit hard and throbbing. Daddy is between my legs now. He sniffs my pussy, tells me I smell good enough to eat. He starts flicking my clit with his tongue, one finger inside my cunt. I beg for more. He obliges and inserts two fingers.

My asshole is begging for attention. One finger up my pussy, another inside my asshole. I push my finger inside—not too deep—pull it out and push it back again. Daddy loves fucking my ass.

Lying on his back now, I straddle his head, holding on to the headboard for support. I offer him my pussy and he laps at the lips and clit hungrily, his finger stroking my asshole.

On all fours, my breasts pressed against the mattress, my ass in the air. I push my trusty foot-long double- headed dildo inside my cunt. A sigh of satisfaction ensues from my lips...

On my knees and hands now with Daddy kneeling behind me, licking my asshole, slobbering it with his saliva. I beg him to fuck me. Now. Now. Now. He holds on to my hips, guides his cock head to my asshole. I am afraid he would break me in to two with his massive cock. But I have always survived this. He pushes in, slowly...All 9 inches of him inside my asshole now, fucking me slowly while I rub my clit furiously.

With a dildo in my cunt and a finger pressed against my clit, I feel my orgasm building. I chase after that mind-shattering orgasm, my eyes closed, lips slightly parted, panting and sweating, murmuring obscenities, murmuring his name, Daddy's real name...

Here it cums.

A scream of delight followed by louder moans that slowly ebbed until all I can hear is my heart's furious beating. My orgasm was strong. My pussy walls contracted against the dildo. My body trembled and my knees shook. There was a soft ringing in my ears; I was lightheaded. My skin was hot, my sweat seemed to sizzle on the surface. Fuuuck . That was gooood.

Naked still, holding my pillow tight, the remnants of my orgasm still raking every inch of my body. I reveled in the serenity of it all.

I miss him. In my fantasies, he is making love to me. In my waking hours, the thought of him haunts me. I still want him. If only he knows that in my lonely nights, the thought of him is still the ultimate seduction that tortures and drives me to solitary explorations.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Tragic Beauty

A Saturday night spent alone in my 5th floor apartment isn't my idea of fun. Looking out my window, I can't see much except for the window of another apartment in another building. I wanted to see the city lights, to be out there where the city folk converge after a week's hard work. I wanted to be out there. Or to be in a bed other than mine. But tonight, I didn't feel much of a hunter.

Though not much of a smoker, I appreciated the distraction of smoke licking the tip of the cigarette, dancing along the ashtray, rising then fading. Stop ringing. With my phone in one hand, cigarette in another, I closed my eyes, just willing my phone to stop ringing. It hasn't stopped ringing in the past 30 minutes. But this isn't the person I want to fuck tonight. I can turn it off but, what if by some unseen hand of fate, my beloved American Doctor decides he wanted to fuck me? I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity.

Soon to turn 26, I already feel old enough to retire. Life tires me out sometimes and I wish I can just one day wake up, married with children and grandchildren. It's the game. I wanna skip the game, skip the emotional scars, skip the drama,skip the trauma. Every year since I turned 22, I have felt scared that I will end up alone on my deathbed 40 years from now. I am a self-proclaimed independent woman. I don't need a man to take care of me. I can have a man when I want one between my legs and fucking me.

What do you really want, Trinity? But the woman in the mirror doesn't answer of course.

I always contradict myself. Yes, I need to be taken care of. Yes, I need someone to grow old with. Yes, I am too proud to admit I will ever need anyone. Yes, I am still confused. And yes, I still love the game, still love sleeping around.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, I started to memorize the curves of my body and the features of my face. I haven't changed much in the last few years, maybe just a few pounds more but I don't even bother with weighing scales. My face, though youthful, seems wizened to me. I started to look for non-existent wrinkles. But you're just turning 26, hey!

I absorbed everything about the image in front of me:

My black hair which will one day turn gray.
My smooth skin which will one day be spotted and wrinkled.
My breasts which will one day sag and frustrate me.
My beautiful pussy, this beautiful, wonderful gift from our creator will one day be dry, barren and useless for me.
Many years from now, I will forget this hot piece of ass staring back at me.

Many years from now, I will still be beautiful in a grandma kind of way, a tragic beauty wh0se eyes will shine when remembering all the loves she has won and lost in her lifetime.

One day, I will be older, look older and I probably won't be as fuckable. My future husband might want to fuck a younger girl---just like myself now. I am not the only young woman who is fucking an older man. I'd probably kill him and his younger mistress.

But then I can stay alone. And suffer alone.

Twelve midnight now. Sunday. I should go to sleep.

I kissed the woman in the mirror. Happy 26th birthday, Trinity, I told her.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Group Sex Virgins

I was sucking on Brian's dick. I could get him hard but as soon as I stopped, he went soft. Mars and Ace had the same problem.

Brian had promised to make my fantasies come true.
And he delivered.

A few weeks ago, he came back to my life, claimed my fantasies again, made it OUR fantasies. Now, he is making each one of them come true for me.

A phone call on Wednesday night while I was preparing to retire early sent me clambering off my bed and digging through my lingerie to search for the sexiest one I could find. A foursome. I made sure I heard him right. A foursome requires the hottest piece of lingerie. Drats. Why does he sneak up on me like this? Had we planned this last week, I could have taken a quick trip to the mall and I won't find myself staring at this hot piece of---what kind of lingerie is this? The panty was torn and the bra was cut at the straps. Ah. I remembered I kept this as a souvenir when Brian used a knife for sex play. That was delicious. I settled on my red lace lingerie. Red always works and was a good contrast to my fair skin.

With barely 30 minutes to prepare, I knew I didn't look my best. My make up was surely a disaster; it was so sparse and hastily done but he would be angry if I wasn't standing outside my apartment when he pulls up the driveway.

He told me to get in the car, complimented my outfit and pulled me close. We kissed. When he is horny, he kisses funny like he sucks on my tongue and licks my chin and lips. Are you sure you're ready for this? he asked, squeezing my hand with his free hand as he maneuvered out of the driveway. I sighed. Yeah, I think so. We have planned this for years. The two guys will follow us to the hotel, he told me. He wanted me for himself first.

We showered, careful not to get my hair wet and smudge my make up. He cleaned me up, especially my asshole. I turned away from him. He bent me over and pulled my ass cheeks apart, guiding his cock to my hole. I choked back my screams as he penetrated me. Without regard for my pain, he started to hump me...He came so fast that I didn't even feel my orgasm building up yet.

Here are our rules, he said while toweling off. They won't wear condoms but they can't cum inside your pussy. I'm the only one who can do that. And don't worry. They're clean. One of them wants to try your ass so you will let him. He's not too big. You can take him. I told them you love getting your ass and pussy licked so you will get all that attention. The three of us will be on you at the same time. I will watch over you, in case one of them decides to do something stupid or hurt you. They can't leave marks on your body and I will take their cellphones from them so they can't take pictures. Everything else is up to them and to you. Tell them what you want and they will do it. I made that pretty clear to them. And they can't kiss you. I'm the only one who is allowed to kiss your lips.

I liked what I heard and just nodded in agreement, smiling from ear to ear. He offered his dick to me and let me suck on it for a moment. Very soon, the two guys he has set up to fuck me will be ringing the doorbell. I didn't know what to expect. I had visions of a common scene in group sex films where three guys took one hole each: pussy, ass and mouth, and the girls loved it. I loved thinking about it but I was worried I couldn't give enough attention to each of them or that I couldn't take all of them at the same time. It's not like sex with three men was something I was used to doing. But I could get used to it, of course.

Soon after we laid down our rules, Ace and Mars rang the doorbell. Brian smiled at me and skipped happily to open the door. They talked a bit at the adjoining receiving room. I couldn't hear them. I could only hear my own nervous heartbeat. As they talked, I positioned myself on the bed in a way that would immediately seduce them when they see me. I was anxious they might not like me, might not think I am pretty or sexy enough. I tried to sit with my legs splayed, then scratched that plan quickly because I looked like I was just begging to be fucked. I was desperate to be fucked but didn't want it to be too obvious. I tried to sit this way and that way, hoping to achieve that seductive effect I was aiming for. I finally settled to just leaning against the headboard and letting my feet dangle at the side of the bed.

All three of them stepped inside the room and I gasped because one of them was a really big guy(Ace), nearly six feet. That is tall for a Filipino. The other one (Mars) was average in height but he was big and muscled. Brian was lean and tall and he looked harmless compared to these two. I hoped they had huge cocks.

Brian introduced us. Ace and Mars had nervous looks and moved around the room anxiously. I watched the three of them. They were observing each other, looking at each other as if trying to decide how to start. Brian took the lead.

He kissed me softly on the lips. We made out for a few moments, my legs splayed, dangling at the side of the bed, his fingers expertly tracing the outline of my pussy lips outside my sheer lingerie. He pushed against my body and I laid down with him, never breaking our kiss. I felt Ace spreading my legs. He buried his head between my legs and licked my pussy just outside my panties. He lifted my ass so he can push his tongue more forcefully against my clit. Mars was sucking at my breasts, licking it, exploring my body with his hands and tongue. I stole a quick glance at the wall-sized mirror. Gawd. It was a hot scene.

For some absurd reason, these guys had difficulty maintaining an erection.

I was sucking on Brian's dick. I could get him hard but as soon as I stopped, he went soft. Mars and Ace had the same problem. As they took turns with my mouth, I could feel their frustration. They cursed under their breaths because as soon as I stopped, they lose their erection. I started to dread it. My mouth was so sore and my jaws hurt. I was so wet and I needed a cock in my pussy but they couldn't maintain the erection long enough to penetrate me!

I grabbed Brian's hand, led him to the bathroom, my eyes searching his. I think we are all self-conscious. We have never done this before, baby, he told me, annoyed. My fantasy of having three guys take me all at the same time crumbled at my feet. They were self-conscious. They were horny. They couldn't keep it up. It didn't make sense.

What do we do? I demanded.

So they ended up taking turns fucking me. The other two guys watched, hand stroking their cocks. Ace took my ass. He was a virgin at ass fucking and when he came, he pushed so deeply that I screamed because he was hurting me. Mars liked sweet and sensual fucking. All the time, I was just lying on my back while he fucked me slowly, eyes closed. Brian, on the other hand, didn't need to fuck my pussy. He came inside my mouth. I didn't cum...yet.

Ace and Mars got dressed. I was still naked on the bed with Brian's arms wrapped around me, kissing my cheeks, my forehead. Ace leaned down to kiss me on the lips. Thank you, he said. Mars kissed me on the cheek and smiled at me. I was sure he had enjoyed it.

Brian and I spent the night at the hotel, fucking a few times throughout the night until dawn. I love you, he said, after we came together. I love you, too.

But I know we didn't mean it that way....


It is nearly six am. I just got home. I couldn't believe it has finally happened for me.

As I write this, I savored that fuckingly awesome moment when three men wanted me, explored my body, competed for my attention. I was the object of their lust...And I felt powerful.

However, it was nothing like porn, nothing like what I read from erotica. There were awkward moments when our movements weren't in sync and the boys bumped against each other. It was almost funny. I guess I have just debunked erotica. It isn't as perverse for first timers the way erotic literature described it to be.

It was funny, though, how they couldn't keep it up. Well, if we are gonna do this again, they have to get over being shy around each other. I want my double (or triple) penetration fantasy and I will have it.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

This Is Not Erotica

Today I got an email from Love Boudoir.com telling me my blog has been listed under their “Must Read Erotic Blogs”. I'm thinking maybe I should have my link removed. When I started blogging, I didn't intend to write erotica. Somehow my posts came out that way. Yet, I still don't want this blog to be labeled as an erotica blog.

You see, I fell in love with a guy I met at a coffee shop, made love to him that same night and had a whirlwind romance that lasted a week. It started with sex. He told me he had fallen for me the first time he saw me and whether he respected me as a woman or not was out of the question. He lusted me and longed to make love to me. So we made love. It has been a long time since sex had been about love. I knew and felt that he made love to me to show me how much he cared, how much he wanted to make me happy and not just to satisfy his own needs. He left the country after a week and we had a long-distance relationship for some time that also ended bitterly because I was always cheating on him. He doesn't know about my other secret life but I let him go because I loved him too much. He never understood why I did what I had to do. I still love him now.

I wrote about the first time Coffee Shop Guy and I made love. It comforted me even after I lost him. I couldn't be his, couldn't be faithful. Being able to relive the experience by writing about it and reading it again and again until I nearly memorized it was addictive. Whenever I missed him, I read what I wrote and it made me happy somehow. That wonderful sexual experience with a stranger who made love to me like he has known me forever made me want to believe that I can actually find love. Then it hit me: How many times did I actually think I was in love but I really wasn't?

Did I tell you about the time when I became the slave of this guy I met online? Whenever he wanted to masturbate, he would ask me to come online and we would have cybersex. I couldn't have sex with other men unless I told him and he allowed me. I have never met him at that time but I believed I was his slave and he was my master and followed what he told me. I would take pictures for him, grew my pubic hair if he wanted to even if it was against my will. He didn't like pubic hair but wanted to know if I would obey him.

Did I tell you that when I was in college, this older guy crept into my room, gave me the best oral sex ever and I didn't even have to suck on his dick? He made me cum and crept out of my room just like that. A few days later, I touched his dick while making out and it was the smallest in the whole world. So that's why he was soo good with his tongue. Oh yeah, I will certainly write about it soon.

And did I also tell you that as a child, I was fondled by an older woman? It wasn't rape or sexual harassment for me. It felt wonderful so it can't be wrong.

What is the point of all this?

I always thought the things I do, the experiences I go through are the same for every woman. I believed that every woman has been someone's slave –online or not-- in one way or another. I believed that all women have had experiences or just a longing to have sex with another woman. I believed that every woman has an inner whore but not many recognize and embrace it. I always believed what I do is normal...but I couldn't talk about it to anyone so how could these experiences be a normal thing for all women? If I won't get punished for my promiscuity, why do I have to be ashamed of my exploits?

How many other women lead a double life? On one hand, I am a successful 25-year old career woman who loves movies, hanging out with friends and staying up late gossiping about men. People see me as this wholesome, happy, complete and responsible person who loves her family and friends and whose morals are in tact. And I am all that and none of it.

On the other hand, I am attracted to the dangers of casual sex, willing to try drugs just for the heck of it and seek for variety in my sexual explorations. I feel challenged by men who seem distant, mysterious and unreachable. When I fuck them, I know every man is the same. Their happiest moment is their weakest. When they scream my name, I feel powerful. I am all that and so much more.

Deep inside, I long to JUST be needed and loved and wanted and be treated as a princess. I want to be the center of someone's universe, to have the kind of love I see in movies. I am idealistic. My search for that love pushes me to date, fuck, fall in and out of love, wallow in the pain, get up the next morning after being so drunk and tell myself there is something better for me out there. I would then try to meet someone online because it's fast and easy. An easy lay. Comfort sex after crying my heart out, an affirmation that I am beautiful even if my American Doctor has dumped me without really saying it.

I still don't know the answers to my questions. I am writing about my experiences and hoping that other women will come out and tell me they have been through the same things. I want other women to tell me they do the same things, feel the same things so I won't feel so different at all. I don't have deep seated childhood traumas. I don't think I am a sociopath and I am not insane.

Am I just another erotica writer?

Alana asked me in her comment and blog post if I was someone who wants to titillate the masses or someone who speaks my emotional truths. I am grateful for her inspiration to write this blog post.

I have also been asked through email if these stories are manufactured, intended to make people want to read my blog just because sex sells. Someone even told me I didn't seem authentic and that the writing is too flawless for someone whose emotions are overpowering.

The answer to that is: Even if people didn't read what I write, I write from my heart and having other people appreciate me as a writer is a bonus that I will always cherish. I write to find peace from my inner demons and to sort out my confused heart and mind. In the future when I read back about my life, I wanna feel the emotions as though I was living it again. I want to be proud of how I wrote in my blog even if I am not always proud of the things I write about.

I still don't want to be considered an erotica writer. I wanna be considered as just another woman, one who is still lost within herself and trying to find her way in the world. I am a real person even if these experiences may seem surreal to me or to you. If women can relate to my experiences, I am happy just to know about it. If only I can talk to my girl friends about all this and be accepted for what I am....

This is not erotica, at least it's not how I intended it to be. This is my life, the other life no one else knows but me and you. In the end, all this shit is about finding that one person to love..or just finding enough love for myself.

Update: Thank you to LoveBoudoir.com for removing my link in their website. I didn't email them yet asking them to remove it but one of its editors read this blog and was kind enough to remove it immediately.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Come Back To Me, Daddy

I watch him longingly, wondering what he is thinking about, hoping somewhere in his mind is an image of me..

My American Doctor has been showing some signs of detachment even before we can establish an emotional attachment. While making love to him a few nights ago, he seemed distant and I couldn't tell if he enjoyed banging me. After the first round, I played with his soft cock for a few minutes while he laid there, his eyes closed and the back of his right hand resting calmly on his forehead. The rest of his body was rigid and as unresponsive as his cock. I tried my best to revive his lust. We haven't even done our favorite sex position and he was already giving up? And, why am I doing all the hard work down here? "Are you tired?"

He simply nodded.

" I fumed.

I moved beside him and pulled the covers over my head. I seriously felt like crying because of his blatant rejection. Had it been another man, I would have walked out on him. I started to count how many times I broke my own rule and spent the night at his place . Many, many nights. How long has it been? A couple months, at least, since I first fucked him out of curiosity over this brooding, mysterious doctor.

He was still quiet. After a moment's hesitation, I emerged from the covers and turned to him. I leaned against him, placed my cheek against his, seeking out the warmth of his hand on mine. “Come back to me, Daddy”, I whispered to him. His response was a murmur, something incoherent. He kissed my temple, wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. Moments later, we fell asleep.

When we woke up, he was somehow more enthusiastic. We made love that morning, quick, sweet with lots of kissing. With little need for foreplay, he removed only my lace underwear and stroked my pussy lips with his thumb, tracing the length of the crack, lingering for a bit on the clit, rubbing it. I was already wet with anticipation, my body on fire, frustrated from last night's unfulfilled fantasies. With my lips on his, our kiss was torrid, urgent. I guided his cock to my pussy.

I exhaled deeply as he buried the entire length of his cock inside me in a single stroke. Sometimes I forget why I am so crazy over him...His cock is beautiful, big, long. Kissing me with lesser urgency now, he fucked my pussy with deep and slow strokes , pushing the entire length of his cock, then pulling it out slowly, leaving only the head inside. He would push inside me again in one swift move and I let out a gasp as his cock head reaches the hilt. He loved watching the expression on my face as he made me feel both the pain and pleasure of his slow, sensual fucking. I looked at him, longing to tell him I love you.

He drives me crazy. Our breaths grew jagged, heavier, our moans louder. When we came together, I screamed his name.

Sex--making love to him--has never left me feeling empty. I was always safe with him, always satisfied. I hate to admit it but he is my favorite fuck buddy. But lately, he has been distant. I worry that he is no l0nger interested in sharing his bed with me. I worry that he may have found a girl that made his heart sing some crappy Britney Spears song, made him feel all those nonsense love shit. I worry he no longer wants to fuck me, his slutty baby girl.

I worry I may be in love with him.

As I write this, locked inside my dark room, tears starting to dry up on my cheeks, I can't deny my pain and longing for him. I can just disappear from his life and look for someone else. What's keeping me from doing that, anyway! I am extremely annoyed with myself. What if he doesn't want me anymore? I am so tortured and so turned on by the thought that the next time we make love might be my last with him.

I wait for his call patiently. It doesn't matter if it's just booty call as long as I can see him again. I miss his voice, miss his kiss, miss calling him Daddy.

I am a magnet for the emotionally unavailable men. The American Doctor makes me want to throw a crying fit. I don't get him. We love the sex, we have great conversation. But maybe that is the problem. We click so well together.

Why can't he just ask me to be his girlfriend? After sleeping with so many men, are my standards really that low? Conversations over coffee after making love for hours the night before, laughing with him, talking about almost anything....Are my standards really so low?

And why, for fuck's sake, do I want the men that don't want me?!

Monday, January 12, 2009

Hannah the Stripper

I will probably never want to see strippers again. Not that I hated them or think they are dirty. I just envied them so much and if I were around them any longer, I would want to become one of them.

In August last year when I had really serious bouts of depression that bordered precariously on being suicidal, I met this guy in MySpace and quickly took a liking to him. He was older than me and he lived in another city. My depression pushed me to reveal things to him that I would never reveal to another soul during normal circumstances. I felt that I can trust him, or maybe I just trusted him because I had no one to talk to. On the phone, we talked about sex. All day, we would text about what we will do to each other when we meet. On chat, we would discuss our group sex fantasies and planned how to make that a reality. Suffice it to say that I slowly recovered from that depressive state because of him. So that you won't be confused—what with all the men mentioned here-- I will give him a name: F. Like F for Frank, Francis, Freddie or just Fuck Buddy.

He flew in to my city in September and after banging each other's brains out for a few hours (details on another post), we decided to finally make our group sex fantasies come true. I didn't have any friends whom I was really close to, at least not close enough to make her agree on engaging in group sex with me. Neither does he because he lived in another city. So we decided to go to a strip club to pick up a girl. F said the experience will also be therapeutic for me. I had to agree.

I have never been to a strip club so deciding on what to wear was a dilemma. I settled on something that left little to the imagination so that I won't feel so out of place. When we got to the club, there weren't a lot of people. My clothes should have been the least of my concerns. I was the only female customer. I didn't even see dykes. There were strippers, pimps, horny foreigners and drunk old men. And then there was F and me, looking like a 16-year old hooker with her pimp. Surprisingly, I didn't feel out of place at all. I easily embraced my slutiness and strut across the room without shame as if I have been frequenting strip clubs for a long time. F and I decided to watch the show before we picked a girl.

It was easy to tell if the stripper was new to the business, F said and pointed out a few girls as examples. One looked very young and had pubic hair that went in every direction around her mound. It didn't look bad, just not trimmed properly. Another girl was very self-conscious and awkwardly dragged her hands along her breasts while she danced. A stripper who was seated with some foreigner dude had this horrified look on her face as the guy groped under her nearly non-existent skirt. A few other strippers were clearly professionals. They were graceful dancers, very nimble and seduced the crowd with a look. They had this confidence, a certain air about them that just pulls you in. It was similar to the kind of confidence that I felt whenever my man screams unheard of obscenities or words in a foreign tongue as his orgasm hits him.

Half the strippers were truly beautiful. I imagined them without make up and just focused on their facial features. When they slowly shed off their clothes, gyrating to some sensual tune, I couldn't pry my eyes away from their lovely bodies. I longed to touch a woman that night, to feel her soft skin, to feel soft breasts against mine instead of a hardened, chiseled chest. I imagined making love to one of these women. I was so wet...F was so hard and it didn't help that he had his finger up my pussy while my hand was inside his jeans as we watched the show.

Hannah was the girl I picked out. She was just 20 years old or so her pimp says. When she came to sit with F and me, I couldn't describe the emotions that were stirring inside me. She was beautiful, her scent was maddening and her hands were so soft. I kissed the back of her hand when we were introduced. It was a soft kiss and our eyes locked on to each other as if in recognition of some unspoken need. F, the horn dog that he is, didn't need an invitation and started touching Hannah's breasts. As he busied himself, touching and licking her breasts, Hannah looked at me with pleading eyes. I leaned in to kiss her. She took my lips and kissed me back, softly. I offered her my tongue and she sucked slowly on it. F pulled Hannah to face him and devoured her lips. As he did this, Hannah's hands found mine and she held on to it tightly. F was a rough kisser. When they broke their kiss, Hannah turned to me again. This time, F did not interrupt as Hannah and I lost ourselves in our kiss. He watched us instead. The male patrons looked on hungrily at this more interesting side show.

Hannah whispered her price in my ear. I told her F and I both wanted her. She named her price. But she was too expensive for me and F to fuck together. I asked F if I can just take Hannah back to the hotel and make love to her while he watched but he wouldn't agree to it. When I told Hannah we couldn't afford her price for two people, she simply smiled at me and said “I have other customers who would pay double that price...” And as simple as that, she stood up and walked away, leaving F and me panting, delirious with lust and kicking ourselves for not bringing enough money.

I was already frustrated and disappointed. I wanted Hannah. F suggested we get a girl who was less expensive. He was sure we would get a decent-looking stripper for our money but I had lost my interest for group sex that night.

I envied Hannah. The power she had over me, the seduction..It was unlike the lust I have felt for other girls before. F told me he had stripper friends who really didn't need that job. They liked stripping, like it was their choice of crack. Dancing, teasing men—and women—being the envy of wives and girlfriends, being the object of a man's fantasy...I wanted to be like them, to experience the kind of power they have, to feel—even just for one night—how it was like to be wanted by so many...I thought about Hannah that night as F fucked me with furious intensity.

As I pondered the experience with F and Hannah, I consoled myself and thought I didn't have to be a stripper to command such power over men. I still secretly want to be a stripper. But since I can't for fear of being excommunicated by my church and being disowned by my parents and relatives, I JUST GAVE myself stripper status, embraced it and tried to exude the confidence Hannah had.

I am Trinity, the Stripper. And proud of it.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

It's All Greek To Me

If you won't lick (me first), I won't suck.
If you lick and it's not good enough, I will teach you.


For me, the word Greek is synonymous to lover. So when I met this Greek doctor a few months back, I was excited to try him out in bed.

I surprise myself sometimes because lately, I have been quite of an attraction for doctors: Greek (Lover) doctor, Iranian (Plastic and Saliva Dude) doctor, American (Older Guy) doctor. My goal is to learn how to scream my orgasm in several different languages, one foreign doctor at a time. Besides, who knows a woman's anatomy better than a doctor?

The Greek doctor doesn't speak much English. On the few dates that I went out with him, I tried showing my funny, smart side but the language barrier was a huge problem and he couldn't keep up with me. I tried to be patient, even thinking I can date him and teach him to speak better English but then I wasn't running an English school for charity. It was the worst time to look for someone whom I can have great conversation with so I decided it was time to try out his Greek tongue somewhere else: on my pussy lips. As it turned out, I benefited more from teaching him how to use his tongue to please me than to teach him English so we can communicate more effectively.

The first time we fucked, I was eager to show him what a slut I can be in bed. Like my obsession for a guy like Enrique Iglesias who seems to make love to the microphone when he is singing, the notion of fucking someone who is Greek conjured thoughts of the Greek love stories I read about in mythology class. Greek. Lover. Lover. Greek. He must be very good, I thought happily to myself.

After a Saturday night out with him and my girlfriends, he could no longer keep his hands to himself. His cock literally jumped when I subtly brushed the back of my hand against his crotch. A few glasses of Martini sent my senses into lust overdrive. We drove back to his apartment. Kissing gently, his hands tracing the outline of my waist and hips while we were inside the elevator, he murmured something Greek in my ear. I didn't understand. It didn't matter.

I sat on the side of his bed, leaning back a little. I was propped up on my elbows to support my weight, legs spread ready for him. He sat on the floor between my legs. Lifting my leg, he took off my strappy high heels and started kissing his way up. He kissed my feet, running his delicious, wet tongue over my toes, sucking on the big toe a bit. Damn. He was good with his tongue.

I spread my legs even wider for him and pulled my panty to the side, revealing pussy lips glistening with my juices. It was my signal for him. I needed that Greek tongue on my pussy. He kissed my inner thigh and I sighed, waiting eagerly for his tongue on my throbbing clit.

Mmmm....here it comes, I thought.

Then, I felt his lips on my pussy lips.

He wasn't licking at all. He was kissing my pussy—french kissing it like he would kiss me on the lips. I waited a bit, anxious to find out if this is just his little Greek technique. But no, he was just kissing it—with furious intensity-- like he was kissing my mouth!

I looked down at him and he was poised awkwardly, one hand on each of my thighs, head buried between my legs like he was digging for something. It was totally un-sexy. Poor thing. He must be thinking his technique works in this side of the world, too. Or maybe no one has taught him how to perform a good lip and tongue service.

I ran my fingers through his hair and whispered to him, “Look at me.” He looked up, almost surprised that I actually “talked to him” while he was busy pleasuring me (supposedly). “Hmmm?”, he murmured. “Look at me”, I repeated. He obeyed.

“Now, stick out your tongue. No, not all of it. Just a little. Yes, like that. Don't stop looking at me. “

“Now, use your tongue and trace the outline of the crack. Start from the bottom, slowly dragging your way up. Mmmm..good boy”.

“Try a finger inside my pussy. Yeah, two is good. Keep licking it up and down. Gently. Don't take your eyes away from me.”

“Now, suck on the clit. Noo...no teeth. Just your tongue and your lips....better, baby. So much better.”


I have had far too many one night stands where I had to do the sucking first. It was almost automatic for the guy to shed off his belt, pants and underwear, hold his cock to my face and I would eagerly suck on it and take it down my throat. I rarely had sex with men who would lick my pussy first before even taking off his clothes. Why is that?

Also another thing that ticks me off is the fact that in some of these one-night stands, the guy would NEVER lick my pussy. One of my friends offered a dim-witted and frustrating theory which she got from another guy. The guy said he won't lick a girl's pussy if it is a one-night stand because who knows what she must have been sticking in her hole? In other words, he won't lick pussy because the pussy is dirty. So, why then are women expected to suck on your dicks when you have been sticking those dicks inside dirty pussies?

Always, I will say: Safe sex is the key to enjoying lots of sex with different partners. It is also imperative for you to mutually derive pleasure out of it. Can we ladies be bold enough to demand that if the cunnilingus isn't good enough, we can either show them how to do it or we won't suck on their cocks at all?

So, here are two of my rules in bed:

If you won't lick (me first), I won't suck.
If you lick and it's not good enough, I will teach you.


Greek lover got back from vacation yesterday. (Hmm..choices, choices: Fuck Buddy from Years Ago or Daddy or Greek Lover? All of them!) Since the Greek doctor learned to lick pussy like a girl, he feels more like the Greek lover I fantasized about. He prefers to make me cum on his tongue first before I give him a blow job. By then, I would be so sex-crazed and would do anything he wants. Sometimes, in his pleasure, he would say things in Greek. I don't understand it still. It still doesn't matter.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Can I Call You Daddy?

(This post is linked to this post: Sometimes He Makes Me Just Wanna Tear at My Hair and Eat It)

I'll tell you why I like fucking older men, men who are at least ten to fifteen years older than me.

and it's not because they have more experience in sex than men my age or have the stamina of men who are younger than me. It's because they let me call them Daddy and it doesn't feel like role playing. It feels very, very real...

My father did nothing to contribute to my sexual awakening. I watched him, in my youth, walk around the house in his underwear but that didn't affect me at all. I wasn't abused by my father, I didn't have the Elektra Complex. Of that I can be very sure. I had a very normal childhood despite my seemingly abnormal appetite for physical contact. In high school, my friends' cherries were popped by their inexperienced boyfriends so the monumental first time wasn't truly monumental. Neither was mine, actually.

I was already reading erotica, those Tagalog (Filipino) paperback novels almost similar to Mills and Boon and Harlequin, since I was 13. I know I should have been reading The Babysitters. One story that made me really wet and agitated-- thus prompting my first failed attempt at masturbation—was about a girl who was infatuated with her Uncle, 30 years her senior. Long story short, she seduced her Uncle and he fucked her virgin pussy, calling her my little slutty daughter, on the mezzanine of their house while her parents slept in a nearby room. The character described the experience as “leaving the world and flying to heaven”. None of my girl friends thought of their first sexual encounter that way.

At sixteen, I tried to seduce my godfather.

He was sometimes at home during some holidays and family gatherings. He wasn't handsome but he was the only available older man, the only one accessible to me aside from my own dad. On a Sunday afternoon when my parents and siblings were out and I was down with a fever, I was alone when he came by to call on my dad and I knew my chance had come. But being inexperienced and young, I couldn't really bring myself to strip in front of him when he sat in the living room waiting for my dad to come home. The frustration caused me to masturbate furiously in my bedroom, imagining him fucking me....In my extreme arousal, I murmured “Fuck me, Daddy....fuck your little baby girl like a whore..I won't tell Mommy. Just keep fucking me.”

The thought of a forbidden sexual desire made me cum for the first time.

I lost my virginity to a college guy who was my age. Impaled on his cock, trying to cum during our second lovemaking, I murmured “Daddy, take me, fuck me....”. That must have disturbed him. He froze and told me he wasn't comfortable listening to my incestuous moans. I stopped trying to reach my orgasm with much scowling and thought I had to find someone who loved the thought of fucking his own daughter, even if it was just role play.

The guys I fucked after him wouldn't have an idea that the words I played over and over in my head while having sex were for Daddy, for Daddy to fuck me like his whore.

I'm telling you, this older guy I'm fucking now (n0t right now, but these past few months), despite the sex being a bit too normal for my taste, can actually make me cum really hard. He lets me call him my Daddy. While he tortues me with his cock, he would whisper “How does daddy's little girl like my cock deep in her pussy?” I would push my hips forward (or backward on the doggystyle), forcing his cock deeper inside me, pleasure raking every inch of my body. When I look at him, his face older like he was really my Daddy-boytoy, his eyes closed as he loses himself inside me, I would whisper in my finest imitation of an adolescent girl's voice “Daddy, fuck me harder”. He obliges happily and gives me a good humping. After he cums inside me, he would hold me close, run his fingers through my hair and whisper to me “Don't tell Mommy how good Daddy made you feel today, ok?” . I am an obedient little girl so I will follow what my Daddy tells me. I would mount him again, kiss him deep, ready for another go...

The forbidden, incestuous relationship between a father and his daughter is portrayed in porn and erotica and while I don't believe this relationship is truly as rampant in our civilized society, it helped me achieve my orgasm when I fuck someone not so experienced with his cock or tongue. Ladies, sometimes our men can't satisfy us enough to bring us to an orgasm. Think dirty—or say it out loud---because arousal starts in your mind and your orgasm is your responsibility.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Even If I Wanted Sex Everyday, I Unfortunately Can't

Even if I wanted to, no, I don't get sex every day. Sometimes, I can't even get on a new pogo stick at least once a week and so I have to hunt or recycle some previous partner.

I have never felt the need to explain myself and why I am a love and sex addict. I will not attempt to explain it anyway but I am sure somehow that will be revealed when I am ready.When I started writing, my goal was just to angst about my life. By writing about my love and my pain, I found a way to ease some of the inner turmoil I was going through. I never shared my blog to anyone. Just reading and re-reading what I have written was enough catharsis for me. Now, I do feel the need to connect to the beautiful people who bother to read about me.

I just recently got an email from a fan or a hater. This person had horrible English so I had to edit this for both grammar and spelling so I can post it.

He or she said: "I can understand if you think you're ugly and sleeping around boosts your self esteem. I can feel your pain and I know what you are going through. Just stop what you are doing now before it's too late. You could get AIDS or a sexually transmitted disease. Or worse, you can get pregnant."

So, of course, I emailed him or her back.
Thank you for your concern.
Fuck off.

First of all, I am a non-violent person so if YOU are back on this blog and reading this post, I didn't mean to say Fuck off but you were just annoying and I had to express my contempt in the shortest way possible. Secondly, I am a predator and as such, I cannot be ugly. You will be amazed at how many men I have lured into my bedroom because they liked my angelic, innocent-looking face. If you see me in the street, you won't recognize me for a slut. I don't talk about sex with friends. I don't tell them who I fucked. I am a regular twenty-something professional who works nine hours a day and likes to screw. And third, how can getting pregnant be worse than AIDS or an STD? I have been sleeping around for eons and I have never tested positive for a disease. If you're not getting laid, how is that my fault? Can you really feel what I am going through? I mean, the sexual pleasures I experience--do you really know how that feels?

There that is the end of my rant.....

Even if I wanted to, no, I don't get sex every day. Sometimes, I can't even get on a new pogo stick at least once a week and so I have to hunt or recycle some previous partner. Sometimes, there are dry spells, sometimes I can't decide who to screw. Sometimes, I get so amazed at how many men I have slept with and it scares me, too. This is where my toys and active imagination come in handy...You see, I have a life outside of this addiction. But like some of you--the lucky ones like me--I have years of experience and this is what I am sharing in this blog,.

Insomniaclolita left a comment on my page on 20somethings. She said my blog is totally sexy and honest. (Thanks, sweetie! Ummm...You're cute, by the way). Honesty is easy when one is blogging anonymously. Further, anonymity gives me the courage to write and sort out the things that are going around in my head without getting judged. If I wasn't anonymous, would I even be writing all these? I do not have that courage.

Leading this double life has been a curse and a blessing. Some people still think I am a virgin. Ha! If they only knew....

Sunday, January 4, 2009

A Slut for Sex, A Prude for Marriage

(Update on Previous Post: Becoming His Personal Slut)

A slut in bed is for sex. They cannot be wives.

My fuck buddy from a few years ago made a come back into my life recently. The way he fucked was still as exhilarating and perverse as I remembered it. I took a pass on the usual assfuck. It takes some trust to let someone take you from behind and since I haven't been with him for nearly two years, the "little trust" that I had for him before has almost completely dissipated by now. Who knows where he has been sticking his tool? He said "I didn't use a condom on your pussy so why does it matter if I take you from behind now?" He had a point, sure. I wasn't in the mood and pouted until he lost interest.

He was always a rough lover so by the way he calmly took that rejection I could sense something different about him. I could tell by the way he talked that he was happy about something and I knew it wasn't because he had his slut again for the night. I refused some of the things he wanted to do and he seemed alright with it. This man has changed, not into a saint, but just into someone a little bit better.

While I was trying to awaken his flaccid d**k, he closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath and moaning every now and then under my tongue's ministrations. My jaws were already aching, my throat felt rigid and dry from the force and abuse it had to endure. He let me just play with him idly, licking, adoring this d**k that has given me endless hours of hedonistic pleasure. I just watched him...

"Have you seen my new girl?", he asked me, his eyes flew open, face suddenly vibrant. "No", I murmured into his cock. He took out his camera phone and leaned forward to show me the new girl's picture. This wasn't new to me anymore; he always showed me pictures of girls he was dating during the nearly two years we were together. Those girls always had something in common. My fuck buddy described all of them as "sweet and nice".

I stopped what I was doing, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and sat beside him, leaning my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him. Yeah, he was my dominant, insensitive, rough and aggressive lover but outside of sex--or at least during marathon sex breaks, we also shared a friendship.

I asked him the one question I was always scared to ask him. "Why didn't you ever date me? I mean, not that I wanted to be your girlfriend but am I not a good enough girlfriend material? Didn't you ever wonder what kind of a girlfriend I would have been. And I don't want any bullshit from you. Don't tell me I am a wonderful person, kay? Give it to me straight".

A sigh and a shrug. Just like old days. "You are a fantasy. You do what you want to do, give pleasure, take pleasure. You are unafraid in taking pleasure because you deserve it and it doesn't matter if you take that pleasure from me or from someone else. You take it anyway. I don't want a wife like that."

A slut in bed is for sex. They cannot be wives.

Even if he doesn't enjoy sex with his future wife, he will settle for a sweet and nice woman and it doesn't matter if she is frigid and zombie-like in bed. He says he prefers his future wife that way.

I, on the other had, the slut he can manipulate to do what he wants, am not someone a man will like to marry. I am a fantasy. I cannot be a good wife. I might cheat on my husband.

I asked him if he fucked this girl the way he fucked me. He burst out laughing. "Absolutely not! She will freak. I can get that from you or from some other girl." He continued to talk about the new girl. She is from the province and, thus, conservative in the way she dresses, careful with the words she uses and knows how to manage a household. She is careful not to arouse the attention and interest of other men because my fuck buddy doesn't want any man to look at her. She can cook, do the laundry and she doesn't like to hang out in clubs with friends. She prefers staying at home. He said he is very in love with her and is considering proposing to her soon.

I contemplated on all this and felt that familiar agony tugging at the corner of my heart and the tears started to well in the corner of my eyes. I am everything his new girl is not.

I am the slut for sex. She is the prude for marriage.

Before I got out of his car, he pulled me close to him planted a soft kiss on my forehead and said "I have some friends I can introduce to you. I can guarantee they have the "specifications" we talked about before I left. I wanna make you happy while I am here. Would you like a threesome next time?"

I had to give it to him. He knew how to make me happy after severely attacking me ego.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Becoming His Personal Slut

I know him from a few years ago. We were on an on-now/off-again fucking relationship that lasted for roughly two years. During the time we were fuck buddies, he was in a relationship of five years with a girl he says he doesn't really plan to marry. So, why are you still in that relationship? I had asked him. A shrug. That is all I ever get from him. I was also in a relationship then--a shitty one--and he could have asked me the same question. I guess we were both just comfortable with our own relationships but not truly satisfied with the sex. None of us wanted to be alone or single so we had to hang on to whatever semblance of a relationship was available for us. At the same time, we didn't really love each other and didn't trust each other. I didn't dream of becoming his girlfriend and I am sure he felt the same. We just loved the sex. This is the exact reason why we ended up in a cheap motel on Friday afternoons for two years.

Usually, our Fridays are planned but sometimes, he would just call me up, tell me to wait outside my apartment and he would pick me up, drive to a motel and fuck. I got hooked to the thrill of not knowing what he was gonna do to me during these sex sessions. One afternoon, he introduced me to drugs and soon, it became a staple during our sex sessions. We would get high then fuck for hours. On another occasion, he taught me how to incorporate pain into our sex life and learn to enjoy it. He would grab my throat while fucking me, cutting out my air supply, not allowing me to breathe until I came. It made it easier for me to cum really quickly: if you were about to die and the only thing that can save you is an orgasm, you would work hard to achieve it. When he choked me, my orgasm became my responsibilty. I faked it once and he slapped me, saying he knows my pussy well enough and that his dick didn't feel the contractions of my pussy when I came. Sometimes, even when I did orgasm, he would still slap me because I didn't cum hard enough for him.

I was his slut. He discovered the pleasures of ass fucking and since that moment, he would never fail to fuck my asshole bareback. He still loved pussy, loved to lick it but he loved ass fucking even more. I guess it gave him a sense of power and control over me. Ass fucking is painful everytime no matter how many times I have done it. He loved hearing my muffled, agonized screams. It gives him a kind of high.

He disappeared for almost two years and my sex life went back to normal, got boring and I started to enjoy just the usual routine sex. I still longed for the rush, the drugs, the pain, the humiliation...

Now he is back.

And I am going out with him tonight.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Sometimes He Makes We Just Wanna Tear at My Hair

Sometimes he makes me just want to tear at my hair and eat it.

I know he is just someone I sleep with and sex with him has been delightful. It's not the kind of rough sex that I got from the Iranian doctor (thank goodness!) and he is nowhere nearly as rough. It is the kind of romantic sex that is almost like actually “making love” to someone you might really “love”. Or I can best describe it as comforting, the kind of sex that makes you feel relaxed and doesn't feel empty. It doesn't have the acrobatics and perversion you see in porn movies but it is the kind that makes you wanna come back for more. Why does sex with him have to feel soo good?

I promised never to sleep with any guy for more than two times unless I feel like I wanna try out a relationship with him. When I sleep with someone more than twice, I might confuse the sex for something special that really isn't truly there. Since I have slept with this guy on more than two occasions, I might be unconsciously contemplating a relationship with him. He is such a sweet, wonderful lover and even on the first night together, it didn't feel like any of the one-night stands I have engaged in that left me feeling dirty, empty and used.

Outside of sex, we talk on the phone, send SMS. Before and after sex, we talk, laugh, cuddle and actually have a few things in common. I think he likes me, too, in more ways than one but we never talk about “us”. I can never bring myself to ask him “What am I to you?”. That is one scary question.

Sometimes he makes me just want to tear at my hair and eat it. I want him and want to continue having great sex with him. But I don't wanna be just someone he can fuck when it's convenient. I also don't want a commitment. Somewhere in between, I want him to keep wanting me and at the same time give me enough assurance that I'm not just some booty call for him.

It's pathetic to wanna feel special even when I know all we are to each other is nothing more than just fuck buddies.

(This post is linked to this post: Can I Call You Daddy?)

Thursday, January 1, 2009

What's With The Plastic and Saliva?!

I haven't updated this blog for quite some time. Brief summary: my relationship with my latest boyfriend is heading south and now I am back on the dating game again. I did mourn for a couple of days and then I got over it very quickly.

I met a foreigner doctor a couple of weeks ago. On the first date, he asked me to be his girlfriend and since I wanted to see what kind of a lover this particular "race" is like, I agreed. He took me to his home that same night. I am no longer naive to this wham-bam-thank you ma'am!-strategy so I knew what he wanted from me.

He shocked me....and not in a good way!

Sure, he had a HUGE d**k. I think people in that region of the world are just well-endowed but they make love (sex) with the intensity of a sado-masochist. He bit me several times. I screamed and he covered my mouth with his huge palm. He was strong and I had to struggle with him. In my head, I was thinking this is probably how rape feels. He bit my nipples several times until I had to kick him in the balls. And the sonofabitch seemed to enjoy that even more!

While blowing him, he held my head in place and pushed so deep down my throat that my eyes snapped open and I gagged, choked, pulled away from him and coughed like crazy.

He kissed me, pushing his humongous tool inside my dry pussy and looked at me with a cannibalistic glare like he could just gobble me up. That was actually kinda kinky and I told myself "I will just try and enjoy this". He felt soo good inside.

And then, the saliva tragedy happened--followed by the plastic incident.

Like in porn movies, he gathered a good amount of saliva in his mouth, let it slide slowly down his tongue and holding my cheeks in his palms, his thumbs on the corner of my mouth, HE SPIT INTO MY TONGUE!

I gagged and spit it out on his bed. He was obviously irked by that but he was too horny to care. He moved around to a 69 and pushed his d**k in my mouth again. I thought this time he was gonna lick my pussy. I happily sucked on his tool, anticipating he would return the favor by pleasuring my aching pussy.

To my surprise and disgust, all I felt was a finger---inside a small plastic bag--feeling around my clitoris like he doesn't know where it is!

I quickly stood, got dressed and left without a word and without looking at him.

He sent me a message, asking if he did something wrong.

In reply, I said "Well, was there something wrong with my pussy?! I know for a fact I don't smell fishy down there!"

Ugh. Argh.Duh! Grrrr.

What's with you, Iranians!