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Control Part 2
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Posted:Dec 7, 2018 5:31 pm
Last Updated:Dec 7, 2018 5:34 pm
4133 Views
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The bartender slid a tumbler to her, droplets of water freshly beading on the sides of the cool glass. She took it, put her full, pouty lips to the straw, and sucked down the whole thing without once breaking eye contact. I found myself completely unable to pull my own gaze away from her as she did it. I longed more and more for those lips against mine. Still, I resisted.
“So, what shall we do now?”, I asked, a sly grin across my own lips.
“Honey, the night is all yours. We do whatever you want.” She smiled a cunning, mischievous grin. My heart fluttered wildly, as it had every time she had smiled at me since the day we met two ago. Her hand reached to mine on the bar, caressing my fingers gently.
“Unless, that is,” she whispered in a sultry voice, “you’d rather just take me upstairs and fuck me now.” Every nerve up and down my spine lit up with wild . A rush travelled through my groin, into my cock, and I could feel it starting to grow hard in my pants, each beat of my heart trapping more and more blood into it. I resisted.
“Oh? Is that what you were hoping for?” I teased.
“Well, I can tell you that I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I did have to change once already. I don’t know if these underwear will last much longer.”
I laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, as the boys down at the end of the bar stopped their arguing about the latest NCAA scores and glanced our direction for a moment. Her eyes never left mine, and her impish smile never faltered.
“I don’t know, I think I rather like the idea of you ruining two sets of underwear in one day over me.” She bit her lip gently. With my free hand, I reached down and touched her knee and then let my finger trace slowly up her thigh a bit. The soft fabric of her bright red dress felt good against my skin. Soft and inviting. I wrapped my hands around it as much as I could and gave it a squeeze.
“Another one?” I turned and caught the bartender’s eye. He gave a knowing grin in return. I wasn’t really trying to hide where my hand was resting.
“Absolutely,” my companion in red replied, still never breaking eye contact with me. The bartender took her glass and refilled it, this time adding what seemed like far more vodka than redbull. Meanwhile I let my fingers explore a little further and further up her thigh, gently caressing and squeezing as I went. When my hand reached the end of the road, I let my pinky reach out and trace it’s way up that sweet space in between, carefully to touch only barely but enough to be perceivable. She lowered her eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath as I did. I could feel the heat coming off of her, the air surrounding it humid like a New Orleans summer day. The bartender returned with a full glass. She took it and sipped at it, this time taking it in a little more cautiously.
“So tell me about your day”. She looked up at me, lips still wrapped around her straw. I knew what she was trying to imply, but still I held myself.
“I don’t know. Pretty typical Wednesday really.”
“Was it now?” I challenged. She laughed a loud, hearty laugh. I smiled. I had always loved that laugh.
“I don’t really know. I couldn’t get your cock out of my mind.”
“Must be so hard to keep focused at work, knowing how going to use you later.”
“Use me?”
“Oh? You don’t want to be used? You don’t like being treated like my little cockslut?” As soon as the word left my lips the heat between her legs blazed up like a stoked furnace.
“Oh no, sir. I could never want that,” she said with a sly grin, her eyes betraying the lie. She took a long draw off of her drink straw, slurping as she hit the bottom of the cup.
“Awww, well that’s too bad. I was planning to tie you down and make you beg to be fucked. I had these clamps and toys and everything. Guess I was mistaken. It’s ok. fine sleeping all alone in the big california king I got us. More room for me to stretch out.”
“Sounds comfy. glad you’ll have a fun night all by yourself.” That grin again. She knew exactly which buttons to press to get me going. I couldn't fight it anymore. I took her jaw firmly in my hands and pulled her face to mine. I kissed her lips hard and long, breathing her in, tasting her lip gloss. She resisted for just a brief second before giving herself over to me. I could feel her pulse racing in her lips, her breath getting heavier. A rush of relief and lust washed over me simultaneously. My cock began to ache in my pants, pushing hard against the fabric. I began to wonder if I could cum prematurely. It had never happened before, but at this moment it was beginning to feel like a very real possibility.
“Maybe we should close out?” she whispered as my lips pulled away from hers.
“Yeah, maybe we should.”
“I got you”, the bartender said. He had apparently been standing there during the whole thing. I looked her in the eyes and smiled slyly.
“You want to?” I asked with a grin.
“Can I?” she came back. I looked at the bartender with his back to us. He was a little younger- late 20s, I surmised, but fit, well groomed, and kind of cute with dark skin and a cleanly shaven head shining in the dim bar lights.
“You’d better check with him first.”
The bartender came back with the check and slid it across the bar to me. As I pulled my card out of my wallet, Red leaned across the bar, letting her supple cleavage fall right into his eyesight. She looked him deep in those brown eyes, and whispered to him.
“Can I suck your cock?” His eyes went immediately wide and his full lips parted in a bit of a gasp.
“I… uh. not…,” he stammered.
“It won’t take long,” she assured him in a breathy whisper. I found it so incredibly sexy when she did that and she knew it.
“I- working,” he managed to say. His eyes darted nervously to mine. I gave a reassuring smile.
“Take a bathroom break,” I offered. “Surely you get bathroom breaks. She’s not kidding, it won’t take long.”
“We’ll wait for you in there. Just knock twice,” she said, as she took my hand and led me off to the unisex bathroom. As she opened the door, she turned back and blew him a kiss. I looked over my shoulder and caught his eye. His mouth was practically on the floor. We closed the door of the bathroom. I shoved her up the against the far wall and kissed her again, deep and hard, my tongue slipping between barely parted lips, meeting and exploring hers.
“Such a good fucking girl,” I breathed at her as my hand reached down under her dress and caressed her soaking wet pussy. I was momentarily surprised to find she wasn’t wearing underwear.
“I thought you were worried about ruining your panties, you liar,” I laughed.
“The dress looked too good without them. I know how much you love the curve of my ass.” I stopped and looked her right in the eye, my heart threatening to explode with a mixture of lust and emotion. Two sharp at the door broke the moment. She bit her lip and smiled.
***
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Control Part 1
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Posted:Dec 5, 2018 9:00 pm
Last Updated:Jul 22, 2020 11:14 pm
4074 Views
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The orange glow of incandescent hotel lighting on skin. I can never forget that. No more than I can forget the smell or the taste or the feel of it. The smell of her sweat. Of her lotion. Of the hormones pouring out of her. I run my hands down the soft skin of her shoulders, my lips gently on her neck, lightly kissing. I pull her back into me, feeling the luscious curve of her ass against my hips. A strong hot tingling sensation runs though my body, from the base of my skull, down my spine, into my cock as our bodies move against one another. I kiss her neck again, my lips parting enough this time to taste the sweet salt of her skin. My heart pounds a little harder. He heads tilts away, opening up more of her neck for me to kiss slowly up, taking occasional nips at her skin as I do. A hand comes up to grasp the back of my head, pushing my face deeper into her skin. My own hand traces up her arm, over her collarbone, finding it's way to her throat. I wrap my fingers around it and give it a gentle squeeze. She lets out a soft moan, a voiceless, breathy "yes" as her hand comes up to meet mine at her throat. My other hand traces down her side, fingers lightly following the supple curves until I reach her thigh. I feel the soft fabric of her dress around the shape of her ass, my hand barely touching but just enough to let her know it's there. I give it two soft pats- a warning, before giving it a firm smack, sharp enough to make her jump slightly.
"Thank you, sir," she whispers. The words light my heart on fire.
"You've been a good girl tonight. A very good girl." And she has.
***
The dim lights of the hotel bar revealed just enough to keep me busy while I waited. At the end of the bar another couple sat. A little older. Mid fourties maybe. A pudgy, average guy in a green wool suit with and bright red tie, almost as if he was preparing for Christmas a scant 4 months too soon. The suit looked like it had been purchased at a thrift store years ago. Perhaps it was his only suit. He sat back against the edge of the seat, his head raised up high, maybe in an attempt to hide his thinning patch of orange hair. He nursed a glass of whisky in front of him as he chattered away to a woman far too attractive for him. She focused her eyes moreso on the drink than the man she had clearly overestimated when they set up this evening out. Slender fingers with painted red nails grasped at a straw which she was using to continuously stir the concoction in front of her. Her black dress hung tight to a lean body, long straight hair draped down over her shoulders tracing its way to the rather conservative neckline on the garment. Occasionally she would raise her head slightly, red painted lips parting to grant to occasional "Sure", or "uh huh". Just once she raised her head in my direction, deep hazel eyes meeting mine. I smiled politely. She smiled back, the corners of her eyes betraying the utter tedium of what I surmised was a first date. I nodded, hoping to convey my empathy to her before turning my eyes to the opposite side of the bar, where a pair of men seemed to be having a heated argument about the nature of a college basketball team.
"Another mate?"
"Sure". The bartender poured from the bottle of Jura. 12 year old. Single malt. Neat. "Cheers," I said, raising the glass to him before taking a sip. It went smooth and sweet down my throat, warming my belly as it sank into me. The bartender nodded and went to check on the couple. I heard the woman ask for the check while the man continued to prattle on with whatever nonsense he had been boring her with.
"Is this seat taken?"
I turned back to the smokey sweet voice to catch the figure in the bright red dress behind me. I glanced up to find a pair of sharp green eyes in mine.
"You're a bit late, aren't you?"
"I'm right on time."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm right on time, sir." She smiled as she said it, sweeping a bit of wavy auburn hair off her shoulder.
"Sit." She climbed up into the seat beside me, her eyes locked with mine.
"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked over his shoulder as he swiped the card of the dark haired woman at the end of the bar. I glanced down the bar to catch her eye again as she waited eagerly to pay her check and escape the man still going on and on beside her. She nodded in my direction this time.
"Vodka Redbull".
"Such class," I teased her.
"I plan to be up late" she retorted. I couldn't help but smile. She laughed, having won a small victory over me. I admired her as she did so, her perfect lips, her bright smile. It was hard not to crack. It was equally hard not to grab her, let my fingers tangle in her hair, and pull her face to mine for a deep, passionate kiss. I fought the urge off and did my best to regain my composure. It was going to be a long evening for me. A very long evening. And one that I was greatly anticipating.
***
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Hybrid Moments
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Posted:Oct 13, 2017 9:29 am
Last Updated:Dec 14, 2018 7:39 am
4857 Views
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I've done many martial arts over the years, and I have learned many important lessons from them. One of them- if ever you find yourself in a situation that requires those skills, you are likely to revert back to techniques from about 2 belts prior. It makes sense- you've studied those skills more. You've drilled them over and over and over again until they've become muscle memory. New skills may not have reached that level of autonomy in your body, and aren't as readily available if called upon in a stressful situation.
We revert back to what our minds and bodies know best.
I suppose that's why I often find myself leaning so heavily on my sexuality when shit goes awry for me. And dear lord have I been leaning on it heavily as of late.
Change places.
I had the most Gilliam-esque flight yesterday. I was flying out of Greensboro, NC about mid day. I got to the airport early- I'm used to dealing with LAX, JFK, BWI, Reagan, etc, so I always get to the airport early. It was a tiny little place, with really just one long terminal. I breezed right through security, and was at my gate with about 90 minutes to spare. I sat down and got some lunch at the only bar in the terminal and waited out my flight, which was supposed to start boarding at 4.30. 4.30 came and went. No plane. Around 4.45 they changed gates on us. No word on when the plane would be in. At 5.00 we changed gates again. At 5.15 we went back to the original gate. Still no plane, still no explanation. There were only about 15 of us on this flight, but at this point there was considerable grumbling. Someone was sent over to our gate to tell us that the plane was running late. "No shit!" shouted one of the passengers. The gate agent didn't even look up. At about 5.30 the plane finally rolled up to the gate and began offloading its incoming passengers. We were very quickly boarded, being told that we were in a hurry, we were trying to turn around as fast as we could. We all were on the plane within 15 minutes of it arriving at the gate and seated.
The seat. God fucking lord.
I've never been on a more uncomfortable airplane seat. The seats were covered with worn vinyl, yellowish stains on all of the corners and edges. They were hard underneath, as if all the padding had simply disintegrated from years of use and never been replaced. In a regular seated position, my knees were jammed into the back of the seat in front of me. This could not have possibly gone unnoticed by the seat's occupant, and yet for some reason he continued in futility to attempt to lie his seat back throughout the flight, jamming it harder into my knees each time. In order to have some relief from this, I was forced to sit bolt upright in the narrow seat (which was practically being shared with me by the significantly overweight woman in the next seat), meaning that my elbows were nearly 2 feet above the armrests which were jammed so far into my thighs that circulation was being cut off to my feet. And to top it all off, the back of the seat ended just below my neckline, leaving my head to float in the air like a pissed off balloon. 'At least this will be a short flight', I thought to myself. 'Just wait a bit. It will be over soon.' So we waited.
We waited.
We waited.
We waited.
Finally around 6.10 one last passenger was boarded onto the tiny airplane. He was in a rush, apparently (and none of the rest of us were, even though at this point there was no way to get into to catch my connecting flight, which was scheduled to start boarding 10 minutes BEFORE my original flight was due to land), so he took the seat closest to the front door. We waited a few minutes more. At this point, the captain came over the intercom and announced that we were "off balance" and that someone would need to shift from the front 2 rows to the back of the plane.
There was only one person in those rows. And did I mention that he was of vaguely middle eastern-looking descent?
The flight attendant repeated this request to us. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are unbalanced, so the captain is requesting one passenger move from here"- indicating the front two rows, in which there was only one occupied seat, "to the back of the plane."
No response from the section's lone inhabitant.
"Just one passenger needs to move to the back of the plane for weight and balance so we can take off."
Still nothing. One of the passengers a couple of rows back volunteered to move, but the flight attendant told her that she was too far back. It would have to be a passenger from one of “these two rows”. At this point she was no longer even pointing at the empty row.
None of the rest of us dared say anything to the man in the front seat, as it had become super awkwardly obvious what was going on.
At this point the captain (who was sitting only a few feet away with the door still open), came over the intercom to announce that if we couldn’t get the balance and weight right on this plane, we would be unable to take off. The flight attendant was looking directly at the passenger. It seems though that not even he was inclined in the moment to protest this atrocious behaviour. With a sigh he relinquished his seat and moved towards one of several empty seats near the rear.
This whole affair took place over the course of less than 10 minutes. It’s about 6.20 now, and we hear the captain come in over the intercom
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience and cooperation. We are being told by the controllers in Newark that they have reached their incoming flight maximum for the hour, and we’d have to wait a few more minutes for take off. A collective sarcastic laugh rose from the cabin.
A few short minutes later we finally took off.
There was cabin service on this plane but because it was such a small load there was no cart. So the stewardess went row to row asking what people would like, and then rushing back up front to fetch drinks as requested. After everyone was served, she began to walk up and down the aisles carrying a can and repeating, in monotonous tone, “Cranberry juice. Cranberry juice,” like some absurdist teacher presenting the letter “C”. I think I completely zoned out at this point.
I suffered through the rest of the painful journey until we finally landed in Newark, 45 minutes after my flight to LAX had departed. I was shuttled over to a new terminal and placed me on a new flight. I was placed into a middle seat waaaay back in economy. I argued that after such a long and uncomfortable delay and missed plane, they should be giving me one of the open business class seats. Ultimately I didn’t get one of them, but they did upgrade me to a economy plus aisle seat, giving me plenty of legroom and a few extra minor comforts, so I was satisfied with that. I watched 3 movies on my uneventful 5 hour flight and landed safely and exhaustedly at LAX. A girl I’m seeing picked me up and took me back to her place, a few minutes from the airport.
And I fucked her. Hard.
Because that’s what I know best.
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Angelfuck
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Posted:Oct 10, 2017 7:05 pm
Last Updated:Jul 22, 2020 11:29 pm
4815 Views
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Most of my blog titles follow a certain theme. Man, I hope I'm not wasting this one on the wrong post.
A few drinks in, slightly drunk, and emotionally lubricated? Check.
A long gap in my writing history which has resulted in a weak grasp on the artform? Check.
Lets go.
What. Happened. Here.
EVERYONE is gone. Everyone. I mean, I’m glad to see that Deviant and Japaneseass are still here. But everyone else I knew and loved and came up with is just gone. Some of them literally (the revelation of which is very depressing to find}. And while I’ve come across a few very beautifully written blogs that I think I will enjoy reading, most of the other entries I’ve looked at leave me longing for the days of the longform blog- those delving into the deeply personal, the deeply meaningful, and the deeply erotic. What I found as I clicked through the top blogs on the site are a lot of reposted photos found elsewhere on the internet and not a lot of real writing from the heart. Maybe this just is no longer the place for that sort of writing.
I came back here because it was along among these forums that I formed some of the strongest bonds, a few of which last to this day. And I see some beautiful people here and I think that perhaps I might be able to forge new relationships with some of them, relationships that rival those that came before. Maybe my real complaint is that I miss my friends, and they’re gone now, and I’m afraid that I won’t be able to make new ones. Maybe I’m afraid that I came here looking for an outlet for all of the things I’m feeling and thinking, and this just isn’t the place for that anymore. Who knows.
Change places.
I’m out here in High Point, NC for the week. I’m feeling alright about a lot of things right now. I have a steady job that pays me a livable salary to make fine art all day. I’m here in a beautiful house being taken out to extremely fancy dinners and meeting some really upscale people just because I’m an artist. I’m a high end artist. I don’t make high end money for it, but I maybe I’m meeting people who might be willing to pay me a little more here and there for my work. Maybe. I try not to get my hopes too high.
Things have certainly changed since 2007 Thom Bombadil. I went back and reread some of my old posts. The 5 partners in a weekend version of me that existed back then seems like a distant memory. It’s not a bad thing- I’ve learned a ton about myself and about respect for women and people in general that I just lacked back then. Not that I ever thought less of my partners, but I never did hesitate to “kiss and tell” as it were. It might be that these days I find myself wanting to be a little more reserved about my entanglements, if for no other reasons then out of reverence for my partners. I pissed off a fair few people by going into detail about the intimacies I shared with them, and I regret creating the animosity and losing the trust of those people, some of which were extremely lovely human beings that I would have relished the opportunity to spend more of my time with. It’s not to say that my drive hasn’t changed- surprisingly, in my maturity, I find myself far more sexually insatiable, often outpacing my partners and finding myself masturbating 2-3 times a day. I have a problem, y’all. I think I just appreciate what it is that I share with the people I get to spend time with a lot more, and I really appreciate the opportunity to continue seeing them.
This is all at odds with the complete lack of sex that I seem to be having lately. I mean, it’s not a COMPLETE complete lack, but the once or twice a week that I’m experiencing these days leaves me really itching to find my crowd again.
And with that, we come full circle. I’m here again. I’m writing again. I’m hoping to resharpen my mind and my voice again and I’m also hoping to find my people again. I’m scared I won’t, but I really hope my fears are unreasonable.
Until next time.
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You Can't Take Me Anywhere Nice or (The Unexpected Virtue of Fear)
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Posted:Oct 8, 2017 6:16 pm
Last Updated:Oct 10, 2017 3:53 am
4845 Views
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Ok kiddos. Story time.
Where have I been? What have I been doing? Nevermind all that. However, we will be delving into the emotional ramifications of what exactly it is I’ve been doing since, like, forever ago.
So, a week or so ago, I was at a popular horror movie. I had already seen it once, but the first time I saw this movie, it was on a date that has become one of the best bad date stories of my recent years. More on that later. On this particular instance, I was with a different date.
Yeah, I’m poly these days. Try to keep up.
Anydangedways, I was at this movie. It was in a nicer part of town, though the particular theatre was not one of the more upscale ones. I’d reckon that this particular theatre catered to those residents of this part of LA that hadn’t quite been gentrified out.
Yes, I live in LA now. You want me to tell this story or not?
So I was saying, this particular movie theatre, it wasn’t filled with the most upscale clientele. I’m not complaining or making any other statement on that, just providing context. So, in this dimly lit room that smells vaguely of buttered popcorn and vomit, I am watching this popular horror movie with this girl that I am seeing. And it’s a good horror movie with a good girl (who often gets off on me saying those very words, but I digress) and I should be having a good time. But I am not having a good time. I am not having a good time at all. Because in the row directly behind me there is a moviegoer’s bane. The arch nemesis of moviegoers everywhere: The Talker.
This is no ordinary talker. This talker, he does not speak in a quiet voice. He does not whisper little bits of trivia in his date’s ear. He does not talk to the screen, warning the on-screen characters to beware the dangers that lurk just over their shoulders. No, this is a full voice talker going on about nonsense shit and little bits of scuttlebutt about whatever asshole friend this asshole talker has into the ear of the young lady sitting next to him. A young lady who is constantly shushing him and pleading with him to lower his voice because he is absolutely and without a doubt the most inconsiderate ass in the urban sprawl that is Los Angeles. At least he is at this moment. I’m sure if we put some thought into it we could come up with a few people in LA’s history who might have been slightly more inconsiderate. But only a few.
Now I’m a patient man these days. I’ve learned quite a bit in the last couple of years about taking my time, relaxing and letting things slide. I’ve become a trainer for all sorts. Cats. Dogs. Employees. Subservient girlfriends. I know that from time to time people or things can become incredibly frustrating, but it’s best to keep your cool and work through your problems. However, there is only so much a moviegoer can take when it comes to the evil machinations of The Talker. The Talker can push even Gandhi to violence. The world hates the movie talker. So about 45 minutes in after The Talker had a particularly energetic and loud moment concerning something some “bitch” he was working with had said to him, I acted. I did the slow turn, my face painstakingly making the trip 90 degrees to the right, my mouth turned down, my eyebrows at deliberate 60 degree angles above my eyes. That’s right, I gave him a sharp look of disapproval.
His immediate response was humor. He honestly thought my carefully choreographed head and neck only dance of loathing was some amount of a joke. So I held my gaze. I looked deep into his soul to let him know just how much I disapproved of his behavior, and by golly I meant every second of that stare.
In most cases (because there have been a few), The Stare of Disapproval (trademarked by me, 2017) is all it takes. Usually people clam up immediately, sometimes they apologise. Occasionally someone will get belligerent for a moment, but typically they quiet down after. Be insulted all you want, just be quiet. This was not The Talker’s reaction. As I continued glaring at him, projecting my disgust into the deepest parts of his core essence, a funny thing happened. The Talker did not clam up, he did not apologise, he did not get belligerent but still immediately shut his stupid fucking mouth. Instead of any of these normal and dare I say reasonable responses, The Talker Lost. His. Motherfucking. Mind. “WHAT BITCH?” he screamed into the dim room packed with casual moviegoers who were probably just as irritated as I was with him. “WHAT THE FUCK YOU STARIN’ AT?” The Talker leapt up out of his seat as he was shouting. “WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER? I’LL FUCK YOU UP. THIS IS [insert random local gang here] TERRITORY”. I recall thinking at this last oh-so-witty quip, ‘Sure it is, and if I see one of them, I’ll do the same to them’. However I didn’t say that. In the heat of the moment, the only thing I said was, “Are you fucking serious?” Because honestly, who the fuck does this? Who the fuck is so rash and stupid? Who has such a fragile ego that instead of recognising, ‘Oh. Of course. I am attending the cinema. I am surrounded by common citizens who have paid the price of admittance to have a pleasant evening with a friend or loved one in peace. I should carry myself accordingly and act in the utmost politeness for the sake of the public of which I am a member of’, they fly off the fucking handle and try to incite violence with a random stranger? Who the fuck honestly does that?
The Talker does that. That’s who.
As The Talker came charging out of his row at towards mine, tearing off his hoodie in a fashion stereotypical to the common street scrapper. I still cannot be certain what he expected to come of this. Did he think I would meekly apologise, back down, turn around? Did he think I would sit there and let him hit me? What was his end goal here? These questions will go unanswered, for as he rounded the corner I immediately raised out of my seat. I am no small man. I am 6’3”, 245 lbs of flab that was once muscle. I know I am an intimidating presence. Once, while performing a chauvinistic and physically violent role in a college theatre production (hold your questions for the end please) I made a 20 year old in the audience cry. I am a scary looking guy. Upon realizing this, The Talker appeared instantly regret to his tactic, though his ego would clearly not allow him to show it. He continued shouting threats and obscenities at me as I advanced, backing up the aisle towards the door. And as he did he reached into the front of his waistband and pulled out something. Two things happened when he did this; or rather one thing happened and one thing did not. I cannot be sure if what he had pulled out was a knife or a gun- it was too dark. But regardless, the thing that did not happen was this- I did not react.
I did not react to a weapon. I did nothing when a weapon was presented. I am at odds with this. On the one hand, I am angry at myself. In the past I have every bit of faith that I would have reacted quickly and with unmatchable fury. I look back at past me and I wonder if I could have restrained myself from taking his weapon and killing him with it. It would have been an easily justifiable killing- if he was willing to pull a weapon, he was willing to use it, and I could not take the risk of him regaining control and using his weapon to hurt me or others. His pulling a weapon would have forced my hand and I have every confidence that no jury would have convicted me.
Let it be known that it’s not the “not killing” I’m angry at myself with, it’s the “not reacting”.
On the other hand, I’m somewhat disturbed. Not reacting to a weapon may have confirmed a suspicion I have held since the cataclysmic moment that ultimately drove me from DC to LA- a moment that I refer to as “THE SUNDERING” and that we may revisit another day and time. I suspect that since THE SUNDERING that I have simply stopped giving a shit about my health, safety, or continued existence. I wouldn’t say that I am suicidal, just that I don’t care. And if The Talker was going to come at me with his weapon, then that was just fine with me. Though rest assured that if he didn’t kill me, I was most certainly going to kill him.
Fortunately (for him or for me, I’m not sure), that second thing happened. And that second thing was that as The Talker was backing up the aisle, he walked into a waist high railing and flipped backwards ass over elbows. In retrospect it was absolutely hilarious to see this wannabe gangbanger fall flat on his back, spitting impotent venom the whole time. In the moment of course I was only focused on being intimidating, a tactic that was clearly working well. He hit the ground with a dull thud and the weapon fell from his hand, glimmering in the light bouncing off the movie screen. Again, I did nothing. As he lie there on the ground, backing towards the door on his hands slinging empty threat after empty threat, his date began pulling at his arm, urging him to go. With one last string of obscenities, he grabbed his weapon and bolted out the door. Victorious, I returned to my seat. “Fuckin’ poser”, said one of the young men in the row directly behind me. Fuckin’ poser indeed.
I found it difficult to enjoy the rest of the film. I turned to look at every noise behind me, in case The Talker decided to barge back in and try to take me off guard. I wondered if he might be lying in wait outside, maybe with a group of friends to avenge his bruised ego. At one point the anxiety got the better of me and I had to take a break disguised as a trip to the men’s room. My date was not fooled, but it wasn’t her I was trying to convince that all was well. Was it worth it, to incite a ’s pathetic fury for the sake of a movie. Fucking yes it was worth it. I will always call people out when they are being shitty, damn the consequences.
I wish I had something more to wrap this up with, but I think I already blew my philosophical wad way back on the idea that there is something intrinsically wrong with me these days, even if I’m presenting myself ostensibly as a well put together human being. It’s not quite that I’ve lost my will to live, but more like I’ve just become apathetic to the whole affair. I’ve no interest in taking my own life, but I have little interest in protecting it either. I’ve mused that this may be a consequence of the extremity of self loathing brought on by The Sundering- when you hate yourself, you have a unique power. You can do anything that anyone else is afraid to do, because you have no interest in self preservation.
I think if that’s the case, I’m underutilizing my powers. Maybe I should consider becoming a mercenary? That might be cool.
Til next time.
PS. I’m posting this without proofreading. I know, I’m terrible. Please mind the errors in grammar, syntax, and spelling. Hopefully I’ll correct them all later.
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I'm just procrastinating.
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Posted:Apr 15, 2014 5:34 pm
Last Updated:Aug 20, 2022 1:30 pm
13641 Views
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I sometimes say things like "I don't get that" or "I don't know why I did that". But I usually do get it and I usually do know why I did that. It's just a knee jerk reaction, really. "I don't get why people do blah blah blah." Of course I get why people do blah blah blah. They do blah blah blah because they're stupid. Or lonely. Or mean. Or completely fucking crazy. I know why. I just say that thing so I don't really have to talk about whatever it is that I know or I get or whatever, because that would lead to a conversation and I'm not great at conversations.
I hit the "post" button and I was all about to type "I don't know why I'm back here" or "why I keep coming back here" or whatever stupid shit I was about to type. But I totally know why I'm here. Besides the obvious "I don't feel like doing the homework that sitting a tab away waiting to be done".
I keep coming back here for ________.
I must not be ready to fill in that blank.
Word bank? Sure.
Lions.
Summer camps.
Museums.
Wine.
Vampires.
Travel Guitars.
Bus trips.
Bubbles.
I dunno. They're all fine choices. Whatever floats your boat.
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Bringing It Back: A Quick Lesson
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Posted:Nov 12, 2012 10:02 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2018 9:06 pm
22055 Views
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From a 25 year old. I know no one likes taking lessons from 25 year olds, but some of you need them. Seriously.
What I do isn't some amasing trick or special technique I learned from ancient Chinese masters. I didn't take a class on fucking or train for countless years (although, if someone wants to take me deep into the mountains for five years and teach me how to date properly, I'd probably take them up on it).
What every bit of it boils down to is this: People are selfish. People are retarded. To stand out, you simply need to rise above it. Stop thinking of yourself. Stop worrying about whether or not you're gonna cum. Stop thinking that she cares about whether or not you're going to cum (yes, I acknowledge that some women actually DO care about whether or not a guy cums, but for the purpose of educating the stubborn masses, we're gonna push that aside).
Now, if you're really interested in learning, you're gonna have to do that thing that you skipped out on all through college- you're gonna have to study. I'll try to point you in the right direction, and give tips where I can, but I'm not gonna give you all the answers. There's reasons for that. One being, I'm lazy, and really don't feel like going into massive amounts of detail for something no one will read. Another one is, what works for some doesn't work for all. If you've gotten any decent amount of experience under your belt, you should know this. Not all women like head, not all women really get off on clitoral stimulation, not all women have the same parts in the same positioning. Clits come in different sizes and some can be more challenging to find. The G-Spot isn't always an inch inside the canal- sometimes it's actually further back. Some women liked to be bit and sucked, some women hate it. You need to be aware of these things, and learn to cater to your partner. The easiest way to do this is to listen and watch. Not all are going to have the wherewithal to tell you if you're doing well or not. With some, if you really are doing well, they won't be able to get a word in between moans anyway
The important points to keep your eyes open for are:
-Breathing- sharp, quick breaths are a good sign. Deep sighs, little moans, anything more than just normal. If they're breathing normal, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG. Time to try something new. If they're not breathing at all, they may be orgasming, or they may be dead. Be sure that you know the difference.
-Muscular Reactions- clenching, squeezing, tightening of the thighs or buttocks, quivers and shakes. If they're not moving, again, check pulse, reposition, and try again.
-Color- Color changes are most noticeable during orgasms. Watch the face, cheeks, forehead, and chest areas for reddening or darkening colors. During orgasm, alot of capillaries open up in these areas, allowing for increased blood flow. If your chick has really dark skin, you should still be able to notice a difference. If it's too red, you may want to dress the wound and have stitches applied. Also, cut your damn fingernails next time. It's less common knowledge, but around orgasm the body temperature spikes as well. Caliente!
-Werewolves- This section does not apply to the M203 service weapon. Should your subject sprout hair, teeth, and claws, please proceed to run screaming from the room in an orderly manner.
Now, on to the action:
First and foremost- SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Just because there's nothing between your dick and that hole does it mean that it's where you immediately go. Fuck the hole, and I don't mean literally. Forget it. Let it stew for a bit while you build the anticipation. It will still be there when the time's right.
Pressure Points and Nerve Endings- If you haven't spent any of your time learning these things, you've wasted it. Yes, some are obvious. Everyone knows how to make a girl squeal by going for the neck, the ears, the labia. Yeah, no shit. But are you aware of how many tiny, ultra sensitive nerve endings can be found in the feet, the wrists, the elbows, the back of the knees, the buttocks, along the spine, a little south of the armpits, so on and so forth? Think of places that you would consider someone to be ticklish, and then spend some time in those areas, gently kissing, nipping, caressing, blowing. Also, there are some pressure points that can be used for good, or evil, depending on how you approach it. Did you know that in the same spot on the neck that you can drive someone wild by kissing, there is a group of nerves that you can use to gain pain compliance or temporarily paralyse? These things exist in many places on the body. Learn where they are, learn to manipulate them. And once you got it down, work that shit. Don't go straight for the gold. Make her beg for you, make her want you. You play it right, she'll cum the minute you touch her.
The Clit- Seriously? People have trouble finding this thing? Ok, granted, some are larger and fuller than others. But I've never encountered a clit so small and unassuming that it blends right in with it's surroundings. Honestly, you don't even need your eyes. As your hands are exploring that fertile crescent, above the entryway you can trace up the ridge of the inner labia until your fingers find that little tiny nub. Now, here's an important fact- that little tiny nub isn't quite as tiny as most people think. The portion that we love to rub and lick so much is only the tip of the iceberg. That little hood there covers up alot more of this sensitive little organ, and that whole organ actually extends down into the mons pubis, coming to a halt just outside the walls of the vaginal canal, usually about an inch inside. Yep, you guessed it- the fabled "G- Spot" is actually the back side of the clitoris. Learn to play both ends at the same time and you'll have her singing harmonies. Just be careful not to drown in her juices! Important tip- during arousal, the clitoris actually engorges and becomes erect, not unlike that thing in your trousers. This makes it even easier to find. So if you've been playing those nerve endings, when you do finally get to where she's been begging you to go, you should have no trouble at all.
Oral- Oh elusive cunnilingus. Something else that's modernly complained about. In this day and age of digital porn and internet dating, you cannot afford to fall short in this area. If you can't perform to standards, she'll have no problem finding someone who can. Now, is there some all inclusive algorithm that you can use to figure out how to move your tongue for instant gratification? Hell no. Good oral means knowing the basics, and applying them, and the old look and listen technique to know if you're doing it right. If you can't yet find the clit, you shouldn't even have your pants off now in the first place, much less be probing around with your tongue. But it's not entirely about the clit, is it? The labia (the flaps surrounding the vagina, or "pussy" for you less educated) is chocked full of blood vessels and nerve endings and loves to be paid attention to just as much as the rest of her. Also, feel free to probe around inside her openings a bit- I know, it may not be the same as pushing your MIGHTY CLUB deep into her, but that tiny, teasing bit of penetration does not go unnoticed. A note for the freakier ones out there- there are almost twice as many nerve endings around the asshole as there are in the nipples... think about that.
And the act itself- Fucking is easy. Really easy. In and out, right? Except there's a whole variety of angles and forces that you would do really well to take into account as you're making your baby (being a physics nerd actually does come in handy). Now that I've more or less told you how to find the G-Spot, it's your job to make sure that you hit it. For us with the wider than average dicks, we're lucky. I can hit that shit from nearly any angle. But if you're lacking in the girth department, you may have to plan your moves a little more carefully. Ever hear that little phrase, "It's not about the size of the boat, but the motion in the ocean"? Well, that's probably about half true. The size does matter. But what you poor bastards might be lacking in size, you can learn to make up for in technique. And if you do have the size already, well, learn the technique anyway. It's still important. And the stimulation doesn't have to end there. Learn how to grind your hips to massage the clit as your passing in and out. I find that it's easiest to do with her legs up in the air, and pressed together, so that her feet meet somewhere over your head (or not, if you're into dwarves). Try different strokes, different angles, different speeds, until you find a combination that works for your partner. Change things up from time to time to keep sex from being monotonous. A remember- it's not about you, it's about her. Tantric techniques, breathing techniques, short breaks from the thrusting action while you put your tongue to her clit, anything to really keep the game going until she just can't handle anymore.
There's alot more to know, alot more to learn. I've only provided a very small piece of the puzzle that is human sexuality. You must also do your part to learn to be a better lover. And it starts, really, with learning to be a better person. Consideration, compassion, and generosity are dying in this world. Don't join the lepers.
Have fun
~Thomas Bombadil
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Bringing It Back: The Bullet With Butterfly Wings
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Posted:Oct 20, 2012 1:28 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2018 9:07 pm
21264 Views
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I'm generally a very nice guy. Very cool, very collected, quick to jump to your rescue. My aura's green, with hints of yellow in it. But I wonder if at my core there's a more primal part of my soul, a red or orange part of me that's hidden from view at all times?
I may be beautiful, but I'm certainly deadly.
I bring all this up because sometimes my sexual aggression seems out of character. This is a story about a time where I will likely be out of character. It hasn't happened yet, but I fully intend to make it happen someday.
I met a girl here. Well, not in the physical sense, since she lives 8 hours away. She reads my blogs, comments on them sometimes. She has a couple of pictures of cleavage up on her profile, but nothing more, so I didn't really think too much of her. But after sending me a couple private messages I decided to take a chance and start chatting with her. First thing I discovered about her is she's pretty damn smart, and really fucking horny. Then she sent me some normal pictures of herself- face included. And I have to say, goddamn, I am smitten. She is really fucking attractive. I never assumed her to be ugly, but I didn't much thought into what she might look like, mostly because profiles that have pictures of just cleavage or breasts kinda put me off. I'm an eyes guy- I usually develop a concrete attraction for someone after I've had a chance to check out their eyes. Hers are wonderful. Beautiful.
We ended up chatting for a few hours, and we got into the dirty stuff after a while. I got to know her interests and her personality pretty well (without having seen her, I'd say she's probably more yellow than anything else, but I can't see auras in pictures. I need to observe them in person). Getting to know her that well allowed me to start developing fantasies. We talked a little about these, but I've spent a good amount of time today working it out, so I figured, for a little bit of fun, I'd put down what I've got here for my loyal fans to enjoy.
We discussed the possibility of getting a cabin for a weekend out in the woods somewhere halfway between where I'm at and where she's at. I imagine I'll get there a little earlier, and spend some time settling in and unpacking, maybe running out to the local Ma and Pop to grab a few groceries to tide us over for the weekend. I'd personally like to plan a couple fun things to do- horseback riding, rock climbing, maybe white water rafting... depends on what's available to us. I'll head back to the cabin, relax, and wait for her to arrive. When she does I'll greet her at the door with a kiss and a hug, let her get settled in, and then we'll go out and do something fun and strenuous. I'd intend to make it something with other people involved. I know the last time I spent a weekend out in the woods there actually was a rock climbing class that you could take, as well as a horseback tour that took you to the top of a mountain and let you climb out over a blade thin cliff. Hopefully something of that nature would be available to us. We'd get ourselves nice and tired and sweaty, and then head back to the cabin.
We'll walk in the door, and I'll let her close it behind us. As soon as she turns back around, I'll be on her, pushing her up against the door, hard, my hand on her chin, controlling her face, turning it away from me as I lean in close enough for her to see the fury in my oaken brown eyes.
"I saw the way you were looking at those other guys out there. I saw the way you were flirting with them with your eyes, your body, smiling, practically inviting them to touch you."
"No I wasn't!" she'll protest.
"Bullshit. You were trying to get fucked out there, weren't you? You wanted one of them to take you out behind a tree and bang the shit out of you, pound your pussy raw, didn't you?"
"No, I promise!" A light slap across the cheek to silence her. I'll push her face to one side and lean in closer to her, breathing on her neck, whispering in her ear.
"You're lying. Tell me the truth. You wanted one of those random guys to haul you off and use your wet cunt. You were practically trying to get some random mountain cock out there. Don't lie to me. I was watching you."
"Yes", she'll whisper guiltily.
"That's what I thought. A little fucking cockslut. You want to get fucked you little slut?"
"Yes."
"Get down on your fucking knees." I'll push her down to the floor. She'll look up at me, eyes pleading. "Don't you look at me, slut. Take my pants off." She'll unbuckle my cargo pants and slide them down to my ankles. "Open your mouth and stick out your fucking tongue." Obediently she'll lean her head back, careful not to make eye contact with me, open her mouth wide, and slide her tongue out of her mouth. I'll slap my heavy dick down on her tongue and rub it around a bit, letting her taste my cockhead. I'll smack her in the nose, across the check, on the lips, before finally shoving my hard cock all the way down her throat, until she starts to gag.
"Mmmmmph!" she'll whine. "Gammmmph uummph!" I'll pull my dick out of her throat.
"What?"
"I can't breath!" she'll gasp, trying to catch her breath.
"Shut the fuck up". My cock will go right back down her throat, and I'll watch as her eyes tear up and her mouth fills up with drool. I'll pull my dick out again, dripping with her saliva, covered in drool. I'll give her a second to catch her breath, and then with my hand on her head, start ramming my dick into her mouth, fucking her face, thrusting my hips back and forth, letting my cock slip between her lips. "Suck that big cock" I'll growl at her, and she'll grasp my dick in one hand and stroke it as I allow her to do the work, sucking and licking my hard member voraciously. Her other hand will move to my balls, fondling and stroking them in time with her mouth. She'll let my dick go and wrap her hand around my hips, pulling me closer, taking my dick deeper into her throat as one finger teases my asshole, circling and probing. One of my hands will find hold in her hair, and my hips will start rocking again, this time along with the rhythm of her mouth. "Oooo fuck yeah. Such my dick slut". Faster and faster, the rhythm of my hips, her mouth, her hands and fingers quickening as I come closer and closer to releasing my seed. Without warning, I'll shove her away from me, pushing her back up against the door.
"Stand up." Without a word she'll stand up, eyes still lowered. "Turn your ass around." With her back to me, I'll press my body against hers, letting her feel my hard cock pressing up against her back. One hand will take to her throat, pulling her head back, my face next to hers. My other hand will be exploring her body, caressing her curves, feeling her nipples growing hard through her shirt. "You still want to be fucked slut? You still want a cock in your soaking wet cunt?"
"Yes" she'll whisper, her excitement making her voice tremble.
"Tell me".
"Fuck me", she'll whisper.
"What?"
"Please fuck me", again, her voice choked with anticipation.
"I can't hear you, slut".
"Please fuck me", she'll plead. "Please put your cock inside me! I want to feel that big cock in my pussy!"
My fingers, nimble from years of guitar and piano playing, will quickly undo her pants and let them drop to the floor. One finger will slide down into her panties, finding her clit, while the other hand will remain around her throat, pulling her head back to me. As my hand continues to explore her wet, warm box, her body will begin to shudder and squirm in my grasp. She'll let out little moans of pleasure.
"Please, I can't take it. Please fuck me. Please let me have that dick". I'll take my fingers from her panties and turn her to face me. Still controlling her face, I'll guide her over to the couch and shove her down hard.
"Take off the rest of your clothes." She'll slowly strip out, her shirt first, then her bra, releasing her beautiful tits. She'll slide her panties off to the floor, and then she'll sit naked in front of me. I'll shove my cock back into her mouth and take a few strokes, letting her taste my dick, dreaming about what it will feel like in her dripping cunt. "Sit back". I'll kneel down in front of her, again taking her face in one hand, and leaning in close to her, nose to nose, looking deep into her still lowered eyes. I'll tease her lips with mine, brushing up against them. She'll squirm in frustration.
"What? Do you want me to kiss you?"
"Mmmm hmmmm". I'll push her back against the couch, and then lower my face to her legs. Pushing them open, my tongue will find her clit, and I'll lick and suck and nibble, taking occasion to push it into her little wet hole, tasting her excitement and anticipation.
"Oh fuck" she'll moan, thrusting her hips into my face. "Oh god, oh yes that's good." Faster and faster my mouth will work, my tongue flicking her wet little button, occasionally taking it between my lips and sucking on it. "Oh my god don't stop. Oh my god oh fuck oh fuck". As her juices continue flowing her cunt will get wetter and wetter, dripping down her thighs, soaking my chin. "Holy fuck I'm gonna cum!" she'll yell, and I'll let her. With her final thrust, she'll squirt her cum all over my face, soaking me in her juice.
With her cunt juice dripping down my chin I'll sit up and lean towards her again.
"Now kiss me. I want you to taste your own cunt on my lips." She'll hesitate briefly, and I'll grab her face and pull her lips to mine, kissing her hard, my tongue exploring her mouth. She'll give in and kiss me back, tasting herself on my lips and tongue. I'll pull back and look into her dark eyes, letting hers meet mine. She'll smile at me, and I'll let my heart melt for a moment as I smile back. Then, I'll regain my composure, my face turning stern again. "Get your ass to the bedroom, slut." I'll let her stand up and start walking towards the bed. I'll come up behind her and slap my hand to her firm ass, squeezing it hard enough to leave white finger prints on it. "Mmmm I'm gonna enjoy that". She'll moan softly as she climbs onto the bed. "Turn and face me slut." She'll roll over onto her back, and lie down on the comforter, spreading her legs apart, presenting her raw, smooth pussy to me, her clit throbbing and swollen. I'll kneel down and lick her clit again, refreshing the taste of her wet cunt in my mouth, and then I'll lower my cock to her slit and start slapping it against her nub.
"Oh fuck, I want that dick in me!" I'll continue rubbing my cock against her clit, teasing her pussy, letting her feel the edge of my big head slipping between her lips. "Oh god please fuck me".
"Shut the fuck up" I'll growl at her, as I slide my cock slowly into her cunt, burying it to the hilt.
"Oh wow that's deep". I'll wrap her legs up in one arm, pushing them together, raising her feet up above my head, pushing my throbbing dick deeper into her. My other hand will find her throat, and I'll squeeze gently as I start pounding her wet cunt. "Oh god fuck me. Fuck my pussy! Oh that feels so fucking good. Please fuck my pussy!" I'll take my arm from her legs and let her wrap them around me, thrusting my dick into her soaking wet pussy, forcing myself deeper into her. As I lean close to her I'll turn her face away from mine and kiss and nibble on her neck as I gyrate my hips. "Oh fuck your cock feels so good in my pussy!"
"Get on my dick, slut" I'll growl, as I pull my cock out and lie back in the bed. As she turns to climb on top of me, she'll stop to take my wet, hard member in her mouth, sucking her pussy juices off of me. She'll climb up my body, aligning her hips with mine, and lowering herself onto me. Her body will shudder as I slide into her again. She'll grind her hips against mine, and my thumb will slide underneath of her, finding her clit as she does.
"Oh fuck". Faster and faster, harder and harder. Her clit will still be swollen and sensitive from the tongue lashing I gave it earlier, and within minutes her body will begin to shudder with orgasm. "Oh fuck I'm cumming!" she'll yell as her juices begin to squirt all over me, soaking my hips and my cock. I'll pull her down to me and kiss her again as I start pounding away at her dripping hole, wrapping my hands around her hips, spreading her ass apart, letting my finger find her tight little asshole and pushing into it. As I thrust harder, I'll arch my back, pushing my rod deeper into her, raising her up off the bed with the strength of my assault. My finger will continue to explore her asshole as I drive my huge hammer into her, and she will moan with pleasure. Eventually I'll begin to bore of this, and I'll push her off me.
"Get on your knees and turn around."
She'll smile slyly as she does. I'll mount her from behind, one leg up, one down, and once more I'll listen to her breathy moan as my dick slides into her dripping hole. I'll take her hair in one hand, and wrap the other around her throat, and use them to pull her back to me as I ram forward, forcing my cock deep into her, feeling her pussy walls clench around me, my cock head pressing against her cervix. Harder and harder I'll thrust, slamming my hips into hers, listening to the wet slap of her ass against my thighs, feeling my balls bouncing against her clit. My hand will free itself from her throat, and my thumb will find its way back into her asshole, feeling my cock in her pussy through her anus, while the other hand pulls steadily at her hair.
"Fuuuuuuck" I'll growl as I pound into her.
"Oh god, oh god fuck that pussy, pound that pussy!"
"Who owns this cunt, slut?"
"Oh fuck yeah this is your cunt. Use my pussy for your cock. Fuck my pussy! Fuck me!"
As I feel myself building towards my own orgasm, I'll pull my dick out of her pussy, and, without warning, slide it into her tight asshole, loosened enough by the probing of my thumb.
"Ohhhhhh FUCK!" she'll scream out, as she squirts her cum once again, soaking the comforter below us. The clenching of her pussy and her ass as her juices jet out of her will be more than enough for me. I'll pull my cock out of her ass.
"Turn around. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." She'll do it immediately, quickly turning to face me. "OPEN YOUR MOUTH SLUT!" She'll open wide just in time as my cum begins to stream out of my cock, thick strings of it landing on her tongue, her cheeks, in her hair, into her mouth. "FUCK YEAAAAHHHHH!!!!" I'll growl as my load covers her gorgeous face, her beautiful eyes staring up at mine, her mouth turned up in an excited smile. "Fuuuuucccckkkkk" I'll moan, as the last squirts hit her on the neck and the tits, and I'll fall back onto the bed.
"Mmmmmmmmm" she'll moan, wiping cum off her face and licking it off her fingers. "Oh you taste sooo good." She'll wipe my cum off her body and face, swallowing every last drop of it, and then turn to my dripping cock, still twitching from the force of my orgasm. She'll lick every last bit off my cock, and suck anything left out me before collapsing next to me on the bed. She'll roll over towards me, lying her head on my chest.
"That was amasing" she'll breath. I'll grin my little grin and wrap my arm around her as we drift off to sleep.
Over the course of the weekend, this scenario will play out several more times- in the hot tub, in the woods, by the stream, on the kitchen counter... where ever we may happen to be when the moment strikes us. By the end of the weekend we'll both be too tired and sore to even think about touching ourselves again for a week. It'll be hard to part, but we'll make the long drive to our respective homes, where I'll immediately start planning our next rendezvous. Hopefully I'll be able to top the first one.
Mmmmmm that was alot of fun to write. I do so hope we can make this happen. For now, I need to go take care of the raging hard on I developed while dreaming this up... but it just won't be the same.
Until next time
~Thom Bombadil
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O.o
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Posted:Jul 22, 2011 7:11 am
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2018 9:07 pm
21565 Views
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::shout::
...
::echo::
...
Meh.
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Last Post Kills Audience.
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Posted:Feb 28, 2011 3:31 pm
Last Updated:Dec 5, 2018 9:18 pm
23451 Views
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Where in the hell has Thom Bombadil disappeared to? Not that anyone has asked. As these things often go, I've been pushed to the back burner for most. Though, did I ever reach the front?
Does any of this matter? Throughout the childish bickering and backstabbing that has engulfed the entirety of the blog world (I like to call it “The Great Blog War”, at least until another one occurs, at which point I'll change the names to WBW I and WBW II respectively), not one person ever asked my opinion or asked me to choose a side. Which I greatly appreciate. This is one time where being forgotten had its perks. But in being forgotten, anyone who has not taken to getting to know Thom beyond this blog has missed out on some of the most fantastic stuff that has ever happened to a man who goes by the pseudonym Thom Bombadil. Here's a short list:
I inherited about a month's worth of income from my great grandmother (who died peacefully last month, only 2 weeks before her 100th birthday), allowing me to buy the laptop I'm currently writing this on.
I was offered a scholarship based on a 4 page essay that I had written sometime last year. It will cover about half my tuition expenses for next semester.
I, on a whim, auditioned for a play at school. I was called back to audition again, and then was called back once more to be offered a role. It's not a big part, but it is a huge deal, since this is one of those times I simply put myself on the line and was rewarded for it.
I was approached by the chemistry department, who requested to publish my paper on the history of atomic theory (which was posted here some time ago). I am now a published writer, a fact that will most certainly be noted on every application I ever fill out from here to eternity.
Am I missing anything? I feel like I'm missing something. Anyway, the point has been made that I'm having the time of my life right now, which is fantastic (though I can't help but get this paranoid feeling, like maybe I'm going to get hit by a bus tomorrow).
Very exciting stuff.
Things haven't been all pleasantries, though. I've been struggling with intimacy problems as of late. You see, there are a couple fantastic people who recognise that I am also a fantastic person. But, not only do they recognise my wonderfulness, they also realise that maybe I'm not one they should let get away so easily. This is a good thing, especially when it comes to one girl in particular. The bad thing is, I'm so tied up and confused about the person I really want to be with, and trying to figure out what she really wants and whether or not that will ever include me in a way that I'm currently wanting it to include me that I don't really have any feelings for New Girl beyond casual playtime. I shouldn't break her heart, and if things were different (id est, if I were sure of my place in Special Girl's future) I certainly wouldn't break her heart. Will NG ever mean to me what SG means to me? No idea. From my experiences, I doubt it. Multiple girls have meant worlds to me, but in very different ways. SG will always be special. But NG will at least be able to see me as worth holding onto. I don't have any way of knowing if SG really has any feelings for me beyond “Let's be best friends forever!” Hell, I've been asking for a clear answer for months, and have gotten nowhere. If you haven't figured it out from my writings thus far, SG likes to be vague. Mind numbingly vague. Frustratingly vague. Yank-my-hair-out-and-donate-it-to-a-cancer-patient vague. I'm willing to be patient for people who can at least tell me that I'm worth waiting for. She likes to tell me that I'm definitely worth everyone else waiting for. Maybe I should take that as a sign. Maybe she's been telling me all along that I'm worth it for everyone else to wait for, but not for her.
You know, I've been avoiding talking about things like this here because I don't believe anyone cares. Hell, I get sick of all my whining and drama about why I continue to have a bleak future of bachelorhood. But, I pegged you with a bunch of wonderfulness earlier in the scene, so I don't give a care at the moment if no one else wants to hear me vent.
I feel like I never have anything good to say anymore when I come here. This has just become a place to vent. And in venting, I bring myself and everyone around me down. This place used to be fun. And my life isn't all misery and horror stories. I've generally been quite satisfied as of late. I feel like I'm doing something fulfilling with my life, and I'm having a good time doing it. This blog should be a reflection of that. Instead, I come here bearing negativity. What am I expecting to find? Reassurance? Validation? Pity? I don't need that from anyone here. I know that. So why do I continue writing?
Ok, now I'm just blabbing out all the questions that are going through my head.
Lets get one last thing out. I've told you all before that I'm horrible about keeping up with everyone else. I wrote a blog about it. It doesn't mean I don't care, it doesn't mean I don't like any of you, it just means that I'm awful about going “Hey, I haven't talked to or seen this person in forever. Let's give them a call.” Sometimes I think that the fact that you haven't said anything to me means that you're not interested. Of course, this is a two way street, and I'm sure some of you feel the same way about me. I am interested. I'm just horrible about acting on that. Call it an insecurity. But if you ever think of me, feel free to say hi. I'll be happy knowing that I'm not forgotten after all.
See ya guys.
~Thom
4fwin, I owe you cookies. Or another prize of your choosing. Let me know what you'd like.
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The Scourge of Canada
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Posted:Jan 22, 2011 8:09 am
Last Updated:Feb 28, 2011 3:36 pm
22525 Views
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And original sonnet by Thom Bombadil
In winter gardens of frozen marsh reeds
When icy winds invade all safe harbour
Lies dormant the most unholy of deeds
Since Sweeny Todd declared himself barber
With Sun's decree brings illumination
Decaying frost cannot resist its plight
Releasing monsters from their probation
With season's change our foes renew their blight
With rotting limbs and gnashing teeth befit
To consume what flesh, blood, and brains they crave
With shotgun shells and the best of our wit
To return the hobgoblins to their grave
So we summarise our linguistic string
The zombie menace returns with each spring
It was a challenge to write (iambic pentameter, specific rhyme scheme) and a lot of fun to do as well.
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