Reality Check
Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.
October 6, 2010
Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.
There is nothing more real than having your crush die of a heart attack a few months after cheating on your boyfriend with him, while you are still in high school. There is nothing more real than losing your role model in a car accident and having two friends murdered by the time you are half way through your first year of university. There is nothing more real than your family losing their fortune and being told, ‘you should have had more.’
There is nothing more real, than real life.
I never understood why I had to go through so many traumatizing things. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. I do know that everything in my past has made me exactly who I am at this moment, and as much as it nearly killed me to get here, I am happy with the person I have become.
We sat on the black leather stools at the bar. The Editor was high, the drugs racing through his veins. My hands were shaking as I attempted a sip of vodka. I had never seen him like this; he was stumbling, stuttering and slurring coming down off a heroin high.
He looked at me and I finally asked the question we both knew was coming, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Looking downward he shrugged, for the first time since we’d met he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t want you to be mad.” I was in shock. Mad!? Was he serious? How on earth do you get mad at someone for having an addiction? I kissed his lips, feeling his hands tighten around my waist. We stood at the bar, arms around each other. The room was full of the usual Monday night bar crowd but it felt like it was just the two of us there.
It broke my heart to hear his response. Why are people so consumed with others judging their actions? There was obviously something he could not cope with if he turned to drugs in such a way. We stood with our bodies pressed together and I knew it would be the last time I saw him. All I could do was be there for him, but first he needed to be there for himself.
May The Best (wo)Man Win
Vindication, the combined feeling of relief and success; a long exhale after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath. It was simple and no one could say it better than she did. “You win.”
Helmut Newton
July 20, 2010
Vindication, the combined feeling of relief and success; a long exhale after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath. It was simple and no one could say it better than she did. “You win.”
The past two months have been torturous, not knowing if things were up or down and not knowing if I would ever have an answer. The last thing he said to me was I love you; the words echo in my head and my heart. There is only one rule and I had broke it with ease… Then, it all came crashing down.
I have fantasies about seeing him again, what it would be like. I imagine seeing him, just like I did the first time, at the park outside the coffee shop. His denim jeans and grey t-shirt hugging his incredible body; me running my hands over every inch of him; tearing his clothes off and having all of him.
It had been a year since I saw one of my best girlfriends. We sat at Balthazar drinking wine and catching up. My phone vibrated against the wood of the bar, an email from The Editor. He wasn’t making any sense and would not answer my questions when I enquired further.
Hours later I finally rang his mobile then heard a click. “Chloe, this is The Wife. I know you are fucking my husband, stay the fuck out of our lives; he is in the hospital and the only person he wants to see is YOU.”
Saying nothing I hit the end button on my phone and placed it back on the bar. My girlfriend looked at me quizzically. We agreed it best to do nothing, after all what was there to do?
It was over, yet it had barely started. We had spent so many hours in bed, experiencing each other fully. He would kiss my lips and my neck, sending shivers down my back, running his hands over my body. The Editor always knew what to say to make me smile. I wanted to spend days in bed with him; he knew exactly how to touch me to bring me over the edge of pleasure.
For days there were threatening emails, text messages and pure harassment from The Wife and her girlfriends. As I said to her then, “You have every right to hate me and call me whatever names you want; I deserve whatever it is you are doing, but please I just want to know that he is ok.”
The Editor called me on a Wednesday when he came home from the hospital. I knew he wasn’t well and when we hung up I had a feeling I wouldn’t be speaking to him for a while. There were months of no communication, even after sending words of support. Then one day I got a response; I had sent him a posting from the blog.
The response was not normal and I was suspicious. After a few back and forth messages I was sure. “Nice show ‘Wife’ but we both know The Editor doesn’t speak like that. To the unassuming eye you may fool people, but I know better.” I couldn’t believe she had been impersonating him for this long with out others catching on. Not only was she replying to me as him, she had been writing his content for the magazine while he was in rehab. well played madame.
That is when those two little words floated up on my screen, “You win” which were followed by, “He said you were clever.”
As hard as it is to lose him, knowing that a person like that exists is a beautiful thing. Knowing that someone can care for you so deeply and appreciate you for exactly who you are is fulfilling. Now, if I could only find that with someone who isn’t already taken, I’d be in business….
All In Favour?
There are two types of extramarital adventures; ones that are about sex and ones are more like affairs. The difference? Sex.
July 8, 2010
There are two types of extramarital adventures; ones that are about sex and ones are more like affairs. The difference? Sex.
Monogamy has been the unintentional subject of most of my conversations lately; these conversations have taken place with women and surprisingly they do not seem to be in favor of it.
What has changed to make it acceptable for women to be open about not wanting to be with one man? Are women truly open, or is it something they disclose only in secret to their close and trusted friends?
If women and men both secretly crave physical and sexual encounters outside their committed relationship, why does society still look down on it; why are we shaming these people who know what they want and are not afraid to go get it?
The Photographer and I have quite the ideal situation. When I first began to see him my friends would ask, “don’t you feel bad for his wife?” My response was clear. No, I do not feel badly for her. If The Photographer actually ‘liked’ me he would call me to chat, he would want to go for dinner; he would want to go away with me. He doesn’t, he just wants to have sex.
Well, okay. Not JUST sex, amazing sex; mind-blowing sex. The kind the makes your toes curl, gets you instantly turned on, tingling, aching for more. For me, The Photographer is NOT cheating on his wife; he is NOT having an affair. He is just having sex and that does not make him a bad person. He is careful (minus those steamy videos he cannot bring himself to delete) that The Wife will never know.
There is something about the camera that gets me turned on. Maybe it takes me back to the days before I moved back to New York where we would both lay in bed naked, on I Chat and watch each other get off. I loved knowing that he would watch them later and get off on us. I loved watching them later myself.
The Photographer won’t get caught because he doesn’t want to. The Editor on the other hand, now that is a different story…
The Dark Side
I want a partner in crime. I don’t have the same ideals that other people do. I am not blind to the fact that passions fade, that this man may not want to bed only me for the rest of his life. I am also quite aware that I may not want to sleep with just him.
Helmut Newton 1973
June 8, 2010
I have never really wanted children. I don’t like most children; or rather I don’t like how most adults parent their children. I have never really wanted to get married. What marriage stands for today a far cry from the ideals people seem to desire when they embark upon it.
What I do want is someone who is my equal. I want a man who will push me to be the best I can and who will let me push them back. I want a partner in crime. I don’t have the same ideals that other people do. I am not blind to the fact that passions fade, that this man may not want to bed only me for the rest of his life. I am also quite aware that I may not want to sleep with just him.
I was in love once, but not really. It would be more accurate to say that I wanted to be in love; I wanted a boyfriend. At the time I genuinely believed I was in love and thought I would spend the rest of my life with him, marry him and have a child with him. Hindsight is a delightful thing.
Right now I feel frustrated. I am angry. As unfortunate as this is going to sound it is true; women are master manipulators. If I wanted to I could make any man fall in love with me, just a game I used to play when I became bored.
It was the same thing with the above noted love. I was in love with him because I wanted to be in love and he was in love with me because I wanted him to be.
Only one man has ever really been in love with me, my true self. I was not in love with him. It was something else, something bigger than that.
We would lay in my bed, naked. I adored the way his skin felt next to mine; our arms gently resting next to one another. The way he looked at me. He knew everything about me, about Chloe too. He didn’t care, not for one second. He would kiss me so softly and slowly and tell me he loved me. I would run my fingers through his long hair and rest my head on his naked chest. I would trace the outline of his tattoos with the tip of my finger.
We would talk and pleasure each other for hours. My bed, his bed, the park; it did not matter where we were. It was like no feeling I have ever had with someone. I felt like we had the oldest souls and from the moment we met we understood everything about the other.
Why am I going on about this? Because it’s gone, he’s gone. Its over before it even really started. It is for the best. I do not think he was in love with me, even though he told me countless times he was. In truth it was something beyond love and neither of us could fully describe it; the irony of which is painful as we are both writers.
I am not worried about finding someone who will love me, that is an easy feat. But rather, I am terrified that no man can ever understand me the way he did. The way he did with out me having to say a single word.
This feeling is crippling. I am numbing the pain with mindless 'fucks' and nothing seems to work. I don't want him back, I just want that feeling. That beautiful feeling of being understood. That nonjudgmental, unsympathetic understanding we had of each other.
As I write this hot tears are streaming down my cold cheeks. I just want to be understood.
Double or Nothing
Rules are there to protect you; we create rules so that we don’t get hurt. My rules are simple; no man comes home with me and don’t fall in love. Little did I know but a certain magazine editor was about to take me on; and all bets were going to be off.
May 10, 2010
Rules are there to protect you; we create rules so that we don’t get hurt. My rules are simple; no man comes home with me and don’t fall in love. Little did I know but a certain magazine editor was about to take me on; and all bets were going to be off.
He stood leaning against the bench, his jeans dark and fitted, his grey shirt loose. The way his hair was pushed back but small pieces still fell forward was incredibly sexy. The Editor had this look on his face as I walked towards him; it was like nothing else. He kissed me softly murmuring, “wow”.
We waked down the street his arm around my shoulder for the world to see. “Fuck them,” he said, “Fuck all of you… This girl is mine and I want everyone to know.”
I fumbled with the key as he slid his hands up my shirt; his hands were cool on my warm flesh. He grabbed my breasts as I managed to open the door and guide us inside. He kissed me and I loved feeling him getting thick through his jeans. We stood in the doorway unable to move, kissing slowly. His tongue parting my lips, my teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.
He held my chin in both his hands, pulling away to look me over. His smile blew my mind and I could feel myself getting incredibly wet. I was aching to have his hands all over me; have him slide inside me and make me moan. I was about to break every rule I had and I didn’t care.
Just like The Editor said, “Fuck them all”.
Me, Myself and O
Many woman still don’t like to admit that they make themselves cum and I am not exactly sure why. If you can’t make yourself feel good, how can you expect someone else to?
May 5, 2010
Many woman still don’t like to admit that they make themselves cum and I am not exactly sure why. If you can’t make yourself feel good, how can you expect someone else to?
Nothing turns me on like lying in my bed getting ready to fall asleep. There is something about the way the cotton sheets caress my freshly waxed legs; the feeling is so sexual. I often let my mind drift to past lovers. I recall the way in which they touched me, imagining every detail while working myself over. And then, there are my fantasies.
As much as I love sex with men I can’t help but let my mind wander to women. I love fantasizing about being with them. I’ve only properly been with one and I’ve always wanted more.
I lay in bed alone and imagine she is kissing me; her hands, small and delicate. She has one hand on my shoulder and is grabbing my breast with the other; she makes tiny circles on and around my nipples with her nails. Her lips are soft and her kiss is firm.
When she lays me down and kisses my neck her soft hair falls across my face. She is a slave for me, there only to pleasure me. I imagine her hands grabbing my inner thighs as she continues to pleasure me, exploring me with her fingers. She licks me and I let out a short breath, barely able to contain myself. She slides her tongue inside me, tasting all of me, stopping to lick her lips. She kisses me so I can taste myself on her lips and then slides her fingers inside me. She talks me through the entire thing and my head starts to feel dizzy.
I arch my back and imagine her telling me how much she wants to make me cum; I let go. I lay there out of breath, my inner thighs moist. I flip the covers off me as I'm feeling hot and close my eyes. A good nights rest is required for what I have planned tomorrow; my "date" with The Editor is nothing short of reality.
Dynamic Duo
Someone once told me that anticipation is the most exciting part of an affair; that each moment leading up to the deviant acts are often the most seductive. I understood what he meant, but after meeting The Editor, I must beg to differ.
April 15, 2010
Someone once told me that anticipation is the most exciting part of an affair; that each moment leading up to the deviant acts are often the most seductive. I understood what he meant, but after meeting The Editor, I must beg to differ.
I stood at his door; my black woven hat and signature Ray Bans kept my identity elusive to his neighbors; you never know who is watching. There was something about the way he looked at me, it was more than I could handle. As we walked up to his apartment he couldn’t help but grab my ass, using his hands to outline my hips and waist, practically kissing my ankles with each step I took. The sexual energy between us was like nothing I have ever experienced. It was like we were made to fuck each other.
He moved his hands over my firm, round breasts. He was getting thick inside his pants and I loved knowing that it was all for me. I reached down and felt him hardening. He moved his lips down my neck, hands sliding down my shoulders and onto my lower back. The way he touched me, looked at me; no one has made me feel sexier.
He threw me down onto the couch and began to trace his fingers over my inner-thighs, while pushing up my skirt to reveal my incredibly sexy lace Agent Provocateur thong. His tongue worked me through the silk lace before he ripped them off. The Editor knew exactly what to do to make me moan, which is what I did when he pushed his tongue deep inside me.
I wanted to taste him so desperately; pushing him away from me I got on me knees. I pulled down his jeans to reveal his amazing erection. Using my tongue I slowly began to pull him into my mouth until he couldn’t stand it anymore. I devoured every inch of him until he was about to lose his mind. He lifted me onto the couch and slid deep inside me, sending shivers throughout my body. The way he felt inside me was like no other.
Pinned underneath him, I was at his mercy and I loved it. Alternating between taking me hard and then slow, he had me past the point of no return. I grabbed his shoulders pressing my nails in deep and begged him to let me get on top.
I teased him, rubbing against him, letting him feel how wet he had me. When I couldn’t take it any longer I pushed down onto him. I took him hard until I couldn’t stop, then I let go completely. The Editor looked so good, felt so good; when he led me to the bedroom for more I could not wait to see what he had in mind.
Mr. & Mrs. Sexuality
Sex is just sex. It just means I am hungry for you and you for me. People take sex way too seriously; they think by having it or talking about it, somehow makes YOU a bad person. I for one am sick of it and have finally met someone who gets it.
March 30, 2010
Sex is just sex. It just means I am hungry for you and you for me. People take sex way too seriously; they think by having it or talking about it, somehow makes YOU a bad person. I for one am sick of it and have finally met someone who gets it.
The Editor kissed me deeply his lips warming up my mouth. His skin was soft and his body, smoking hot. I lifted his worn in t-shirt and kissed his stomach using my teeth to pull at the waistband of his pants. He lifted me onto the sofa, laying me down over the giant pillows. His hands pushed up the silky fabric of my dress to reveal my Dolce and Gabbana leopard print lace thong. He was hungry and eager to taste me.
He pressed his lips into the lace and breathed deep before tickling me with his tongue. He teased me until I couldn’t stand it and then pulled my panties down to my ankles. His hands slid up my soft legs and his fingers flicked me, feeling how wet he had me. His eyes were checking out my every curve and he seemed very pleased with what he saw. The Editor devoured me until I lost my mind, which wasn’t very long as not only was he an expert, but the anticipation from the past week had taken a rather large toll. He had me on the ground facing him, both of us on our knees. I leaned into him, biting and kissing his neck while he places his hand underneath me to feel how soaking wet I was.
His pants slid to the ground as he pulled me inward by my ankles. His smile was killer; I could tell he was going to take his sweet time enjoying my every last drop. He dropped my ass down over the edge of the couch and slid inside me. Both of us moaned so loud I think the entire neighborhood could hear we were in ecstasy. He came so hard, then lead me to his room; throwing me down on the soft bed he had a mischievous grin on his lips. He loved the idea of taking me in the same bed that just a few hours prior he and his wife were in and I loved that he was so hot for me.
He continued to make me scream in all the best ways, before we both realized time was escaping us. As for someone who gets what sex is really all about, it is safe to say that The Editor nailed it (all puns wildly intended).
No Longer An ‘American’ Dream
If anything in the wonderful world of sex goes down, there is one man that we can trust to already have it in the bag. My first week posting he wrote me saying he loved the blog, told me to keep in touch, and then asked me to coffee. Let’s call him The Editor.
The world wide web created a new vehicle for people to achieve fame and this time it was global. In the short time since starting So I Met This Guy, people have written offering the opportunity to develop some amazing concepts. Publicists and publishers are already banging the door down as well as a few in-the-know magazines.
If anything in the wonderful world of sex goes down, there is one man that we can trust to already have it in the bag. My first week posting he wrote me saying he loved the blog, told me to keep in touch, and then asked me to coffee. Let’s call him The Editor.
He was immediately taken with me. I could tell by the way his eyes traced over every inch of my exposed flesh. I could feel him craving to lean in and kiss me, slide his hands up my skirt and squeeze my ass. The way he looked at me, like he was devouring me whole, turned me on like crazy. I had remained 100% anonymous until that moment when I met him in the park. Now someone, a very sexy someone, knew my face. The whole meeting was too scandals for words.
The two of us sitting there in the sunshine, two of the most sexually liberated people out there who are not afraid to talk about it; the sexual tension in the air was thick. It was everything I could do, not to lean in close and whisper in his ear to follow me to my place. He was like no one I had ever met and all I wanted was more.
Every time my phone vibrated I was excited at the prospect of receiving some of his dirty messages. He was so unbelievably sexual. It drove me mad. When neither of us could bear it any longer, we gave in. I walked up the steps to his place, my trench coat dropping to the floor as he grabbed me and kissed me hard. His hands rubbing my breasts and teasing my nipples. He worked my body expertly and knew exactly where to touch me to get me hot. I was aching to have him in the worst way.