Singing In The Rain
All good things must come to an end; and like all big storms, this one started with just one raindrop.
December 6, 2010
All good things must come to an end; and like all big storms, this one started with just one raindrop.
In a moment of weakness I texted The Britt; was his interest in me purely physical or did he wanted more? He’d been sending rather mixed messages for 3 weeks now; never one to play games, I needed to know where we stood. In his ever-evasive English way, rather than answer me, he called and we chatted about everything other than sex. I guess that means he wants more…?
Arriving in Miami was a breath of fresh air. Although I was there for work, it was still a relief from the stress of the past few months of New York grinding. Very unexpectedly The Ex emailed me advising he would be in New York ‘very, very soon’. Lovely, of course I had just left.
Fortunately or unfortunately (no one really knows) I would be returning to the city the same day The Ex was to arrive. Through our classic witty banter I learn he is no longer with his girlfriend… and through chatting with my ever-gossiping Mum, discover he has informed his mother that he is coming to New York is to visit me. Okay…?
Miami had me running from party-to-art show and back again. We’d had no communication but was not lost on me that The Artist must be there somewhere, which is exactly when I received his text. Later that night we crossed paths at The Interview Mag party at The Delano. He looked unbelievably hot and I was dying to get my hands on him. After indulging in a performance by my hero and ground breaking performance artist, Marina Abramovic, where she swam naked in their famous pool I was flying high on the energy from the room.
Apparently he felt the same because at 2AM with ditched our friends for wild sex in his penthouse apartment along the Miami Beach waterfront. The Artist was just as rough as I remembered and even more hungry. His hands and teeth left more than his usual mark, making for slightly awkward poolside tanning the following day. My nipples were seriously bruised and I wasn’t exactly sure how I would explain that to The Britt, should he ever call me again.
Just when I thought that nothing else could possibly arise, I received an email that was long overdue. The Photographer; the first man I’d been with after The Ex and my first ‘friend’ in New York. We’d been through so much, yet nothing at all over the past 2 ½ years. To be honest, I never thought things would have carried on this far.
It was strange to find myself happy reading his thoughtfully crafted note. He may have been more surprised by my response than I was. “I am so proud of you,” pushing the buttons on my blackberry I told him I would always be there for him as his friend.
Since the moment we met I knew he was lost; finally he'd caught up to speed and wanted to do something about it. I only want the best for him, so of course, even though salty tears rolled down my cheeks, I was happy for him. My tears were selfish; I knew we would never really be friends and it broke a tiny piece of my heart to lose him.
Back to The Delano for my last Miami dinner, The Britt called my mobile. Caught off guard and completely surprised, I answered. I think this really could be something after all.
They say there is a calm before the storm; perhaps I was just too busy with the pace of the city to have noticed it.
Painful Pleasure
He pushed deeper inside me and tightened his grip. I loved when it hurt a bit; the good hurt. We’ve been fucking for more than two years and The Photographer knew exactly what to do to make me scream with pleasure.
September 13, 2010
“Fucking is for fucking’s sake.”
- Northrop Frye
His hands were holding me down, gripping my wrists so tightly that the tips of my fingers began to pulse. “Harder,” I begged for more.
He pushed deeper inside me and tightened his grip. I loved when it hurt a bit; the good hurt. We’ve been fucking for more than two years and The Photographer knew exactly what to do to make me scream with pleasure.
Pushing him off me, I straddled his hips and lowered my self halfway down his cock teasing him mercilessly. I love putting him through agony and ecstasy at the same time, making him ache to feel all of me wrapped tightly around him; feeling him pull at my hips and groan in anticipation.
Placing his hand around my neck I demand that he hold tightly and he did. Squeezing each breath shorter and shorter until my head gets light, above all other things this turns me on most. There is something sexy about having the air squeezed from your body by someone who is deep inside you.
The Photographer spanked my ass hard and I tried to scream but with his hands gripping my neck so tightly it was nearly impossible. I was so close to letting go, but didn’t want to cum yet.
I glanced up and grinned, “You can take me any way you like.”
But first I wanted to taste him, every inch of him. Going down on him gets me turned on. Feeling him stiffen further with every lick, every touch. My warm breath makes against his flesh; wanting to suck harder and push him deeper into my throat until I can barely handle it.
We take each other until he pushes me off. He gets so turned on by our sex that he has to stop as not to cum; and when he eventually does cum he stays rock hard, physically ready to go again, mentally preparing to head home to the real world where he lays in bed dreaming of sex rather than having it.
I lay on my back and he takes the red toy in hand. Covering it in lube he slides it into my ass, then slides himself inside me again. The pressure of double penetration is intense but I love it. He slides the toy in and out of me and it sends waves of pleasure throughout my body.
The Photographer is obsessed with the idea of fucking my ass; we’d done it once before, but he is so hard that the past few times we tried it has been much too painful and NOT in the good kind of way.
He had warmed me up with the toy and now I was ready for him...
How Do You Want Me?
There are two kinds of men, those that love sex and those that like it. I for one am always taken aback when a man truly does not love sex; it shocks and awes my stereotypical point of view and not in anyway that I like.
September 6, 2010
There are two kinds of men, those that love sex and those that like it. I for one am always taken aback when a man truly does not love sex; it shocks and awes my stereotypical point of view and not in anyway that I like.
Luckily for me the only shocking The Photographer does is in the sexual variety and it always makes me say, “Ahh.”
It had been over a month since I last saw him. Between his travel and my working there had been zero time for our affairs; needless to say we were both aching to get our hands on one another.
The door had buzzed twice while I slid the champagne colored Agent Provocateur thigh high stocking up and over my knee. I stepped into my new Acne black leather pumps and buzzed The Photographer up. I had spent the morning by the pool and planned on spending the afternoon having him explore every inch of my body.
Pushing me against the exposed brick wall of my apartment The Photographer tried to kiss me. I turned my cheek, tilting my head back and parting my lips with a slight grin. He was dying to kiss me and feel the wet of my tongue pushed up against his; I wanted to make him work for it.
His hands held onto the smallest part of my waist in a firm grip, his hips pushed into mine. The Photographer kissed my neck while pulling me even closer towards him. My legs shook with pleasure as he began to work me with his finger tips. Pushing me down onto the bed, he removed his jeans.
He was hard and eager to take all of me... I knew what The Photographer wanted and this time I was going to give it to him.
The Right Ass-ets
Every man has one (or more) parts of the female body that drive him absolutely wild. The most brief of encounters can lead to a spontaneous and wild affair, if that part is in play. For The Firefighter it was my ass; and my black studded micro-mini dress was about to get me into loads of trouble.
August 30, 2010
Every man has one (or more) parts of the female body that drive him absolutely wild. The most brief of encounters can lead to a spontaneous and wild affair, if that part is in play. For The Firefighter it was my ass; and my black studded micro-mini dress was about to get me into loads of trouble.
I walked up the street; the sun was pounding on my back and I pushed my hair in front of my shoulder to expose my skin; the low cut back of the dress was excellent for on-the-go tanning. My black Stuart Weitzman espadrille sandals made my legs even longer and I could feel people’s eyes following my every move.
My phone vibrated in my hand; The Firefighter wanted to play. I laughed to myself, as I was about to stroll past his place. Earlier in the week I had decided I was over him. The Photographer was back on again and I had been flying to New York every other week for hours and hours of pleasure.
As I raised my hand to knock, the door swung open and I was greeted with his devilish grin. Pushing passed him I threw my vintage green snakeskin handbag on his couch and helped myself to some water. As I perused through cupboards trying to find a glass, I could feel him walking towards me.
The Firefighter placed his hands on my waist and slid them down over my firm ass. He moaned as he grabbed me hard and spun me towards him, “You have the sexiest ass I have ever seen.”
I smiled and tilted my chin backwards letting him kiss down my neck to my chest. His hands lifted me up onto the granite counter top and I let out a gasp as my warm skin touched the cool stone. He was incredibly hard and kept trying to kiss my lips.
Pushing him away, I slid off the counter. As I made my way across the room I enquired what made him want me so badly. He laughed, “There is nothing I won’t do for your ass.”
And that was all I needed to hear.
Hit The Showers
After two years of glorious sex I was beginning to feel like we were hitting a wall. Every now and then a girl just wants to get fucked; after months of begging for more The Photographer was about to step up his game.
Patrick Demarchelier
August 2, 2010
There comes a time in every relationship, whether it’s emotional, physical or even (dare I say it) both, where you need to ask for more. After two years of glorious sex I was beginning to feel like we were hitting a wall. Every now and then a girl just wants to get fucked; after months of begging for more The Photographer was about to step up his game.
I lay in bed, eyes closed, my body still humming from my last orgasm. I could time it down to the second; I would feel The Photographer stirring next to me and then 4, 3, 2… the sound of the water running as he climbed into the shower.
The poor Photographer; so busy and beyond stressed, as soon as our shaggery is complete he's half way out the door, leaving me aching for more.
It’s never easy to tell a man that you are satisfied, but what you want in reality is to be worn out. Let’s just say he’s been making it up to me ever since.
He walked into my new apartment and slid his arm around my waist. Looking me up and down he grinned, “You look good all tan.” His voice made me melt and his lips met mine as we stumbled onto my bed. His hands pulled at the white cotton of my robe. I lay on top of the sheets letting him admire my naked body; I rubbed my breasts and leaned my head back stretching out my long neck, inviting him to take a bite.
His lips moved along my neck and down my shoulder. His hands grabbed me firmly and I could see him getting excited. He licked me everywhere and made me lose my mind instantly; the feeling of his tongue was like a drug, I could never get enough.
The Photographer reached into the yellow Babeland shopping bag; pulling out an array of new toys. He began to tease me with the tip of the silicone shaft. I loved that he watched me closely as he slid it all the way inside me, working the toy until I begged him to stop.
He climbed on top of me, holding me down by my wrists; I was already on orgasm No. 2 and the way things were feeling No. 3 & 4 were just around the corner…
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…
Right On Time
New York is a busy place. A ‘New York minute’ is most definitely not just a saying. The question? Is it a saying that you want applied to your sex life?
New York is a busy place. A ‘New York minute’ is most definitely not just a saying. The question? Is it a saying that you want applied to your sex life?
For me that answer is NO.
I adore sex and I adore it with many men. Lately, I have been feeling like all the sex I have is ‘scheduled’. Perhaps this is a symptom of not having a boyfriend and not wanting to date the men I sleep with. However, it feels as though every time I have sex it is scheduled between meetings, lunches and drinks.
Don't get me wrong, the sex is still amazing; you know as you are privy to all the dirty details, but I am desperately aching for some spontaneity. Perhaps this lack of spur-of-the-moment sex is due in large part to the lack of men that can hold my interest, or perhaps it’s because I have become fairly addicted to The Photographer of late. Either way it has been eating away at me and the thought of having scheduled sex with John Galliano Guy (as amazing as he was) or any of the others, makes me shudder.
My phone buzzed on the table, ‘Meet me in 20?’ John Galliano Guy’s name appeared in tiny letters at the bottom of my mobile screen. I had been anticipating him for what felt like weeks, but surely was only a few days. Our schedules were complete opposites and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day.
Taking a long sip of my latte, I collected my belongings and headed down the block to his East Village digs. With each step I took I could feel heads turning to stare; what an empowering feeling knowing you can stop men dead in their tracks just from the way you walk.
I buzzed his door and held my breath that The Neighbor would not be home; the last thing I was in the mood for was having to explain why I was hanging with John Galliano Guy. He opened the door to his apartment, half naked as usual. He had a black bandanna tied around his head and he looked smoking hot. John Galliano Guy looked me up down so expertly that one without a trained eye may not have even noticed. I loved that he didn’t ogle me like the men on the street.
It was one of those sweaty New York pre-summer days and the cold air in his place tickled my skin sending shivers down my spine.
I strolled into his bedroom and sat at the edge of his bed; he didn’t waste anytime. Following my lead he got down on his knees and pulled my lace panties down to my ankles. My smooth, tanned legs were on either side of his shoulders and I couldn’t wait to see if he was all talk, or as I had hoped all action.
The Hot Factor
When it comes to threesomes the goal is to find someone hot, but not hotter than you. Let’s just say she was blonde, tall and thin with huge round breasts and a firm ass. Not exactly not hotter than me…
May 25, 2010
When it comes to threesomes the goal is to find someone hot, but not hotter than you. Let’s just say she was blonde, tall and thin with huge round breasts and a firm ass. Not exactly not hotter than me…
We were out drinking, just the girls when the two of us broke away to buy cigarettes. We were laughing as she pulled one out and lit it for me. I smiled, she was my craziest friend; I knew I could ask her anything. “So, remember my photographer friend I was telling you about,” she nodded and inhaled deeply on her smoke. I placed my hand on her arm and smiled, “Would you want to play with us next time he comes to visit?”
She giggled the way she does when she is excited and shook her head yes. Let’s call her Sasha.
The Photographer and I lay in bed. We had both just cum at least 4 times and it was barely noon. I closed my eyes and pictured the way he looked while devouring me. He would bend me over on all fours and take me hard; I would glance over my shoulder to watch. Every-so-often we would lock eyes, I adored being at his mercy.
He was like a child waiting for Christmas morning, “What time is she coming over? Are we there yet?” I couldn’t help but laugh. After what felt like hours of anticipation she knocked on my door. We sat at the kitchen table and I fixed us drinks and then lead her into my dressing room to change.
We stood in the doorway to the kitchen hand in hand and motioned for The Photographer to follow us into the bedroom. We wore matching thigh high fishnet stockings, Agent Provocateur of course. I undid my robe to reveal my signature black lace Agent Provocateur waspie with matching bra and thong; Sasha had on a leather and mesh bodysuit.
The photographer came towards us, grabbing us both by our waists; he kissed my lips then hers. We pushed him onto the bed and knelt over his body. I pulled Sasha towards me and kissed her soft lips. I slid my tongue around hers pulling it through my lips and nibbled on the tip of it. The Photographer rubbed our thighs as we began to put on a show.
He could hardly wait to get us both naked but we had something else in mind first.
Crazy For You
Sex is a powerful thing. People tend to get lost in it; they confuse it for love or a relationship. It has always been a strength of mine knowing how far I can throw people. With The Photographer it had been strictly sex from day one and things were about to get crazy.
May 17, 2010
Sex is a powerful thing. People tend to get lost in it; they confuse it for love or a relationship. It has always been a strength of mine knowing how far I can throw people. With The Photographer it had been strictly sex from day one and things were about to get crazy.
I was living outside of New York and jonesing for a fix. Our scandalous affair could only sustain through texts and web cam for so long. I wanted to push us sexually, push myself sexually. He hopped on a plane and I invited a friend.
The Photographer arrived at my apartment and we could barely make it in the door. His kiss was deep his hands cold on my naked flesh. I had missed that kiss, those hands; I had ached for them, fantasized about them. He was instantly hard and he lifted my legs around his waist and took me to my bed.
He removed my coat slowly untying the closure. He pulled it off my shoulders and kissed my neck. His hands pulled back the thick fabric and revealed the tight black corset that was binding me. His eyes lit up and his lips traced down my neck onto the tops of my breasts. I kissed his ear, slowly sliding my tongue inside while reaching down and unzipping his pants.
I pushed him by his shoulders until he was flat on the bed. He moaned as I licked him through his underwear and massaged his thighs with my hands. Using only my teeth, I got him naked. He was rock hard and I was so excited to feel him in my mouth, taste every inch of him. I devoured him until he begged me to stop.
The Photographer was beyond hot and I straddled his face and forced him to lick me. I loved the way his tongue made little circles over me. He would slide the tip of his tongue inside me and I'd beg for more; he knew how to drive me wild.
I lowered my body down onto him, teasing him until neither of us could handle it. We lay there breathless. My heart was pounding in my chest, a bead of sweat rolled down my back. I had cum so hard it made my head spin. All I could think about was later; I'd never had a threesome before and I was aching to try it.
Take It Like A Man
A good fuck buddy is hard to find, impossible to deny and difficult to train; one should always be able to count on him. My fuck buddy seemed to be flaking… It appeared he had forgot his small role in my very active life and I made it my mission to remind him the only way I knew how. Denial.
April 27, 2010
A good fuck buddy is hard to find, impossible to deny and difficult to train; one should always be able to count on him. My fuck buddy seemed to be flaking… It appeared he had forgot his small role in my very active life and I made it my mission to remind him the only way I knew how. Denial.
It has been almost 2 years since our delicious affair began and The Photographer was in need of a refresher; when I want you, I get to have you. After MONTHS of avoidance, I felt he was punished enough; that and I was itching to be taken. I messaged him to meet me the next day, I had an hour and if he ever wanted to see me again he would meet me at his studio.
Midtown is a true nightmare; I walked passed the construction zone and climbed the steps to his building. It is virtually impossible to walk down the street without being accosted by the pathetic men who eye me up and down. His apartment is letter F and I laughed to myself, as all we ever seem to do there is fuck.
The Photographer opened the door and smiled, the same devilish grin across his lips. He immediately tried to kiss me; I pulled back. I let him run his hands over my body, let him kiss my neck. He was getting hard and when he pushed up against me I could feel every inch. I wanted him immediately. I wanted him to grab my shoulders, push me down onto his desk and take me right there; instead I walked across the room, letting him eye me, ache for me.
I tossed my purse onto the chair and he came up behind me, turning me around to face him. I kissed him, letting him taste every inch of my tongue; feel every second of what he had been missing. I got down on my knees and unbuttoned his jeans, he was getting harder by the minute. Taking the tip of him in my mouth I teased him with my tongue before devouring every inch. He could barely stand and forced me to stop.
He pushed me down onto the couch and pulled my dress up around my waist. I loved what he did with his tongue. He licked and sucked on me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to have him. I straddled him, slowing lowering myself onto him. I fucked him hard. He begged me to stop; he couldn’t contain himself. He came so hard, it was amazing to watch, moaning and pulling me in even closer as he let go. After he came, I continued to fuck him until I was ready to let go.
I rolled over on the couch barely able to breathe. He started to say something and I put my finger to my lips, “Shhh..” I whispered. He smiled and laughed, “I forgot you hate to talk after sex, you are just like a man.”
I closed my eyes and smiled, I was like a man; even though we had just finished fucking, I could hardly wait until the morning when I would be fucking someone else.
It’s All Fun and Games…
Women are very smart and savvy creatures. A woman always knows when something is going on. So when she feels that her husband is wandering, she takes drastic measures to keep him. This time it was in the form of an unexpected pregnancy; The Photographer's wife must have been onto him.
Until someone gets pregnant. Thank god, it was NOT me!
Women are very smart and savvy creatures. A woman always knows when something is going on. So when she feels that her husband is wandering, she takes drastic measures to keep him. This time it was in the form of an unexpected pregnancy; The Photographer's wife must have been onto him.
My excuse for being with a married man had always been, "well it's not like he has children". Until now. Now I had no excuses and wasn't quite sure what to say or how to feel.
His line was, "We can still be friends”.
My response, "We were never friends".
This hiatus lasted about 0.2 seconds before we realized we liked sex way too much, more specifically sex with each other, to throw in the towel so quickly. After all we couldn't let something like his unborn spawn get in the way of wild sex, could we?
It wasn't too long before he was on a plane and in my bed.
I began going to New York for interviews every few weeks and we would hold up for a few hours when I would visit. The thought of his pregnant wife distant in my mind and I assumed his too. Then one day Karma began to kick my ass.
And we all know Karma's a bitch...
The Blog Formerly Known As 'So I Met This Guy'
We bonded over our love of exotic food, or perhaps it was our love of wild sex. Either way we had way too much fun sneaking around the city ripping each others clothes off. It was such a cliche going to his studio, driving around in his beautiful sports-car. I thought it would all end when I left New York in the Fall, but it didn't.
So I Met This Guy…
One of my first interviews was for an online magazine featuring an extremely talented fashion and art photographer. As we were in different countries at the time of the interview we never met in person. Four months later I moved to New York and invited him for drinks to say thank you and introduce myself. My friend warned me about photographers and I remember telling her, "Don't worry he is 40 and married, I don't think we have anything to worry about".
That statement was the beginning of the end. Let's call him "The Photographer".
We bonded over our love of exotic food, or perhaps it was our love of wild sex. Either way we had way too much fun sneaking around the city ripping each others clothes off. It was such a cliche going to his studio, driving around in his beautiful sports-car. I thought it would all end when I left New York in the Fall, but it didn't.
It became more intense... he'd fly to come see me, say he was going on a "shoot" and then it was a "re-shoot". I would try to break it off, but was so wildly attracted to him and we'd have so much fun I couldn't help myself. Did I mentioned I have a thing for the English? His accent made everything even hotter (and more cliche).
Now, I don't want you to get the wrong impression, this is not a porn site, but it must be said, The Photographer was some of the hottest sex I'd ever had. He was wild, made me insane in all the best ways. His love of thigh-high stockings gave me an Agent Provocateur addiction; one I never managed to break. He had me completely wrapped around his finger and when I invited a friend to join us, I had him wrapped around mine. He was and most likely still is, a complete pervert and the idea of fucking someone half his age was a massive turn on.
I am not one of those dumb girls that thought he would leave his wife for me. That would have been terrible as who could trust a man that was cheating on his wife. I just saw myself as his mistress, the one he wanted to be with physically. It was a turn on knowing he had someone else and would rather be with me.
Then one day everything got totally fucked.