I Touch Myself
Walking up the street to his East Village digs I adjusted my black woven hat. As I climbed the stairs I hoped not to run into The Neighbor, who so obviously wanted me for him self.
May 25, 2010
I have always been a sexual person. Getting myself turned on as just a young girl, making myself loose my mind before falling into a deep sleep. Sex was just another step in my pleasure; I enjoyed it from the very first time.
Walking up the street to his East Village digs I adjusted my black woven hat. As I climbed the stairs I hoped not to run into The Neighbor, who so obviously wanted me for him self. John Galliano Guy opened the door and smiled. He had on skinny black jeans, nothing else and looked incredibly sexy. I was beginning to wonder if he owned a shirt.
Excited and with something to prove in terms of my willpower, I placed my hat on the end table. I lay across his bed and he unbuckled the straps of my 6”high heeled Top Shop mary-jane’s. “Are we going to do this?” he asked as his hands began to move across my legs. I nodded and bit my lower lip in anticipation.
The only rules were no touching, anywhere in the obvious spots and no kissing. John Galliano Guy moved his hands up my thighs and over my waist. He pushed my skirt up and pulled off my sweater. I could feel his energy moving across my skin. I began to move my hands over his body. We were face-to-face sitting just inches away. I could feel his breath on my lips; we didn’t kiss.
I reached down and began making tiny circles over my panties. He unzipped his jeans and I could see how hard he was. I lay back, my head on the pillow so I could watch him stroke himself. My legs straddled his thighs and he sat up on his knees; our hands bumping each other’s as we got ourselves off.
We let go at almost the very same moment. He was all over my breasts, everywhere. It turned me on so much seeing him let go. I slipped back into my dress reapplied my YSL neon pink lipstick. As I buckled the straps on my shoes I couldn’t help but think; if he was that good with out touching me, what was going to happen next time?
Sexually Challenged
It is beyond rare to meet someone and instantly get who they truly are, but that is precisely what happened. A sexier, more masculine version of John Galliano, he was the lead singer of a hip indie band. He had me mesmerized from the moment he stepped foot on the stage; I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. Let’s call him, John Galliano Guy.
May 19, 2010
It is beyond rare to meet someone and instantly get who they truly are, but that is precisely what happened. A sexier, more masculine version of John Galliano, he was the lead singer of a hip indie band. He had me mesmerized from the moment he stepped foot on the stage; I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him. Let’s call him, John Galliano Guy.
Months after seeing him perform live I found myself in his apartment throwing different looks at him for the photo feature I had arranged; I was hoping to mix a little business with pleasure. Wild, open and sexually free, John Galliano Guy would subtly graze his hands over my hips and waist as he passed by me. The little flirtations were incredibly sexy, especially with the room packed full with teams for hair and makeup plus the band and the crew.
We sat on the floor of his apartment tired after a long shoot; the others were finally gone. We talked about sex and I could feel myself getting turned on. I was dying to lean over and kiss him slowly, use the tip of my tongue to part his lips and draw his lips onto mine. I wanted to feel his tongue pressed against mine, his lips devouring my mouth.
Instead I sat there, breath heavy in my chest. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself at the irony. John Galliano Guy’s neighbor had been pursuing me for months, to no avail. If he only knew what I had planned for John Galliano Guy; it would make the poor neighbor’s head spin.
Suddenly I was jarred back to reality when John Galliano Guy asked if I was into mutual masturbation. I had to confess… My willpower had never been strong enough. A devilish grin spread across his perfect lips; I knew he was challenging me.
I didn't quite know how I intended to pull this off, but if I had to handcuff myself to the bed I was determined not to surrender. If there is one thing that should be clear, I never back down on a challenge.
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.