Sapphic Tinga Majigas:3

It’s been two weeks, and four days since I told Sloane to fuck off. I keep count because it keeps my rage alive and burning. I need that rage. I need it wrapped around me tightly like a toxic blanket so that I don’t admit that it’s HER I want wrapped around me, all sinewy muscles and the scent of jasmines in her stupid gorgeous hair.

It’s funny isn’t it? When I wanted her to talk to me or acknowledge my existence, she seemed to look through me and prance around everywhere but at my face. And now that I don’t want to be within a foot of her, she shows up everywhere all pleading eyes and uncertain smiles. I want to shake her. Scream at her.

I haven’t read the stupid note. I want to, but I can’t. Because she might be asking the same questions I have been avoiding myself. Why does it matter that she doesn’t want me? I know myself better than I know anyone else, and I know that I am acting a little bit too crazy for a one-time thing, even though I did admit that I have had a teeny tiny crush on her for as long as I can remember. But crushes never matter in a place like this, you fuck whoever happens to catch your eye and pray to God they don’t think you are dating because you let her finger you in the rec hall during one too many Nollywood movies.

 It all came to head one night when I was smoking behind the shade pretending the silence wasn’t overbearing. I swear I didn’t choke when she rounded the corner and froze, cigarette on her lips, matchstick blowing out against the wind.

For a minute I forgot that I was nursing a bruised ego and so badly wanted to go back to our usual unusual camaraderie, where we smoked in silence and I didn’t remember how her smirk felt against my mouth.  But then the minute she stood in front of me and opened her mouth to speak, I wanted to throw up and cry all at the same time. But pride is a beautiful weapon to have in moments like this.

“If you came here to smoke then please, by all fucking means do so quietly! “ I snapped and watched with satisfaction as her mouth pursed into a thin line.

“…did you..”

“Read your note? No. “

My fingers were cold, my nose was cold, and the cigarette went straight to my head and I knew I had to get away from her if I were to keep my mouth from running off.

“You should have.” Stoic. Frigid. Unmoving and my already frayed nerves snapped and before I knew it, I had her backed up against the shade, looking so deep into her eyes I could see my reflection, with a forgotten cigarette burning out on the ground between us.

“Fuck off Sloane. What part of that do you not quite grasp?” I want to say that my teeth were gnashed in anger, but I suspect that last part was more of a plea, a groan, than anything else. She heard it too I guess, and her gaze softened, eyes filled with something close enough to pity that I wanted to punch her.

 “why are you mad at me?”

I stared at her. She was serious.

My incredulous bark of laughter seemed to scare her more than my tone. She took a step back, palms raised in front of her as if to ward me off.

“Why am I mad? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I tried to keep calm. I really did but it seems I failed because she took another step back as I took a step forward.

“No, I’m not kidding. I don’t know why you are so mad. It’s not like it was anything more than a good shag, was it?” The question was tinged with sly hope and a small smirk and I wanted to punch her all over again. One day, I just might.

 “Fuck off Sloane.”

“But that’s not what you want me to do is it? I won’t fuck off.”

And her hands are balled into fists by her side, chest rising, eyes blazing .

“Then I will. Don’t come back here. You’ll regret it.”

Three nights in a row she came back. On the fourth, she showed up just as I was buttoning up my shirt, lips swollen and red as I smirked at a second year girl with a pixie cut and brown eyes.

She froze. Eyes wide, furious and hurt as she stared coldly at us, as the girl whose name I didn’t know picked up her bag and surreptitiously tried to dust off the grass from her skirt.

“Er…I’ll see you round Lola..?”

I pretend that she isn’t looking and I stroke her face, “ Sure thing…erm, ..”

“Tina…” she breathes, eyes fluttering. God this is too easy sometimes.

‘yeah, Tina.  I’ll see you around’

Sloane scoffs. Mutters under her breath.

“What do you want?”

“I came to talk,” she says, looking everywhere but at me, “but I see you were busy” she mutters darkly.

“Yeah I was. I’m tired. I’m going back in. “

“Lola…”

“You were right you know..” I look at her, and her gaze focuses on me. “ It was nothing more than a good time and I can have a good time with anyone.” I finish and I see her eyes shutter as I step aside and walk away.

She didn’t come back after that.

But we couldn’t avoid seeing each other everywhere else. We had atleast three classes together, and in all she would approach my desk and I would move away. Other times, she would walk in, glance at me and resolutely look down and sit as far away from me as she could.

I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore.

I was still so mad at her, but not because I didn’t get to get my rocks off, but because she was able to remind me of who I am, what a mess I was, and then look ever so disappointed in me when I did exactly what a mess like me did.  

I take out my history notebook and the note she passed me fell out. And damn it all I had forgotten about it. I tried to ignore the note which all but burned into my notebook as the teacher droned on and on about some fallen and forgotten hero of the war, but my stupid heart wouldn’t stop pounding hard enough to drown out the class. What harm could it do to read it, I asked myself and slipped it onto my desk.

Lola,

That day under the tree was amazing.

I think you are amazing, but I’ve heard so much about you and I don’t know what to believe, that’s why I’ve kept my distance. But maybe I was wrong? Meet me under the tree at 3.00p.m today.

S.

Well fuck.

Sapphic Tinga Majigas Part Two: Teenage Angst

She has been avoiding me.
Sloane.
And it irks.
One does not ignore you when one knows you are responsible for a bone melting orgasm under a tree.
One just doesn't.
Especially when one promised you reciprocation. Reciprocation that you have thought and rethought about since she promised you a 'next time'

To be honest, Sloane and I aren't friends,  we don't normally interact with each other, other than stolen glances across hallways, but we used to share rare midnight cigarettes behind the toolshed, where no conversations seemed necessary, where sidelong glances and bumping fingers would make me choke on my cigarette smoke.
But, I know you know that the minute someone ignores you, someone who you don't want to ignore you, you notice their every movement, and sadly, any lack of movement. In your general direction.

 

 

The thing is, we weren't friends that was true, but we were on 'friendly' terms, because I just don't share my cigarettes with just anyone, not in this hell hole at the very least, but now, I can't say the same. There was no way I could say the same when she walked right by me like I didn't exist, whereas my body would go into spasms of anticipation and gut wrenching want every time she was in my general atmosphere.
And more than anything, it sucks to be smoking alone. But it was not like we smoked together on a daily or regular basis, so I spent that time, wrapped up in smoke and daydreams of soft hands, soft curves and whimpers against my skin
 

The first Sunday after our encounter I was high strung from the minute I woke up, because this had to be the day, when you spend a whole week relieving the most surreal encounter, and an even more surreal promise, you are in danger of spontaneous combustion from the anticipation. I was burning up, I had goose bumps everywhere and   I  was probably the liveliest I could be during mass, and by that I meant I actually sang a hymn " Oh happy day, when Jesus came..." oh someone is gonna cum alright *sniggers*

I was also the first person to leave church. I couldn't contain my excitement, and I rushed to 'our' tree and lit up a cigarette to calm my nerves whilst giving myself a very stern talking to about proper before-shag etiquette. Well that etiquette lesson lasted a whole day.

By the time the sun was going down I was hungry and nauseas because I was, for all intents and purposes, stood up. I know, I know, this was not technically a date, but I was nonetheless so crushed, and I smoked through my whole pack of cigarettes in self pity and I was definitely not wiping damp eyes. Because who fucking cries over a fucking shag? Sure I had been looking forward to this the whole week, make that term, make that year, make that since the first time I let her bum a fag off of me. Don't misunderstand me, I am not in love with her, I had already accepted the fact that I am too self absorbed to feel anything of that magnitude. Maybe, just maybe, I had a bit of a crush on her. Just a tiny one, nothing too alarming, definitely nothing that should make me feel as if I had been bulldozed by a truck. It's probably just disappointment over a shag right? Of course it was.

 

The next Sunday, mass was not as joyous, because I had convinced myself that the timid inherited the world...right? And I carried on the whole week as if I was in penance

I dragged my feet to the tree, and I lit a blunt I had stolen from the cook, and tried not to let my heart skip a bit every time I heard the rustling of the leaves. I didn't smoke the whole pack. It was close.

 

Sloane, that bitch is doing my head in, its Thursday afternoon and we are in one of those rare classes we share and I can hardly breathe because she is sat in front of me, purposefully mind, because when she walked in, the seat next to mine was vacant and her eyes just glanced in my directions for less than a second.

Studiously pretending to take notes, and pretending not to see that she is passing notes to the bitch with the rabbit teeth sitting next to her, pretending that my stomach doesn't clench or that air isn't important enough.

 

I wanted this girl so bad, this girl who has always been unattainable and was only available for one afternoon, but on this hot Thursday afternoon, counting the strands of her hair and definitely not breathing in that scent that reminds me of something as sappy as my mother's jasmines, I have never hated her more.

 

My heart was beating wildly in my chest, at the unfairness of it all, at her cruelty, at my not understanding why this hurt so much. This happened all the time! People fool around and don't get hung up, yet here I am, face hot with anger and humiliation because all I can think about is bashing her head in because I didn't get my rock offs when I had the chance.

 

The more I tried not to think about it, the more I thought about it, the more wildly my heart beat, the more I trembled, the more my throat hurt. And just when I am about to lose it, just when I am about crumble and storm out....or pass out...or jump on her....

She turns slightly in her seat, so I have a good view of where her pulse beats above her clavicles, and I glance up and she's looking at me, and of course, my only instinct is to glance down, right where her pulse is beating wildly and right when she swallows and her throat, as long as it is constricts in that way that makes me want to trail that movement with my mouth. she shifts again and slips a note underneath my book...and lightly brushes her fingers over my why-the-hell-are-you-sweaty-today palms

It happens so fast and my heart, literally stops before my pencil slips off my hands and falls down.

She picks it up, and I honestly don't know why the whole class is still taking notes! I want to yell at everyone to stop and watch this! I am emotionally distraught, my whole body is shaking now because she fucking touched me, and apparently stole my pencil.

I give up, honestly, I give up trying to make sense of the class, of her, and my stolen pencil.

Luckily the bell rings, and everyone scrambles up to leave but I need a minute alone, I need to catch my breath and make sense of it all. I need a cigarette. Bad. But I need to read the note just as bad

I need to know why I was stood up, and ignored for two weeks

 

My brain catches up with the surroundings and I make a dash for the door, screw it. I need a cigarette before I make a scene. I am livid now, how dare she, how DARE she? two weeks! Two whole weeks!

 

"wait!"

 

I stop and look at her, hoping to all that is nature that I am as blasé as I want to be, as 'unaffected' as I can pretend to be.

I stare at her, really, stare at her because she is standing in front of me, with her head tilted to the side, with my stolen pencil hanging loosely from her slender fingers. There is no smirk today. Thank God cause I would have decked her.

I can't seem to open my mouth, so I raise my eyebrow at her. waiting. heart in mouth. hopefully not my sleeve.

 

"I'm sorry"

 

Silence.

 

"Lola..."

 

Silence..

 

"Please, I can explain...I..."

 

I laugh.

 

"Fuck off "

 

And I turn and try not to run. Away from her. To her.

 

 

There will be more

 

 

Namaste,

Bitches

 

 

 

I love you, I love you not

Sometimes when I look at you I fancy myself in love with you.
With the way your smile makes me feel. That not so little flutter in my stomach.
Especially when I am sitting next to you,  and all I can see are the light creases on your cheek and the crinkle in your eyes.
Or when you look directly at me. And it seems as if I was all you see. All you wanted.
Because you are all I wanted.  Still want;
Sometimes so deeply,  so fiercely my chest hurts
I reckon its the weight of my heart beating so wildly it feels like it wants to jump right out of my chest into your arms.
In those moments I think I love you for you let me take you as deeply and as fiercely as I need you.
Hard. Fast. Frantic. Furiously and oh so desperately it also hurts.
It hurts because when I feel you fall apart around me I think you feel my heart beat so hard against my chest trying to get out.
Those moments when I promise,  every time that I will be gentle.
That your neck deserves more attention than your soft wetness between your legs that you rub all over me.
Those moments I remind myself that you bruise like a peach so why do I end up clawing and pawing at you.
Trying to get under your skin. In every sense of the word.
Those times I try to convince myself that you like it when I pepper you with kisses and declarations of love and adoration.
But your whimpering and your sobbing gets under MY skin.  Which is funny because its your skin I am trying to get under.
And you almost always end up on your knees pert bits in the air covered in bites and spit, hands tangled in the sheets, a giant quivering mess of breathy moans and hoarse cries as I fuck the breath of you

And then there are times I KNOW I love you.
When I wake up in the middle of the night to your hands in my hair and every inch of your oh so warm body plastered to mine.
And I am scared because I am driven mad with lust.
And no matter what a stern talking to I give my hands they can't seem to stop roaming your curves and mapping out your softness.  Traitors.
Because I feel like a dirty pervert.
But you feel so fucking good I want to consume you and everything you are.
I want to say its because I am human that I wake up so hot and bothered. After all you are fucking sexy. And you have wrapped yourself around me so tightly I can't tell where you begin and where I end.
If it wasn't for the fact that your sleep pout makes me want to stick all manner of things down your throat. I would believe it.
Hot things.
Hard things.
Preferably things only attached to my body.
And then you whimper and shift as you feel said hard things poking at you.
Such a dirty little slut.
Mine.
And you would think that this is the time I would hold you down and fuck you into the mattress. Because its probably 2a.m and who has time for a slow fuck?
And then I feel your breath on my neck and suddenly the need has changed.
Its a slow burning inferno that consumes me and my chest also hurts and I want to cry because you are the most beautiful woman I know.
You wake up slowly and stretch sinously against me. So pliant and soft.
Sometimes I wonder if you are playing me.
Because you open up so easily.
And you fit so perfectly.
And we are touching hip to hip
And your moans are broken sighs and light nail pressure on my shoulders as I attempt to entice YOUR heart out into my arms.
And I want to plead with you to only take what you need.
And beg you to pretend if it happens that you don't love me.
Because I know you do.
But I don't say it because it's probably 2a.m and who has time for possibly lust driven declarations. Even though we would both know it's not.
But if you wouldn't take what you need then I will.
Because I don't know if you will be here when I wake up.
And I just need you.

Cock-loving Feminist

They teach us as we grow up that it is a woman's right to know what they want to do with their body.
They tell us, if you don't like it, don't do it. Don't let that boy stick his willy in if you don't like him.
They encourage us to explore our bodies, and I must confess that twelve year old me approved so much of this message. Especially at bath times. When I was old enough to be left in the tub alone. With a shower hose. After hiding behind my mum's desk reading grown up people books.
I need to quit with this digressing habit.

As I grew up, this information was in every magazine I read. and the message was all the same:
Empowerment comes with sexual liberation.
In my quest to be the most empowered powerful woman I could think of, I decided to take this task at heart. Sex. Sex.and more Sex.

They were not lying. There is something to be said about oozing the kind of sex appeal I feel I have. When you walk into a room with a floor length black dress that covers you in such a dreadful manner, yet you see the men stop, and the women cling to said men, then you will know what I am talking about. I take a little too much pleasure in the discomfort of other women the minute I walked into a room. I like to think that I look like a Queen. A debauched Queen you want to see shackled at your feet swallowing your cock.
I am a staunch feminist. Other feminists will disagree. Because they are of the opinion, so I have heard, that by wantonly wanting, no..needing to fuck and get fucked, I enforce the theory that women are tools for sexual pleasures. I would laugh in your face if you were even an iota of the woman you claim to be and said this to my face. But we both know you can not look at my face without picturing your husband's load dripping off it. I forgive you.

But see, its because of these women. These girls, who refuse to accept that with sexual liberation comes with empowerment. Its a rush that sticks to you that you can piss on someone and they would lose their shit. Its excites me when women tremble with lust disguised as rage when I look into their eyes.
They want me. They want to fuck me. They want me to fuck them.
They want to be me. To fuck like me. To be fucked like me.

It never occurred to me that in my quest to sexual liberation, I would meet an obstacle in the form of...it embarrass me to say this...but yes...emotion. Especially after I was so unfamiliar to it.
The only emotions I can remember feeling was lust, contempt, rage and smug satisfaction every time I was accosted for seconds.

I don't do seconds, simply because there is just so much to learn, to experience. Of course not everyone was amendable to that opinion...as I surely found out seeking liberation between the soft thighs of The Green Eyed girl.............................................TO BE CONTINUED

MUHAHA

You can't have your (cup)cake and eat it too

Cupcake read my last post.
Yes. We are still together.
Yes. we are still annoyingly cute together.
No. we do not take couple selfies.

So lady and I have this unspoken agreement where she does not read my blog. actually, she told me she would probably never  read my blog because my posts are too long. But she does. She never wants to dissect my posts and find a deeper intense meaning behind my words. and thank fuck that. But she knows when a post is up for discussion and when its not. basically if its up for discussion, she won't really say that she read it, like "oh I read your post today." no...random statements and comments will creep up on me during conversations that are suspiciously familiar. sometimes she yells them at me...at times she sneers them...but mostly she cackles. like a witch. A very sexy enchanting witch. and when its not up for discussion she so sweetly gets me a bottle of wine because I probably do need it.

Last week's post was hilarious for me...writing it was the most fun I have had in the advocate's library in like forever. but I was a bit embarrassed because I am a nice girl who should not talk about another girl's tits. No matter how imaginary said girl is. if you didn't read my last post... http://soshesa.blogspot.com/2014/03/sapphic-tinga-majigas.html

Anyway, we were sitting out with cupcake and the bff when the bff told me that her boy toy (forgive me, but you two refuse to define this thing so you get to be called boy toy) had read my new post, and was asking if it really did happen. The number of people who asked me that is insane!! i refuse to comment on it. So cupcake turns to look at me..as her eyes grow wider and wider at the hints of me writing smut.
"I swear the sex scene is like two sentences long!" and I do swear it seemed like two sentences long. Apparently it wasnt. oooops.

so this is Cupcake's reaction to my post.


1- The fuck are almond shaped eyes?
2- I do not want to see you talking to any skinny girls! (she talks like she weighs a tonne this one. )
infact, I do not want your eyes to wander to skinny arms. Twigs?? no. If a skinny girl is infront of you, close your eyes
3- we will cut down every tree in Mombasa.
4- I should not see you standing under a tree, or anywhere near a tree.
5- talk to a skinny girl under a tree and its over!
6-Do not smoke under trees!
7- do not share your cigarette with a skinny girl. especially not under a tree!!
8- any tree that stands in your way will be pulverized.

she jokes.
I think.

Namaste bitches.

Sapphic tinga majigas

Eh hehe...hahahaaa.... *hangs head in shame* here is some smut in form of apologies...who doesn't like barely legal lesbian sex???

Lets pretend that I am telling you about one of my high school Sapphic escaped. Because, really, who went to an all girl's boarding school in the middle of nowhere and did not hear those whispers, the vile rumors about what went on in the sports locker rooms late in the evening when we were all meant to be studying for that physics paper?

I wasn't what you would call a good girl if I am going to be perfectly honest. bare my soul and tits sort of. I was constantly in trouble for talking back, not wearing my shirt right, for coping fags from the school cook for a little graze of my teenage boobs. yeah, come on..i know you did it too, or would have if the only way to get a good smoke was to let the good old man cope a feel now and then. it wasn't really that bad really, sometimes I would be lucky to get a blunt now and again.

I had a lot of friends. I will call them friends now because I will sound too self absorbed if I called them followers. I don't want you to hate me. so I will call them friends. who followed me around, and made sure I had water under my bed for when the taps ran out.
I had this particular.....friend..no..i cant call her that either because we hardly interacted, but she was a frequent participant in my debauched daydreams featuring her almond shaped eyes and soft thighs..so we shall stick with friends..

I hope that's enough back story, because I am losing interest in my story already.

It was Sunday afternoon, after mass. Everyone was rushing to get lunch but I can't eat that slush if its not the munchies driving me insane. how did our parents let us eat all that crap? how am I still alive after four years of food doused in paraffin anyways?? it doesn't work by the way. libido was and still is a raging storm, sometimes the storm is so strong I can't leave my house because I am humping anything that comes in my path. In your face. So I go to the football grounds and light a bud under this tree who's name would make my story a bit poetic but I wasn't bothered to know the name then, and I am not bothered now. Man I gotta change my attitude though. It was a good bud. you know the one that unfurls in your throat and burns a little. slow burning and heavy. I like Sunday sessions because I can think of home and sleeping in my soft bed and not worry about being caught out. i cannot take another suspension. i would be kicked out for good and I doubt the old man would be willing to pay for a third school.

I am about halfway through my bud when my...friend...lets call her Sloane cause her real name is equally pretentious, shows up. See, she is one of those lithe slim girls with arms the size of twigs and a bikini bridge on her school skirt. Tall, almost as tall as I am, and dark skinned. I don't mind her being here because we smoke up a couple of times together. so I smile and pass her my beautiful bud that is making me feel too generous. she smiles back and sits down next to me and we smoke in companionable silence. you know the rules..puff puff pass.
In the spirit of baring my soul as I had earlier mentioned, I should come clean and say that I was not new to what happened next.
I don't remember any dialogue. i don't think there was any. but I remember her face as she knelt in front of me and pulled her sweater off. Its nothing out of the ordinary, taking a sweater off. its the most normal thing in the world to take your sweater off when it feels hot. so normal I had to take mine off too. she smirks a slow knowing smirk with her eyes half closed as a result of being too high but i will say it was the passion to make myself feel better.
That silly smirk i will never forget that seemed to say " i know what you are thinking"
which would be odd because even I didn't know what I was thinking about. the glorious weather, the smell of lingering marijuana, the taste of her lips..wait what? I crack an eye open and sure enough, I see her mouth attached to my mouth and her lashes fluttering on her cheeks. Look, one of the rudest things in this world is kissing someone and have them lying there like a dead fish. Dead fish I am not! and I really dont want to be rude...no sir. i am never rude. so I kiss her back with so much enthusiasm our teeth clash. but who cares? because one of my daydreams is happening right now and numb teeth will not get in the way of our tongues.
Its messy, its wet, its earth shattering good, absolutely fantastic the way she whimpers when my tongue grazes the side of her cheek. Incredibly divine when her hands tug on my shirt and slip on my waist. see the thing with being with a girl is the contrast between her vulnerability and her strength. here she is on one hand whimpering into my mouth and trembling as i lightly touch her shoulder and on the other she is pulling and grabbing my clothes as if she absolutely hates them. I hate them too. they offend her, then for sure they offend me. how dare they??

she groans and pulls away, and I really try not to weep because then this might never ever happen again. and that thought is worse than global warming. she says something and I can't hear a thing because I am really really trying hard not to get depressed. over a kiss for that matter. a mind shattering kiss, but still just a kiss. she stands up to walk away and i just cannot take it. my hands shoot up and grab her by her ass. I swear to the gods I meant to go for the waist. but since my hands are there already, I am hard pressed to take them away. she turns and quirks her eye brow and smirks. really, this girl smirks way too much and I am tired of feeling like the brunt of a cute joke she doesn't want to share. really really tired. and horny. so horny I could get off on my panties touching my clit. but where is the fun in that?
I tug at her hand and she almost stumbles on to me, which would be a fine position for some good old humping, but my munchies are kicking in. so I hold her steady at her hips and tell her to hold on to the tree. she does! such a good girl isn't she?
I want to be nice, make it nice for her so she can want to make it with a girl again in case this is her first time, but she looks so ready like that. legs spread tits to trunk with her skirt riding up her slim thighs. I run my palms up her inner legs. not softly, not roughly, just so I can see if her thighs really are that soft. They are by the way. so soft i cant stop running them all over her. but there is this stupid vile underwear that is obnoxiously in my way. so I tug it down. what is it with these clothes today??
 You know that soft skin on her thighs...its even softer on her cute butt. so soft i want to take a big bite of it...but its too far, so I settle for biting her leg. she shivers and sags a little. so i bite higher up, a little harder, and she whimpers (gods the whimpers) and slumps again. this new game of our goes on for a bit until she is breathing so heavily and I am biting at the juncture of her thigh and panty less butt.
I am clearly having the time of my life but apparently she isnt cause she reaches down and grabs my head in place and brings down her little hot wet self on my mouth. I love buds of all kinds but this little dark bud is probably my favorite. I should crown it. but now I am so fucking hungry. and Sloane is so kind to feed me, I really cannot be rude! so I lick her up, so fucking wet this one, and hot...really, she is so hot her fuck juice is hot. its like eggnog or some shit, only better. I am trying to be a lady here and eat her out slowly, make it good for her, but she is having none of it, and oh thank gods she starts grinding herself into my mouth, and I am lucky she is baby soft or I would have whisker burns for a month with her enthusiasm. her whimpers are moans now, and i want to tell her to keep down, but my mouth is otherwise happily occupied as I try to eat her heart out. oh did I not mention this? maybe...perhaps, i have this bothersome crush on her...and what better way to show her than to enthusiastically let her fuck your face? like really? she feels heavier, and my tongue is starting to tire out, all those letters of the alphabets i have been spelling to show her my prowess are starting to wear on me. so really the best thing to do is grab her...which i am doing. her legs are well over my shoulder now, my nose right on her crotch, and my tongue on that bud i wanna suck on. so I do...being polite and all. she comes too quickly after that. thighs and butt trembling with the strain, back arched and nub throbbing so hard on my tongue, cum dripping down my chin.

she lets out this deep slow sigh and unhooks her legs from my now sore shoulders, she bends down and gives me those kisses..you know, slow and soft with lazy strokes of her tongue. and really if the reward for giving her an orgasm on a tree was that, I really hope she is up to it again. soon. now perhaps cause i am still so horny my legs are numb...that happens. I swear it does!

she stands up and pulls her panties up and adjusts her bra and top.

my heart sinks. cause this is definitely it! she is going to walk away and leave me high and dry..

she smirks..again, i want to roll my eyes at her, I do...and they get stuck to the back of my head as I feel her hand between my thighs, under my underwear...and just as quickly, they are out. I snap my eyes open to see her lick the fingers and smile.

"next time"

I raise an eyebrow. i am really trying so hard not to pout
" who says there will be a next time?"

"oh there will be."

she saunters off.

I light a fag.

of course she is right.

Head in the sand, Apoligies warranted

I could apologize for my absence,
the upcoming post must hint at the fact that I only use this blog when I am a bit troubled, you will be wrong, because the last three months or so have been the toughest months I have ever had to live. more on that later.

lets talk about black pits and life sucking holes.

The new bio for my twitter handle is : sometimes I want to kill myself.

Anyone who knows me, and i am actually sad to say very few of the people who think they know me, actually do so, but the one or two who do, are probably not alarmed at my change of my bio, and my random re appearance on this blog, if they actually read it those fucking twats.

I have been reminded severally that burying my head in the sand and kicking up my legs, spread in manner of those head stands we do in yoga gets suffocating after a time, well yes, it is sand after all innit? But you know, its a good way of keeping your morbid and doomed reality at bay because the sun can't scorch me if my head is in a warm moist bed of salty beach sand and the breeze between my thighs sort of gets me off. oh come on, you know that was coming, that's why you read it, slut.

on and on, I must stop with going off the course, i am trying to explain why my life is doomed.

a friend of mine is in a dark hole, it seems I cannot make normal friends, for fuck sake. like why the fuck do we all have to have daddy issues, abandonment issues and a penchant for substance and self abuse?
But on and on, the only comfort I could give her was, eat pineapples, it will help with the happy juices that make your other happy juices taste better than artichokes and asparagus. bleurgh.

I could apologize for that, but I won't, and here is why;

it does not get better.
to anyone i have ever told that it gets better,

i could apologize for that too, but I actually believed it.

to anyone who told me it does get better. screw your logic and false hope.

no, the voices in your head telling you you are not smart enough, pretty enough, exciting enough will never go away.

you can however bury your head in the sand and throw open your legs and let the beach breeze waft between your legs,

but either a horrendously mutated sea creature will pay homage to your probably moist orifices

or you will suffocate.

either way, you pull your head out, let the sun scorch you, listen to the voices in your head rejoice at a chance to feast at your already diminishing soul, and then you go right back to burying it in the sand.

This cycle is tedious,

Sometimes darlings, I wanna kill myself.

ta-ta