It’s…cute. It’s the first cute thing I’ve wanted since the first boy I fell in love for, and that ended fucking horribly. 

But dammit, you’re cute. Not physically, getting that out of the way right now. Not bad, but still. You’re just…sweet and masculine and intelligent. You have a strong sense of self and a goal in life. That’s rare, and I seriously appreciate it. Then there’s the whole bit I found out about how you’ve only ever had two girlfriends. I think that’s what makes you cute. My track record takes both hands to count now and I have to pause to remember more. So yeah, to me, you’re cute.

You’re new, I think is mainly what it is. I want to unwrap you. Let you know you’re my toy, not that I’d treat you in a degrading manner, but I’d be able to play and explore and show you things. And you’d be strong enough to take it, to give it out. 

Dammit you’re cute, you bastard, why the fuck do you have to be so far away? Come. Here. Now. Let me know if you want this or if you’re just a flirt. I won’t take it forever. You do talk a lot but I know I can shut you up.

If you knew what I could do you’d live in my bed.

Goddammit you’re cute.

And holy fuck, stop talking about your dick. Whip it out.

I’m so fucking horny all the time…I need  help and like no one wants to help 

Wanting you is completely wrong. I’m already sleeping with your brother, but somehow that isn’t enough. I can’t help but fantasize about you, and sometimes even you and him at the same time. You are so incredibly irresistible. You’re a total alpha male with a commanding presence like I have never felt before. I know that in the bedroom you would make me your sex slave, which I have no objections to. I can’t help but watch you with your girlfriend and wish so desperately that you were touching me like that. I’m almost positive you know how I feel too. You catch me staring at you all the time, and you know that whenever you tell me to do something I will obey immediately. You probably realize it, but you tease me so much every time we make eye contact and you give me that “fuck me” look and every time you scratch my back.

I can’t help but hope that one day your teasing will finally lead to more. You’d give me the look and take me to your room. You’d push me down on the bed and tell me to stay while you strip down to your boxers. You’d pull me to the edge of the bed , standing in between my legs and strip me down to my panties.  You’d kiss me down my body, stopping to suck and bite on my nipples, then keep going and take off my panties. You’d lick my already wet pussy slowly and slide one finger in, then two. You’d kiss my lips so I could taste my own wetness. Once you got me moaning and thrusting my hips at you, you’d whisper in my ear “Hold still or I’ll have to punish you.” I’d bite my lip and nod as you took your boxers off, revealing your thick hard cock. “Get down on your knees like a good girl,” you say roughly and grab the back of my head slowly sliding your cock down my throat. You’d push my head up and down on your cock, getting harder with each thrust. After a few more thrusts, you’d bend me over on the bed, and slide your thick cock inside me, letting out a low moan. You’d slide it in and out slowly, one hand on my hip and one pulling my hair. You’d go faster and harder moaning louder and making me scream until you pulled out and come all over my back…now if only I could really make this happen.

Is having to play with myself 2 to 3 times a day normal when I have a partner??? I ask myself this question all the time… This can’t be normal or is it???

after having spoken to + flirted with alex turner (even though he has a girlfriend, awks) at a Black Keys concert, all i can think about is fucking him while listening to Brothers okay wow stop me this celebrity crush is going TOO FAR 

my ex-boyfriend’s friend

i met you two days before i broke up with him.
the fact that it all happened so crazy makes it so much hotter.
one day you’re just my boyfriends friend, the next you’re the object of my desire, sexting me and sending me pictures of your gorgeous cock. which is now mine.
we spoke about so many things; you got to know things about me not even my boyfriend knew.
you specifically told me you wanted to take my virginity.
this is such a turn on.
the day after that, you told me you couldn’t wait to see me, so we met. and we made out. and it was glorious.
you told me i should dump my boyfriend and be with you instead.
is this a huge plan to make me more and more horny?
a day after that, i gave you a hand job and you came on my hand.
the mere thought of that makes me wet.
now, i cant wait to go to your apartment and unzip your jeans and blow you like you’ve never been blown before.
i want you to touch me and make me cum so ridiculously hard you’ll friggin fall in love.
i want you to touch me everywhere. and kiss me everywhere. and slowly make me yours.
in the hopes that maybe one day, you’ll take my virginity just like you said you wanted to.
the fact that you’re fifteen years older than me and have two kids makes it even hotter.
what is it about older men.
and to top that, my parents hate the fact that i like older men.
i mean, come on, how can i not like you: older man, my ex-bf’s friend and my parents dont approve. that’s a recipe for desire.
i can already imagine your face full of lust while we make love.

Oh my god you are coming to my (isolated, up in the mountains) house and you are going to travel 5hours there and back just to see me I think I at least deserve a hookup on the beach plz

You’re so innocent.. (we’ll call you M). You don’t know the same world I do, you don’t know what sensual pleasure is possible. You needed the symbolism of eating a peach (cunnilingust) spelled out for you in Lit. But, the start of junior year, I immediately noticed a change. Your clothes changed, especially your shirts. You began showing off your body. I especially, vividly remember when you wore one of my favorite shirts, a loose but flattering blue and black striped one, I remember seeing you lean over and glimpsing almost your entire breast. I couldn’t think about anything else for the rest of the day. I could never summon the courage to ask you out, even though I think I’ve hinted at it pretty strongly. I often imagine seeing you go into the ‘off-limits’ areas at one of the school dances and following you to find you touching yourself, revealing the sexual self you repress. I would press you up against the lockers (you’re a big girl, as tall as me, so I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting you by being too rough) and tell you how badly I wanted you, how long I’ve waited for this moment, to pull up your sexy black dress and touch you, to learn the contours of your body, to be your carnal guide. I’d show you how to handle a cock.. Then I’d simply pull your panties aside and introduce you to the ultimate pleasure of sex right then and there, knowing full well we’d both be expelled if we were caught. Here’s hoping something happens this year, M.

            I was nervous, waiting to meet S in that pizza shop. I drank a whole liter of water before he showed up, and when he did I pretended to do physics work. I wanted to vomit and cry and scream all at the same time, I was so anxious. When he did arrive, I wanted the earth to swallow me up. He looked good, as always, wearing a white shirt and black jeans. I smiled awkwardly, dropping my notebook into my bag.

            “Hi.” I murmured, shaking. He seemed unfazed.

            “So… do you want to eat something?”

            “Haha, no thanks. Don’t feel weird if you do, though. I just… um. Ate. So, yeah, go for it.” I indicated to the man at the counter, looking at me as if I were some kind of awful freeloader, given that I had only ordered a bottle of water. I smiled apologetically.

            When S stood to collect his food, I inhaled sharply. Why am I so nervous and turned on and freaked out? I must seem like I’m on cocaine. I looked down at my knees, feeling inadequate. I have an urge to leave.

            “So how’ve you been?” He says, mouth full of pizza. The ends of my lips curl upward.

            “Fine. I mean… stressed, but fine.” Once again I have the urge to leave. I don’t want to fall into old habits and begin unloading on him. But I do. “Physics is pretty much ruining my life and I want to barf over everything. I fucking hate it.”

            S laughs, tossing his head back, peach curls going everywhere.

            “I missed you,” he says, looking me in the eyes, his blues boring into my hazels. Maybe the stereotype of soulless gingers isn’t totally untrue. He seems to want to steal mine.

            “Yeah. Me, too.” I sigh, “So, what should we do?”

            “My house is pretty boring.” He tells me, which I know means, “my house isn’t empty”.

            “Um, we could go to mine.”

            We walk the three blocks to my house, breathing in the smoggy city air and slowly becoming more comfortable with each other. Nine months is a long time.

            We’re in front of my apartment, and I become a little hyper from nervousness. I fumble with my keys.

            We’re inside my room, talking about what? Life? Endlessness? It usually comes to this.

            “I want to die a lot of the time,” I say.

            “I hate everyone around me,” He replies. I’m on the bed, he’s on the floor. We’re both looking away from each other.

            “I wish things had turned out differently,” I murmur, turning away and curling into the fetal position. There’s a silence as I stare at my poster-covered wall, letting that silence be filled with the jazz playing on my record player.

            S sits on my bed, and I dully feel the weight of him next to me. He puts a hand on my head, and runs a thumb up and down my cheek. I sniff and turn to him. He looks at me and smiles sadly. I bite my lower lip and bury my head in a pillow. A minute passes, and he’s lying down next to me, and we’re spooning. I can’t decide whether this is meant to be comforting or romantic. Regardless, it feels like neither—it feels oddly arousing. I tuck my knees closer and unconsciously push my ass towards him. I blush and refuse to acknowledge it.

            We’re quiet for a minute, and then S wraps his arms around me. I take his hand. I don’t know where this is going, or how it got here.

            “What are we doing?” S whispers. I swallow. I have no answer. He tentatively cups my breast. I grit my teeth, heart stuck in my throat. I breathe in, breathe out. This is such a bad idea, after all this time. I want to move away, but I don’t. I remain immobile. He begins to massage my breast, and I moan involuntarily. His lips are close to my neck, brushing lightly against my pulse. Yeah, really, what are we doing? My breath hitches when he pinches my nipple through my shirt. I turn around, hands gripping his shoulders. I’m breathing heavily, and so is he.

            “I—what is this?” I ask, dimly aware of the heat between my legs that I hadn’t noticed before.

            “I don’t know.” S blinks at me. He takes my hips and pulls me to him. I wrap my arms around him, our noses touching: his crooked, freckly one, and my straight, dark one. He kisses me. It’s nothing like it was three years ago. It’s hot, full of uncertain passion and anger. We were fourteen. Now we’re sixteen. It’s all different. I run my fingers through his hair, getting caught in his messy curls. His hands are on my breasts, pinching and squeezing. The intermingled pain/pleasure is surging through me like an electric current. I love him. We start making out, tongues touching tongues. This is completely unreal. I’ve never felt so wanted, so needed. Not even with my boyfriend. This is my best friend, the one I share anything and everything with. It makes sense for us to share this, too.

            His hand finds the hem of my dress and I find that delicious patch of skin between his jeans and his shirt. He experimentally kisses my neck and lightly runs his fingers up my thigh. I mewl in desperation. Come on, I urge him with my mind. I buck my hips up. He grunts against my neck, nibbling at my collarbone. All of a sudden, I have this awful moment of clarity, and push him away. His lips don’t detach from my neck, but the rest of his body moves away.

            “What—what are we doing?” I sigh, twisting my eyes shut. He stops his assault on my neck and looks at me. He looks worried.

            “I don’t know. It just felt… right,” He surveys me, watching my face for any signs of discomfort, “Was I wrong?”

            “No… but, there’s things we haven’t said, things that haven’t… haven’t had closure.” I’m holding onto him for dear life.

            “Do you have feelings for me?”

            I say nothing. He doesn’t have to hear it from me. He knows the answer.

            “But you don’t want me.”

            A feeling of foreboding begins pooling in my chest.

            “Because you’re still angry at me.”

            I look at a point on my ceiling behind him. The record’s stopped playing.

            “Look at me,” I hear. S cups my face in his hands. “I’m sorry for what I did. I was immature. And I’m sorry you were the only one who had to deal with my sociopathic bullshit. I fucked up, and now I’m alone. I loved you. I love you. This is so, so fucked up for both of us, but—“

            “Stop it.” I whisper. I regret bringing this to a standstill. I want to go back to the sex. I don’t want all these… feelings. S has just opened old wounds. He kisses my tears away

            “I’m yours,” he says, between kisses, “I’m yours.”

            “Oh.” I kiss him. These feelings are special, I think.  They’re not recycled.

            “I’m sorry it all got so fucked up.” He seems to enjoy that phrase, ‘fucked up’. I guess he has a point; this entire situation is fucked up. My dress is hiked up to my waist, his pants are partially unbuttoned, and his shirt is already halfway off. Everything we’re doing is poignantly speckled with old love, new love, lust, and our own uncertainty about everything. I lose my hand among the tangle of our limbs, and I forget whose arm is whose. My phone rings, and before I can react, S digs his short nails into my shoulder mid-kiss.

            “Don’t.” he commands gruffly, before trailing kisses down to my chest.

            “Wait.” I say. His blue eyes gaze up at me hopefully. I sit up and pull my dress off. I want to get my tits out. I feel as if it’s necessary. S takes his shirt off. For a minute we just look at each other in awe, as if it’s so shocking that we’ve actually come to this point.

            I reach my hands behind me and S’s eyes widen. I toss my bra away and my body warms at his excited look. I bite my lip, and he kisses me fiercely, toppling the both of us over. He kisses my breasts, teasing and licking. Trying hard to keep a clear mind, I reach my hands down and try to pull his pants down (he helps), only to find his arousal pressing against me. I stroke it and S pauses for a moment. He, too, reaches his hand down, tickling the waistband of my underwear. He gets closer and closer to my aching center through the cloth and as I stroke him I buck my hips upwards, begging him. We’re both exchanging heated breaths with kisses.

            “Let’s take these off.” S whispers huskily, fingering my blue panties. I nod, trying to do it myself. He stills my hand. He kisses my navel and the sensitive spot just below my hipbone how did he remember I am ticklish there? He hooks his fingers in my underwear and slowly, painfully slowly pulls them down. He runs his hands up the insides of my legs before settling where I need him the most.

            He circles my opening and I pull his face up to mine, “Do it.” I whisper shakily. He nods and presses his lips against mine. He slides a finger inside me, and I let out a small whimper. He smiles against my lips. I am made into jelly by the overwhelming pleasure of it all. His fingers expertly stroking just where I need it, the warmth of his mouth as it covers my nipple. He swallows each of my moans as he adds another finger. He almost sends me over the edge.

            I mewl softly when he takes his fingers out. He looks at me and licks his fingers, satisfied. I almost die from that action on its own. He pulls his boxers down. He lied. There are a few freckles on his penis. Nothing substantial, but there are enough to acknowledge. I smile to myself. I reach for a kiss. We look at each other, his forehead leaning against mine.

            “Yes?”

            “…Yeah.”

            “Thank God.”

            I breathe a laugh at his relief. S positions himself, and the both of us breathe in the same breath. In a second, he’s inside me. I grit my teeth for a moment, and he wraps his fingers around my ear.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Perfect…” I hiss, hands on his lower back, pushing him closer to me. This all feels too delicious. S filling me, touching me in all the right places. He slowly starts to move. A moan escapes from deep in my throat. My nails dig into his shoulders as we move together, gradually picking up the pace as we rock against each other. I find his lips. He smoothes a hand through my hair. He groans into my mouth, eyes squeezed shut. Every kiss, every stroke, every caress was a declaration of I’m sorry. Of I want to fix this. Of I love you.

            I’m not sure what I need, but whatever I need S manages to give to me. He increases our speed, pulling out all the way out just to slam back into me, never breaking our rhythm. His hand reaches between us and finds that tight bundle of nerves begging for attention. I nearly scream as he rubs me, in perfect time with every stroke as we drive faster and faster towards oblivion. Finally I felt it, a wave crashing onto the shore; my arms locked around his neck, my quaking legs biting into his bony hips as I come. He, too, stiffens against me, a guttural groan escaping him. My toes curl. Utter spent, he collapses on me, still buried inside me. My hand tangle in his curls, the other tracing indeterminable letters on his back. He shudders.

            “What now?” I ask.

            “Good question.” 

I reall really want to have with him to this song 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=trueview-instream&v=Ap-A0RKhi2s

i want fuck him slowly but hard , scratch his back raw … bite his neck and suck his cock until he begs me to stop. I want him to throw me against a wall and whisper in my ear angrily how much he’s fucking missed me and wants me … 

I want him to bite my ear and neck as he enters me … i want the sex to never end yet be full of desperation and passion .. In  all honesty i wanna be his girl for one night … 

One night of him and i … of past love , heat and passion … its sounds like a silly dream … i want it and i oh how i need him