Monday, December 22, 2003
New blog
I've a new blog for my new big adventure or misadventure of moving into my own place. I don't really know if I'd be able to maintain two separate blogs. How to separate the home life from the social. Hmmm....Anyway, here goes!
So sweet...
Dale called me up this morning. We're meeting on the 27th for, in his words, "more time together than the usual coupla'hours." He said he thinks of me all the time. Deep sigh. I so fervently want to believe. I wish it were true.
So sweet...
Dale called me up this morning. We're meeting on the 27th for, in his words, "more time together than the usual coupla'hours." He said he thinks of me all the time. Deep sigh. I so fervently want to believe. I wish it were true.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Fantasies
I've linked to a great blog, Belle de Jour: Diary of a London Call Girl. Great writing. Simple design. Just great.
Dale gave me this book by Nancy Friday. Women on Top. It's about women's sexual fantasies. I'm reading it and I'm going, whoa! Like Dale said, it's not an eye-opener but it is affirming. It is.
My fantasy: He's a French businessman, in his early 40s. He's rich, of course, and jaded. Loved and lost. Yearning for love in his life. Just like everybody else. He's a dom, and he likes to watch his partner getting fucked by his friends. He's educated and intelligent, very attractive but not handsome as handsome goes. He's a man's man. And he doesn't exist.
We meet and he is attracted to me. He likes my big breasts and long legs, silky smooth skin. Asian does it for him. He starts as a dickhead, and I'm just tits and pussy for him. We start talking and enjoy each other outside the bedroom: email, phone calls. He starts coming to Manila frequently, every chance he gets, to see me. Sometimes, he invites his friends over for a gangbang wherein I'm always handled with care.
After a few months of this, he confessess he's entertaining thoughts of a long-term relationship with me. I balk. I am absolutely terrified, but I jump into it, nevertheless. So I relocate to France with my husband, I settle down into managing one of his many businesses. His main industry is construction, as he's a civil engineer by profession. His family, though, is in the hotel industry. So he has a share in this venture and owns one or two hotel chains. I'm tasked to oversee these hotel chains and he assigns his close friend and employee to teach me the ropes. I do well.
Encouraged by my success, he buys up this chain of 5-star hotels in Asia for me to handle. I am flabbergasted but rise to the challenge.
What's nice about owning hotels is that you have a ready place for kinky sexual activities. We have regular gangbang sessions with myself, and some other women to service the men. What's interesting is that I'm always the star of the event, the other women not being allowed to touch me or even stay in the same room with me. I've made that very clear to my husband.
I also meet with my husband's friends even without him, provided, of course, that they ask permission from him. Or I inform him of the event. What he and his friends don't know is that I meet other men, complete strangers, on my own. Not that there is any express prohibition from my husband, or any doubt in my mind that he would totally understand and not be jealous.
There's an alternative to this: My husband gets me a personal body guard, a big hunk of a guy, good-looking, clean, intelligent. He's supposed to check on every guy I go out with, to make sure that, first, I don't get hurt, and secondly, that the guy is safe and disease-free. He does a good job of it. Ultimately, I seduce my body guard and carry on a long-term affair with him, without my husband's knowledge. So after my dates with these men, I usually end up being fucked by my body guard and given a great body massage afterwards.
Don't get me wrong. My body guard doesn't fall in love with me, nor do I, with him. We're really good friends and we respect each other. I take care of him as he takes care of me. He's married with kids, and I'm a friend of the family's. Of course, his wife has no idea as to what's going on behind her back.
This is the exciting and most satisfying part. My husband buys up this big engineering firm where Renaud, Mara's lover, is employed. Yes, he is an engineer as well. I have no idea that Renaud is back in France, much less that he is in the employ of my husband.
I'm engaged in charity work and overseeing the construction of a hospital in some Eastern European country. I ask my husband to donate the services of his engineering firm. Of course, he sends a team to my office and guess who's in the team?
Here, I dwell on how I'd react and relish every minute of the meeting, wherein I'm totally cool and collected and all business. He's very surprised to see me and even doubts if it's really me, as nobody addresses me by my first name. But my adviser arrives and he calls out my name so Renaud's excited that it is me. When the meeting is over and as I leave the room, out of the corner of my eye I see him follow. I signal to my staff that I do not wish to entertain visitors.
My secretary follows me in my office, asking if I wished to see a certain Renaud who claims to be a personal friend of mine. I instruct her to blacklist the name. She leaves the room. Being blacklisted by me means you can never talk to me personally or on the phone, accost me out on the street or in the hallway or anywhere. It also means that, should anything happen to me, you'd be included in the police's list of suspects.
Of course, Renaud is surprised and frustrated at my refusal to give him audience. And, of course, he persists and doesn't give up easily. But try as he might, he never gains access to me. I would see him in meetings, bump into him at the buffet table in some office function, but I manage to pretend that he doesn't exist without my being rude. Easily done, since a lot of people crave for my attention. And my body guard sees to it that people in my list don't get near enough to bother me, without seeming to do so. He's a very creative and resourceful guy. We understand each other perfectly.
My husband's friends
There are five men, from mid-30s to early 50s. And they're all strong and virile, and terribly horny, with huge and thick cocks. They love to fuck me in groups. But the biggest of them all, in build and instrument, is Gregor, a huge, bear of a guy. He just loves to fuck me from behind. And when he does, no matter how long I've been fucked by several men before him, I squirt gallons and gallons of cum on his balls, dripping down his thighs and creating wet, sticky puddles on the bed. My pussy would always be sore for days after Gregor, alone or in a group. I am a limp ragdoll in his hands, before and after fucking. Hell, even during fucking, I am limp and helpless in his arms. When Gregor fucks me, everyone retreats to the sidelines, having a blowjob by the other women, or just watching Gregor have his way with me. They cannot imagine how a small pussy like mine could take in all of Gregor's 14 inches.
After his friends have had their fill, my husband soaks me in a hot tub. The men come in one at a time to kiss me goodbye. Finally, alone at last, my husband joins me in the tub and fucks me. I make small protestations but he wouldn't hear of it. He turns me not too gently on my knees and fucks me from behind. He cums soon and lies back with me resting on him. I am exhausted but after sometime, he's hard again and fucks me up my ass. This time, I protest loudly but he ignores my pleas. He slowly but firmly pushes his thick cock up my well-lubricated ass and fucks me, slowly drawing his cock in and out. I cry in pain and exhaustion but he continues to fuck, calling me a slut and a bad girl who needed to be punished for fucking all those men.
My pussy is throbbing by now, screaming silently for his cock. He pulls out of my ass, rinses his cock for a few seconds and then inserts it deliciously into my hot waiting pussy. I give a shudder and explode cum in squirts, creating small bubbles in the water. It is at this point that I pass out.
My husband, of course, panics and slaps me back into consciousness. When I do, I open my eyes to see the fright in his. He hugs me tight, and showers kisses all over my face. He carries me out of the tub, helps me dry off, and leads me to bed. We snuggle under the covers and I'm off to dreamland.
It's not difficult to imagine Dale as my husband in this fantasy. The fantasy actually came first, before Dale and I started to get close. It's a great feeling, thinking of Dale and how he appreciates me, how I want to please him. He promised to call me up tomorrow to confirm our dinner date. As I'm havng my monthly period, we won't be able to fuck. Too bad, as I wanted to give him a really great blowjob. Maybe, for the first time, I'll swallow. Who knows? For him, I'll do it -- or at least, give it a try.
Dale gave me this book by Nancy Friday. Women on Top. It's about women's sexual fantasies. I'm reading it and I'm going, whoa! Like Dale said, it's not an eye-opener but it is affirming. It is.
My fantasy: He's a French businessman, in his early 40s. He's rich, of course, and jaded. Loved and lost. Yearning for love in his life. Just like everybody else. He's a dom, and he likes to watch his partner getting fucked by his friends. He's educated and intelligent, very attractive but not handsome as handsome goes. He's a man's man. And he doesn't exist.
We meet and he is attracted to me. He likes my big breasts and long legs, silky smooth skin. Asian does it for him. He starts as a dickhead, and I'm just tits and pussy for him. We start talking and enjoy each other outside the bedroom: email, phone calls. He starts coming to Manila frequently, every chance he gets, to see me. Sometimes, he invites his friends over for a gangbang wherein I'm always handled with care.
After a few months of this, he confessess he's entertaining thoughts of a long-term relationship with me. I balk. I am absolutely terrified, but I jump into it, nevertheless. So I relocate to France with my husband, I settle down into managing one of his many businesses. His main industry is construction, as he's a civil engineer by profession. His family, though, is in the hotel industry. So he has a share in this venture and owns one or two hotel chains. I'm tasked to oversee these hotel chains and he assigns his close friend and employee to teach me the ropes. I do well.
Encouraged by my success, he buys up this chain of 5-star hotels in Asia for me to handle. I am flabbergasted but rise to the challenge.
What's nice about owning hotels is that you have a ready place for kinky sexual activities. We have regular gangbang sessions with myself, and some other women to service the men. What's interesting is that I'm always the star of the event, the other women not being allowed to touch me or even stay in the same room with me. I've made that very clear to my husband.
I also meet with my husband's friends even without him, provided, of course, that they ask permission from him. Or I inform him of the event. What he and his friends don't know is that I meet other men, complete strangers, on my own. Not that there is any express prohibition from my husband, or any doubt in my mind that he would totally understand and not be jealous.
There's an alternative to this: My husband gets me a personal body guard, a big hunk of a guy, good-looking, clean, intelligent. He's supposed to check on every guy I go out with, to make sure that, first, I don't get hurt, and secondly, that the guy is safe and disease-free. He does a good job of it. Ultimately, I seduce my body guard and carry on a long-term affair with him, without my husband's knowledge. So after my dates with these men, I usually end up being fucked by my body guard and given a great body massage afterwards.
Don't get me wrong. My body guard doesn't fall in love with me, nor do I, with him. We're really good friends and we respect each other. I take care of him as he takes care of me. He's married with kids, and I'm a friend of the family's. Of course, his wife has no idea as to what's going on behind her back.
This is the exciting and most satisfying part. My husband buys up this big engineering firm where Renaud, Mara's lover, is employed. Yes, he is an engineer as well. I have no idea that Renaud is back in France, much less that he is in the employ of my husband.
I'm engaged in charity work and overseeing the construction of a hospital in some Eastern European country. I ask my husband to donate the services of his engineering firm. Of course, he sends a team to my office and guess who's in the team?
Here, I dwell on how I'd react and relish every minute of the meeting, wherein I'm totally cool and collected and all business. He's very surprised to see me and even doubts if it's really me, as nobody addresses me by my first name. But my adviser arrives and he calls out my name so Renaud's excited that it is me. When the meeting is over and as I leave the room, out of the corner of my eye I see him follow. I signal to my staff that I do not wish to entertain visitors.
My secretary follows me in my office, asking if I wished to see a certain Renaud who claims to be a personal friend of mine. I instruct her to blacklist the name. She leaves the room. Being blacklisted by me means you can never talk to me personally or on the phone, accost me out on the street or in the hallway or anywhere. It also means that, should anything happen to me, you'd be included in the police's list of suspects.
Of course, Renaud is surprised and frustrated at my refusal to give him audience. And, of course, he persists and doesn't give up easily. But try as he might, he never gains access to me. I would see him in meetings, bump into him at the buffet table in some office function, but I manage to pretend that he doesn't exist without my being rude. Easily done, since a lot of people crave for my attention. And my body guard sees to it that people in my list don't get near enough to bother me, without seeming to do so. He's a very creative and resourceful guy. We understand each other perfectly.
My husband's friends
There are five men, from mid-30s to early 50s. And they're all strong and virile, and terribly horny, with huge and thick cocks. They love to fuck me in groups. But the biggest of them all, in build and instrument, is Gregor, a huge, bear of a guy. He just loves to fuck me from behind. And when he does, no matter how long I've been fucked by several men before him, I squirt gallons and gallons of cum on his balls, dripping down his thighs and creating wet, sticky puddles on the bed. My pussy would always be sore for days after Gregor, alone or in a group. I am a limp ragdoll in his hands, before and after fucking. Hell, even during fucking, I am limp and helpless in his arms. When Gregor fucks me, everyone retreats to the sidelines, having a blowjob by the other women, or just watching Gregor have his way with me. They cannot imagine how a small pussy like mine could take in all of Gregor's 14 inches.
After his friends have had their fill, my husband soaks me in a hot tub. The men come in one at a time to kiss me goodbye. Finally, alone at last, my husband joins me in the tub and fucks me. I make small protestations but he wouldn't hear of it. He turns me not too gently on my knees and fucks me from behind. He cums soon and lies back with me resting on him. I am exhausted but after sometime, he's hard again and fucks me up my ass. This time, I protest loudly but he ignores my pleas. He slowly but firmly pushes his thick cock up my well-lubricated ass and fucks me, slowly drawing his cock in and out. I cry in pain and exhaustion but he continues to fuck, calling me a slut and a bad girl who needed to be punished for fucking all those men.
My pussy is throbbing by now, screaming silently for his cock. He pulls out of my ass, rinses his cock for a few seconds and then inserts it deliciously into my hot waiting pussy. I give a shudder and explode cum in squirts, creating small bubbles in the water. It is at this point that I pass out.
My husband, of course, panics and slaps me back into consciousness. When I do, I open my eyes to see the fright in his. He hugs me tight, and showers kisses all over my face. He carries me out of the tub, helps me dry off, and leads me to bed. We snuggle under the covers and I'm off to dreamland.
It's not difficult to imagine Dale as my husband in this fantasy. The fantasy actually came first, before Dale and I started to get close. It's a great feeling, thinking of Dale and how he appreciates me, how I want to please him. He promised to call me up tomorrow to confirm our dinner date. As I'm havng my monthly period, we won't be able to fuck. Too bad, as I wanted to give him a really great blowjob. Maybe, for the first time, I'll swallow. Who knows? For him, I'll do it -- or at least, give it a try.
Tuesday, December 16, 2003
In deep water or shit, who knows?
It's been sometime. The most siginificant thing that's happened is that Dale now calls me up on the phone everyday, on weekdays. He sends me funny stuff on the net. He's told me stories about his family, his own adventures and misadventures. We went out last week. We had dinner at this Indian-Malaysian-Indonesian resto where the food was great. Fantastic curry.
He is such a good conversationalist. My only worry is that he gets bored with me because when I'm with him, I'm just so relaxed. And when I fee that way, I have a tendency to just drown in silence. I'm hardly the sharp wit and funny. I simply like to hear his voice and see his cute smile.
Art has started calling me up again. Poor guy. I can sense he really wants to go out with me on his own, without telling Ana (his wife) about it. But I don't suppose he'll ever get down to doing it, as Ana supports him financially. He wouldn't want to risk losing that. Not that I take it against him, nor am I being judgmental. I just wish he'd get enough courage to do it.
As for this love affair with Francis, it's going nowhere. The last time I saw him was three weeks ago. Since then, I've only been in contact with him through the phone. I don't think he can afford having an affair financially. Neither does he have time for it. I've decided to just treat him like the rest of 'em dickheads: If he calls, great; if not, fine. I don't love him, of course. I just want to love, or feel that I'm in love. But I suppose I'm too old to fall in love like a young woman.
Do I love Dale? Yes, I love him. What is he to me? He can be my entire universe but that would be unwise. So that's where I am, with Dale. I will not pretend that I don't wish that he were mine, or dream that he leaves his wife for me. I will not be such a hypocrite. He calls me up everyday, weekdays. That is enough for me. Surprisingly, everything is easy with him. No pain, no difficult questions. It's actually painless with him.
He says he likes talking to me, and the last time, that I was "cookin'." He's such a sweetie. He's given me a book to read, by Nancy Friday, on women's sexual fantasies. He's offered to lend me his DVD movies and when I declined, saying I didn't have a player, he offered to give me one, as a Christmas present. Of course, I declined.
I'm moving in - or trying to move in - to a house I've rented. It's time I lived on my own again. I've been in my parents' house long enough. Dale says he's bringing pizza as a houswarming dinner. Now, here's the complication: Darius and Ryan, not to mention Nelson.
Nelson's actually helping me out with the rent. Darius has bought me an air mattress, augmented my budget for the repainting, and has very generously given me his bamboo set for the living room. He'd have given me that dining set as well if I hadn't insisted that it would be too big for the house.
Darius
Darius, 44, Persian, dental surgeon, separated, with two college kids. We've dated several times already but we hadn't had sex. Not that he's not interested. He likes to hug and kiss. He treats me "proper" like I were an exclusive Catholic school girl. Well, I was, but that was eons ago. He's actually very sweet, a great guy. And what legs. he stands 6'1", very broad of shoulders, great chest, and thighs like great tree trunks, all muscle, hard and strong. He plays soccer the old fashioned way: rough and violent. But he's the most gentle of men.
Ryan
Ryan's a 24-year-old Peace Corps volunteer based in the province, some three hours away from Manila by bus. He's very bright, very sweet and, I bet, really horny. Small guy, very intense, and thinks himself the man. Amusing. I'd like to know how it is to be with a young guy who can last all night. He can't wait to come home to me. We'd agreed that he could come visit and stay the weekend once a month. We'd also agreed to present him to people as my nephew.
Now, all these men would love to spend some time with me in my house. They would just love to help me warm up the place, if you know what I mean. Except for Darius, he's made that clear. He was going to go by the book with me, as if this time around, he was gonna do it right. Refreshing, to be honest. But sometimes, I feel guilty to be acting the proper colegiala when I'm with him. Oh, well.
This will take a lot of skill in time management and memory work. Creativity and imagination takes center stage here. Laurent, my officemate, friend and neighbor, is going to freak out. But he's okay. I get along well with him and his wife. There's another one in the same subdivision and she's okay, too.
Ominous move
There's a nagging feeling at the back of my mind. It seems that this move is fraught with difficulties. Like I'm forcing things to happen. I've rented out rooms and an apartment for years. I'm no newbie in this. Yet, this time, it feels so difficult to accomplish. For one, my car has been undergoing major repairs. Of course, it's an 11-year-old car, what do you expect. Next, one of the three small rooms in the house is reserved for the stuff the owner left behind. (She's in Dubai, and left her neighbor and friend to act as her attorney-in-fact with regard the house.) I want to transfer all this stuff to the other, smaller room so I can have this bigger room to use.
Then again, the living room looks really great now (or so I'm told by Laurent) after having the walls repainted a warm caramel yellow and the plain, unpainted lywood ceiling, varnished a dark brown. The big home entertainment system cabinet I had repainted a shade of maple brown, from its original color of - take this - hot pink.
The walls of the room with the only windows on the second floor are painted this horrible hot pink color as well. I have to go around this. I'll probably make a deal with the caretaker to change this color and repaint it in its original color before I decide to let go of the house. I intend to show her first how lovely I can transform the place, so she softens a lot toward me and I can manipulate her to acquiesce to my plans. Mwahahahaha!
He is such a good conversationalist. My only worry is that he gets bored with me because when I'm with him, I'm just so relaxed. And when I fee that way, I have a tendency to just drown in silence. I'm hardly the sharp wit and funny. I simply like to hear his voice and see his cute smile.
Art has started calling me up again. Poor guy. I can sense he really wants to go out with me on his own, without telling Ana (his wife) about it. But I don't suppose he'll ever get down to doing it, as Ana supports him financially. He wouldn't want to risk losing that. Not that I take it against him, nor am I being judgmental. I just wish he'd get enough courage to do it.
As for this love affair with Francis, it's going nowhere. The last time I saw him was three weeks ago. Since then, I've only been in contact with him through the phone. I don't think he can afford having an affair financially. Neither does he have time for it. I've decided to just treat him like the rest of 'em dickheads: If he calls, great; if not, fine. I don't love him, of course. I just want to love, or feel that I'm in love. But I suppose I'm too old to fall in love like a young woman.
Do I love Dale? Yes, I love him. What is he to me? He can be my entire universe but that would be unwise. So that's where I am, with Dale. I will not pretend that I don't wish that he were mine, or dream that he leaves his wife for me. I will not be such a hypocrite. He calls me up everyday, weekdays. That is enough for me. Surprisingly, everything is easy with him. No pain, no difficult questions. It's actually painless with him.
He says he likes talking to me, and the last time, that I was "cookin'." He's such a sweetie. He's given me a book to read, by Nancy Friday, on women's sexual fantasies. He's offered to lend me his DVD movies and when I declined, saying I didn't have a player, he offered to give me one, as a Christmas present. Of course, I declined.
I'm moving in - or trying to move in - to a house I've rented. It's time I lived on my own again. I've been in my parents' house long enough. Dale says he's bringing pizza as a houswarming dinner. Now, here's the complication: Darius and Ryan, not to mention Nelson.
Nelson's actually helping me out with the rent. Darius has bought me an air mattress, augmented my budget for the repainting, and has very generously given me his bamboo set for the living room. He'd have given me that dining set as well if I hadn't insisted that it would be too big for the house.
Darius
Darius, 44, Persian, dental surgeon, separated, with two college kids. We've dated several times already but we hadn't had sex. Not that he's not interested. He likes to hug and kiss. He treats me "proper" like I were an exclusive Catholic school girl. Well, I was, but that was eons ago. He's actually very sweet, a great guy. And what legs. he stands 6'1", very broad of shoulders, great chest, and thighs like great tree trunks, all muscle, hard and strong. He plays soccer the old fashioned way: rough and violent. But he's the most gentle of men.
Ryan
Ryan's a 24-year-old Peace Corps volunteer based in the province, some three hours away from Manila by bus. He's very bright, very sweet and, I bet, really horny. Small guy, very intense, and thinks himself the man. Amusing. I'd like to know how it is to be with a young guy who can last all night. He can't wait to come home to me. We'd agreed that he could come visit and stay the weekend once a month. We'd also agreed to present him to people as my nephew.
Now, all these men would love to spend some time with me in my house. They would just love to help me warm up the place, if you know what I mean. Except for Darius, he's made that clear. He was going to go by the book with me, as if this time around, he was gonna do it right. Refreshing, to be honest. But sometimes, I feel guilty to be acting the proper colegiala when I'm with him. Oh, well.
This will take a lot of skill in time management and memory work. Creativity and imagination takes center stage here. Laurent, my officemate, friend and neighbor, is going to freak out. But he's okay. I get along well with him and his wife. There's another one in the same subdivision and she's okay, too.
Ominous move
There's a nagging feeling at the back of my mind. It seems that this move is fraught with difficulties. Like I'm forcing things to happen. I've rented out rooms and an apartment for years. I'm no newbie in this. Yet, this time, it feels so difficult to accomplish. For one, my car has been undergoing major repairs. Of course, it's an 11-year-old car, what do you expect. Next, one of the three small rooms in the house is reserved for the stuff the owner left behind. (She's in Dubai, and left her neighbor and friend to act as her attorney-in-fact with regard the house.) I want to transfer all this stuff to the other, smaller room so I can have this bigger room to use.
Then again, the living room looks really great now (or so I'm told by Laurent) after having the walls repainted a warm caramel yellow and the plain, unpainted lywood ceiling, varnished a dark brown. The big home entertainment system cabinet I had repainted a shade of maple brown, from its original color of - take this - hot pink.
The walls of the room with the only windows on the second floor are painted this horrible hot pink color as well. I have to go around this. I'll probably make a deal with the caretaker to change this color and repaint it in its original color before I decide to let go of the house. I intend to show her first how lovely I can transform the place, so she softens a lot toward me and I can manipulate her to acquiesce to my plans. Mwahahahaha!
