The Inner Slut

I got myself a new job writing decisions for an appellate court judge. I expect to start in two weeks. I handed in my application for that same job in 2002, but it was only recently that an opening was made available. He asked specifically for me. For two reasons: I do good legal writing, and he has the hots for me. Which should not be a problem, really, were it not for the fact that his second wife's a friend of mine.

However, I am, at the moment, quite proud of myself. Yesterday morning, I was at my future office and was able to finish one decision in two hours. That included going over the record of the case (which wasn't that difficult, considering there were only three important documents to study) and doing the research to support the decision. But eventhough it was a simple decision, all issues were addressed and all rulings were well supported in law and jurisprudence. A piece of writing well worth the Supreme Court, if I say so myself. I only hope the judge likes my writing style because he's in real trouble otherwise. I'm not changing it for him.

And why was I at my future office if I haven't been officially hired yet? The need is urgent. They should've notified me earlier but I know the judge's wife, who's also his Chief of Staff. She's not the most organized person in the world.

It is officially the rainy season in the Philippines, as I haven't seen the sun for the entire week since 1 June. And despite Carl's protestations that this is summer in this area of the globe, the monsoon rains have moved in and are now looking for nooks and crannies in the Metro to play in. I've taken my coats and jackets to the cleaners, and have pushed summer clothing to the other end of the closet, to be unearthed again next year. Hopefully, they'd still fit.

Carl has sent me via email some of the pics taken during our week in Baguio. They make me smile everytime I look at them, which is everyday. I'm putting one up on my desktop, the one where Carl's seated between two life-sized stone statues of men posed like they were discussing something of substance. Carl appears to be making a point to one of them who, in turn, appears to be pondering the issue. Very funny. I know I shouldn't be looking at the pics every now and again, as they make me miss Carl all the more. But then, the heart has never been a logical creature....

My Dale

My sweetie is sick. Three days after he gets in from his very exhausting trip to New York, he wakes up 2 in the morning with a raging fever. I'm worried. It could all very well be the flu, as there is an outbreak of that in the Metro, but it could also be something else, something worse. I keep telling him and telling him, he needs to rest. But would he listen? No, of course not. He called this morning just as I was stepping out of the shower, saying he was on his way to the doctor.

He's been working too damn hard. How do I know that? Well, when your company's the only one in this economy garnering 40% more business when everyone else is either breaking even or shutting down, you're working too damn hard. And at his age, he could end up with a heart attack, or a stroke, or -- something equally awful or worse...Depressing.

Tom

I picked him up at the airport Wednesday midnight and dropped him off at his hotel. I'm hoping to see him tonight. He's having a lot of problems collecting payments from customers but the guy's as cheerful as ever. He gave me a call a couple of times since then, the last one just this morning. He says he misses me so much but there's just too much to be done first. He's looking forward to using that anal training kit he bought, along with the double-ended dildo, on me. I was amazed at how he got through customs with that lot. He says I'm just as brain-food to him as I am sex-food. What a kooky guy. Sweet, kooky guy.

Marge, on the other hand, is a bit anxious as to why Tom hasn't gotten in touch with her since he arrived in the country. A bit of insecurity there. Chinks in the armor. I reassured her it was because of business.

John

He is such a sweet thing. We took out a motel room with a jacuzzi. It took him a while to get things started, but when he finally got down to it, he was just so hot. He doesn't have that big a dick but it can get real hard. Even his balls were wound up so tight and hard.

He started stroking my thighs and breasts while we talked in the tub. Then he moved on to my clit and pussy. I leaned back and relaxed, enjoying the play. And as I got deeper into it, the more excited he got listening to my moans and cries. He made soft exclamations in my ear about how hot and tight I was inside, which later on changed into moans and exclamations of pleasure as my hands took over my clit. I stroked while his hand finger-fucked my pussy. That was a first. It felt so good I must've cum at least three times in that hot tub.

John is the kind of guy who looks for something more in an encounter. Nothing like a relationship or commitment, but something more than just a physical bond. That would be it, a bond, emotional, perhaps, or psychological. In short, he's looking for a friend as well. He enjoys giving pleasure to women.

The fucking part didn't last too long, as he was so excited, he came too soon. In fact, as I was stroking his hard dick and tight balls in the tub, he had to pull away so as not to cum. That's how my hands landed on my clit, for lack of something to play with.

He loves to kiss my mouth and suck on my tongue, and nibble on my nipples. He just loves to kiss. I like that in a guy. As long as he doesn't have terrible breath. He smells so clean and fresh. I hope I get to see him again.

Peter H.

This is a 57-year-old Norwegian who comes to the Philippines regularly. He's an expert on international affairs and deals with local trade unions and NGOs involved in formal and informal education at the grass-roots level. Let's just leave it at that.

He's 6'1", gray-haired, has a deep voice, very stern demeanor and manner. Come to think of it, he looks like a stern David Letterman. But Peter does have a warm smile. And he proved to be very tender in bed. And well-endowed. He had a hard time fitting that condom over his dick as it was just so big -- long and thick. Needless to say, I was excited at his efforts to get the condom on quickly without tearing it apart. Talk about anticipation.

Peter's not all that skilled. He remarked often enough on my lovely breasts and smooth skin. He also liked to kiss. But what turned him on was lightly trailing fingertips over, around and under his balls. It was very easy to please him. But nothing explosive. I laughed so hard after he'd made himself cum (fucking doesn't do that for him) and exclaimed loudly, "Now, I love Manila!"

He'll be back in August. I just hope I'll have time for him. he's sweet, intelligent and tender. Not cold and insensitive like the Euros I've encountered so far.

Mario

He's 52 on 15 June. Gemini, like my mom. No wonder I felt comfortable with him right from the off. Italian, with four young daughters from three women: Italian wife (divorced), Filipina wife (annulled), Filipina domestic partner (current). He stayed in the country because of his second daughter, with a Filipina bar girl, his second wife. It was for the kids whose pics he carries around in his mobile fone. It has always been for his daughters and will always be for them. He calls himself a stupid Italian passionata. I think he's just an all-around nice guy.

He's not tall, at 5'5". He's round, like my Dale, and balding, like my Dale. But he's very dark. He's the dark Italian. Very warm, beautiful brown eyes. Very thick, capable-looking hands. He looks like he loves to work with his hands and he'd be good at it, too. Aren't chefs like that?

He has a warm, open-hearted laugh which I heard the first time when I protested that I wasn't wild in bed. He has a very take-charge attitude too, like my Dale. But my Dale's aura is stronger. So I have a Light and a Dark version. Let's see if he's any good in bed. He swore he'd do the Italian men proud with me, when I told him he was the first Italian guy I've met. Raise the Italian flag, blah. Humorous guy. Here's hoping he's not just a bag full of hot air. We're meeting tomorrow afternoon, not just for coffee, if our schedules permit.