The Inner Slut

My allegedly political essays on Iraq, the consequences of the Philippine withdrawal from that country, and the inanities of the Coalition of the Willing (Idiots) I've decided to post on my other, more domestic, blog.

The Inner Slut doesn't go there. Too cerebral. Or too domesticated. In other words, too boring.

Written the morning of the 27th, when the stupid server was still down:

I'm sitting here, supposed to be working on an update on the banner cases against the Marcoses and their cronies but, instead, reading Robert Ludlum's Bourne Supremacy and relishing every word. I'm actually smiling.

When this stupid server gets up and running, I'll be reading Tom's email. Most probably chatting with him via IM. I'll be telling him about my coming interview with that training company. We'll be patching things up and maybe planning for his next visit.

Sometime during the first two weeks of August, I'll be called in for my first interview with the ADB, as part of their hilarious institutionalized hiring procedure. Full of themselves; full of crap.

Server's ok and I've read Tom's email and answered it. I apologized for being such a failure in my supposed field of expertise, communication. I made a promise to be more transparent and honest, with him and, most especially, myself. He's answered back, remarking at the great email I sent and saying he's on the road at the moment, marketing a new product across the US but will make time at the end of the week to send me a longer email.

I met Jerry last night, after some months of silence. It was in April I first met him, for coffee and the usual preliminaries. Nice guy, 38, Filipino, married, local airline pilot. Not a looker; but neither is he ugly. He has cute dimples right at the corners of his mouth. We talked more than we fucked. Like most Filipinos, he has a small cock that can get really hard. His was just right. It felt good in me, too. And since he was a breasts man, he had a great time with mine. But after that explosive night with Stew, I couldn't give Jerry a even small squirt. I've really depleted my cum glands. Amazing.

Afterwards, we sat on the bed, him, smoking and me, trying to keep my eyes open. I asked him to give me that speech that pilots give right before take-off. He couldn't believe what I wanted him to do.

"I'm stark naked!" he said, laughing.

"So? It's not the uniform that makes you a pilot! It's not the badge that makes you a captain! C'mon, let's hear it!"

"No way!"

"C'mon! Ok, deal. I won't look at you," I said, throwing the blanket over my head. "Go!"

It took a while but, finally, he relented and gave a half-hearted rendition of the speech. I complained but he wouldn't stop laughing about it. "The next time I give this speech in the cockpit, I don't think I can keep a straight face."

As we were leaving, I spotted his cap on the backseat of the car. I picked it up and handed it to him.

"Let's see how you look in this thing!"

Jerry put it on and turned to me. I took one long look and said sedately, "Home, James."

"Yes, ma'm!"

He couldn't turn the key in the ignition for laughing so hard.

I'm going to continue to see this guy, if only because I find it remarkably comfortable talking to him, and he feels the same way. He has a genuine interest in what happens to me and what goes on in my life. He is such a relief after all the cold play that goes on out there. Needless to say, I've found a real friend.

What is it with men from California that I find so appealing? Tom's just plain sweet, and gentle and warm. Selfish and a jerk at times, but mostly sweet. And then there's Stew, 45, 6" tall, married, flew fighter planes before becoming an international commercial pilot. Met him last night. I was just chatting with him via IM only last Friday and then Sunday evening, I received a text message from him saying he was flying in and would I like to meet?

He arrived at noon. He sent me the hotel phone number and I called him up. He sounded really good over the phone. To answer his question, I said I'd be in a dark printed tailored long-sleeved blouse and a long black skirt, very corporate. He laughed pleasantly. When I got to the hotel, he was seated right in the foyer, facing the doors. We brought my pack up to his room. (He carried it for me. Very gallant!) As we were waiting for the elevator, he took me in his arms and bent down to kiss me. I averted my face, chiding him softly, and he ended up giving me a sweet, soft kiss on the neck.

We had dinner at this great grill place in Makati, large servings, great price, although the service was lousy.

"I can't believe you've never been out of the country," he remarked. "Your English is so good."

I thanked him graciously. "I went to this very exclusive, very Catholic high school where all the rich kids went. Most of them had grown up in California. I even had this classmate who never spoke without the word, 'like,' in there somewhere."

He laughed. "Yeah. Valley girl."

"She'd go, 'Uhm, like, Alexander the Great was, like, a hero. And, like, he lived a long time ago, like, in Greece.'"

"That's very good!" he roared in laughter. "You sound exactly like a Valley girl!"

"What's frightening was when her mom came to the PTA meeting, she spoke exactly like her daughter."

Stew groaned.

"The mom said, 'So, like, where's the PTA meeting, like, held?'" I continued with the mimicry. "I went, Lemme guess, you're Sheila's mom."

"I bet she said, 'Like, how'd you know?'"

We both rolled in laughter.

"Years afer, I saw my principal again," I said. "I went up to him, greeted him but he couldn't remember me. He said, 'You must have been a very good girl. I don't remember you being sent up to my office!'"

"If he could only see you now!"

That got me really laughing. This guy's got a good sense of humor. He knows where I'm at.

We took a cab back to his hotel as it was still raining. He waited patiently while I took a shower. He's a good looking man, lean body, nice cock. He was upset that he fried his digital camera. The tripod was already set up by the bed, and all the accessories scattered all over the dresser. The problem was the adapter that he had bought that afternoon. There must have been a power surge and did the camera's circuits. Flies planes but can't get the right adapter to work. Cute. Men are so adorable.

So I came out of the shower, cuddled up next to him on the bed. He smelt really nice. Armani. We kissed. Pretty soon, he was sucking on my nipples and rubbing my clit. We knelt on the bed, facing each other. While he was busy with my tits, I was rubbing my clit against his fingers. It felt really good. Something about Stew just got me excited. Maybe it was his very expressive enthusiasm for sex. He was groaning and moaning, voicing out his appreciation.

I spread my legs as he finger-fucked me, deep. Soon, I was surprised to feel my clit tingling. That got me all the more excited. I've never felt that way for a long time. Since Tom, actually. I was getting wetter and wetter, and Stew, more and more excited and vocal. When I squirted through his fingers, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and whispered hoarsely in my ear, calling me a slut and a whore. I felt the juice run down the length of my thighs.

"I wanna eat that wet pussy," he groaned. "Right now!" He threw me on the bed and came down on me, sucking loudly at my sopping wet clit and pussy lips. He knew how to enjoy himself with wet pussy. All the time, the tingling in my clit kept mounting. I thrust and thrust my pussy right in Stew's face. Then he did something new; he rubbed his mouth against my clit and pussy lips. Man, but that felt really good. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I pulled gently away from him and started to rub my clit.

Yes, that was it. I remembered the sensation. No doubt about it, I was going to squirt. Oh, but Stew loved it. He got really excited and encouraged me hoarsely with dirty talk, calling me a fuck-whore and his naughty slut. I exploded with a deep sigh of relief. It's been such a long time. I felt the rush of hot wet juice gushing out of my pussy, onto my hand, down my crack and ass. Stew stroked his cock as he watched with pleasure, praising me for such a beautiful performance.

I lay back, exhausted. Stew massaged my pussy for a while, then came up to suck on my tits. My knees felt weak. I could feel the wetness spreading on the bed underneath me. I could smell the metallic odor of my cum. But instead of feeling disgusted, I felt really proud of myself.

Stew was grinding his hard cock against my pussy now. "You want me to fuck you now, baby?" he whispered in my ear. "This is what you've been waiting for, isn't it? You want me to fuck that cock-fucker now?" I could only moan in pleasure as he ground that hot hard cock against my throbbing pussy. I gave a small cry when he thrust it in. He felt really good in me. But I was so wet that I almost couldn't feel anything; it was like my pussy was so numbfrom all that clitoral stimulation.

Not Stew, though. He kept groaning how tight and wet my pussy was. He pounded and pounded his cock deep into my pussy. It started to feel good, and better and better as he thrusted deeper and harder. Then, I couldn't believe it, my clit started tingling again. I waited to explode while Stew was fucking me hard. My knees were up to my ears already, his cock, deep in me, but nothing was happening. So I reached down and started rubbing my clit. As if on cue, Stew pulled his cock out and moaned in anticipation, watching me rub on my swollen clit.

"Yeah, that's right, slut," he said hoarsely, as he stroked his cock. "Work on that clit. Oh, but you are such a cock-fucking whore!"

Once again, I exploded. I kept cumming and cumming. I was exhausted and wanted to stop, but the juice wouldn't stop gushing. I could feel my pussy muscles contracting, as if it wanted to push my insides out of me. Stew was ecstatic. I can't remember what he was saying, but he was so pleased. I stopped but my clit still tingled and a little stream of cum was still coming out of my pussy, so I went back to my clit. Another explosion, and cum started squirting out again. Stew was speechless as he watched. But I suppose it was too much for the poor guy, he had to stick his cock in me again. After all, what else could you do to a fantastically cumming cunt?

This time, the fucking was unforgiving. "This is what you like, isn't it, you slut?" he said viciously. "You're a whore. You like to pretend you're so prim and proper, but you really are a whore, aren't you?" I just had to laugh out loud. The Inner Slut beamed with pride with the recognition.

Stew thrusted and pounded until, finally and with a shuddering moan, he came deep inside me. I couldn't help but feel moved. It was so good. It was all good. When he pulled out his cock, I rubbed my clit a little more but, tingle as it might, no more cum was forthcoming. I had depleted my cum glands. I hadn't done that in a long time. I looked at the clock. We've been at it for seventy-five minutes. Mmmm. Talk about stamina.

We had to put towels over the bed so we could sleep on it, it was that soaking wet. He went to the bathroom but I fell asleep even before he came back to bed, I was that exhausted.

This morning, before I left, I leaned over him as he lay on the bed and kissed him on the mouth. He didn't smell of morning mouth at all. And his lips were so soft and sweet. He got up to see me to the door and said that we should do this again real soon.

Most definitely.

I met Alex in September last year. As I remembered him, he was unremarkable. He didn't really make an impression. Of course, reviewing that entry now, it seemed that I enjoyed myself with him. I can't really remember that lockjaw-inspiring moment but I must have enjoyed it immensely. And I'm surprised that at that stage, I'd tried ass-licking and rimming. Anyway, Alex looked different. It was some time before I realized that he had lost weight.

He seemed pleased that I'd noticed. He's not so big and heavy as before, but I did make the tactless remark that I like heavy men more. He was gracious enough not to let it affect him. In fact, he thanked me for saying that I liked him better when he was bigger. I am such a dumb, naive idiot. And at my age!

But, yes, his cock is as thick and hard as ever; his ass-licking and clit-sucking, just as enthusiastic as ever; his hygiene, as perfect as before; but he remains truly unremarkable. Not rude, but neither was he gallant; not pushy, but neither was he sincerely hospitable (I was there for a reason and one reason only); not cold, but neither was he genuinely interested in my personhood. It was not intelligent sex, but neither was it mindless fucking. I get the impression now that this was something he'd always had in mind, and that I was someone he'd like to continue playing with in the future, someone he'd like to cultivate an arrangement with. Thus, his careful and sensitive handling.

I got to his place without much difficulty, depsite the rain. No big deal, going there, as it was, after all, along the way to my place. His gates were open, as he promised, and his Honda CRV right smack in the middle of the 2-car garage, which left me the open driveway. Fine. Strike one.

The porch was dark and I couldn't see any doorbell. I stood there in the dark for some five minutes as my knocks didn't produce any results. Strike two. (In hindsight, he did tell me to honk the horn when I got there, but I'd forgotten or, rather, blanked it out as it wasn't a polite thing to do. Which was good, I think now, as I'd have cast attention to my being there if I had. He lives with his girlfriend.)

He finally opened the door and appeared without a shirt on, wearing just an Indonesion sarong. I thought that was cool. As soon as I got in and out of my raincoat, he reached out for me. I demurred, and he backed off gracefully with a little motion of apology. He made a quick comeback with an offer of a drink. We moved to the patio and caught up on what had happened during the ten-month interval. He was to be transferred to Hong Kong in September this year. I suppose that's why he was brave enough to invite me over to his place. Despite what the neighbors might say, he'd be well out of the house before they could do any damage.

The sex wasn't that great. It lasted for about half an hour. No kissing. Absolutely no kissing. He just grabbed my tits and sucked on my nipples. He then bent me over the window ledge and licked my ass. I rubbed on my clit to stir things up but it wasn't working. We went on like this for some time, then he got me to sit on the mattress laid out on the floor and offered me his cock. Now that was a beautiful sight. Hot, hard and thick. I couldn't get it all in my mouth. And it curved upward so very nicely, too. He then offered me his balls and, despite my hesitation, I took them in my mouth and sucked.

Usually, I'd get turned on by an expressive partner. This time, it didn't work. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not the first time, either. The last time I was with my Dale, I hardly even came. I came once, strongly, but that was it. He couldn't make me cum a second time.

Alex felt good inside my pussy and he did pound it well. But it wasn't prolonged and sustained. Again, my mind went back to Tom and his relentless fucking. I can't help but compare Alex's unfocused fucking to Tom's directed assault. The last time I was with Tom, I was squirting juice all over the place. Fuck, but I miss the guy!

---

I just got off the phone with my Dale. He can't see me today. A friend of his died of a heart attack last night and he's to go to the wake along with other friends. He sounded properly distraught over the phone. I am losing patience with this whole set up. Is that what he wants? I get the feeling he's just pushing me to end it all. Making it easier for himself? I'm being a bitch. I'm just exasperated, frustrated. I need a good fucking right now. I need to have explosive orgasms. I need it. Now.

Or not. Chocolate will help. And a good work-out at the gym. Plus, I haven't seen Spiderman 2 yet. I can go watch a movie tonight with a big bucket of popcorn. Yeah, why not? I've never disappointed me yet.

Got hit by an infection last Saturday and suffered a fever of 38.5 ce (101.3 fa). It's been a long time since I had chills. It felt strange and somehow brought back childhood memories. it was funny to see my feet so pale and to feel my toes so cold. My hands were cold, too. This, in the middle of the day in high humidity.

So I spent that weekend till Monday in front of the tv, watching movies and cartoons. I chanced upon Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility, the Emma Thompson starrer and screenplay. She really made the novel come to life here. The plot's compressed; details, succinct and economical; events, logical and credible; characters, true and lovable. However, I found Hugh Grant's casting at odds with that of Emma Thompson. They're not compatible at all. Alan Rickman (recently, Severus Snape) was a delight. I've always found him sexy (the man, not the character). But, all in all, it was such a delightful movie. I'd love to watch it again. Must do my usual rounds of the video stores for the cd.

Alex the New called up two weeks ago, asking to see me again. I was just coming out of my period so I declined, giving him some excuse or other. Actually, I didn't feel like socializing. Last Saturday, Mike, Mitsi's "master," called, just touching base. Wanted to play on the phone but I was in no mood, having been afflicted with this infection.

I'm seeing my Dale tomorrow, after almost two whole months of waiting.

---

Just got off the phone with Alex the New. I'm meeting him tonight at his place. He says his girlfriend's out of the country and he would really love to see me. Seeing action at last.

Everyone's welcome here - to stay or to go. There's no need for abuse.

I understand anger. I'm an angry person myself. But I don't understand lashing out simply for the sake of. It accomplishes nothing. It doesn't just release negative energy; it expounds on it, increases it exponentially. If it doesn't get me tangible, useful results, I don't throw a tantrum. Mostly, I don't just get mad; I get even. That's very satisfying. I don't believe in being angry and stupid at the same time.

Take the hostage crisis in Iraq at the moment. The Philippines has announced its pull-out from Iraq. I don't exactly know how to react to the whole thing. So, okay. You pull out your mainly "humanitarian" crew in exchange for the life of one man. So how are you assured that the one life you save will, indeed, be saved? Even CNN has nothing on that regard.

The whole thing is so stupid. The one thing I've noticed among the various news stories about this is the confusion -- about the deadlines, the stand of the Philippine government on the demands, whether or not Dela Cruz has been released already.

Confusion. Anger. The two don't mix. The Iraqi rebels/terrorists are angry. But this is where things get interesting. They had no hesitation when their demands were rejected by the US: they beheaded their American hostage. As well, they quickly beheaded their Korean hostage when Korea made it clear it wasn't negotiating. After such a terrifying show of arms and brute force, the terrorists had to get themselves a Filipino hostage.

This country and its government have never successfully dealt with terrorists. Case in point: the Abu Sayyaf. That one is just small fry compared to the Khaled Bin Al-Walid. Conrado De Quiros put it well in his column today. The former is a criminal gang; the latter, a political group. The former terrorized the country; the latter was a victim of terrorism committed by the Coalition of the Willing under the witless leadership of Bush, Jr..

This government could either not spot the major glaring difference between its past failures and the present crisis, or it did and panicked, giving in to the maudlin cries of a romanticized people.

Interesting to note that the Philippine Catholic clergy has not made one single statement about the situation. What? No opinion, Your Eminences? Is this a case wherein the inviolable separation of church and state is to be strictly enforced? In other words, you guys don't want to voice out an unpopular stand, do you? Local economy affecting Sunday collections badly, huh?

I've always advocated a "no-negotiations" policy myself. Admittedly, easy to say when the victim is not a relative or a loved one. But, at the end of the day, there is only one way to deal with terrorists: ignore, don't give them legitimacy by folding in to their demands. This decision to pull out by the Philippine government now raises the specter of future victims whose families will ask: What made Angelo Dela Cruz so sacred that he should be spared and our loved ones, sacrificed?

The Inner Slut and I are disgusted with the way things have turned out. War is always ugly. And we're bored. Haven't had a good fuck in weeks. Had a great time by myself this morning, though. No explosive cums, but good practice for what's to come. My Dale's flying to Hong Kong on Wednesday, returning Thursday. Might get to see him Friday, or not. Bored, bored, bored.

I had dinner last night with Steve, an accountant for an American cosmetics company doing business in the Philippines. Surprisingly, this number-cruncher has a sense of humor.

In his mid-fifties, British-born, divorced with two grown sons, Steve is a very self-effacing, down-to-earth guy, and a confessed sub. He likes to be tied up and has a domme girlfriend in New York for these things.

I took him to my favorite Japanese restaurant. We had a really fun time. I was surprised at how comfortable I was with him. The last time I was there was with Terry. And for an accountant, he has this sensitivity to the written word that I found refreshing. And a fun sense of humor.

Steve: You don't have to be stupid to be an accountant.

Me: (laughing) That's mean!

Steve: Some people are born to be accountants. Did you know that? It comes out in psych tests.

Me: Now, that's what I call a karmic debt.

Steve: (laughing out loud)

Me: I mean, you must've done something horribly wrong in your past life to be born an accountant in the next.

He came across my profile in this personals site and was intrigued and impressed, or so he says, by what I had written there. He said it was amazing for its imagery.

This has been a pretty boring week. So was last week. *sigh* I miss my Dale.