She was out on her feet. The only thing
between her and the floor was me. Drunk duty was not what I'd had in mind when I called Emily."C'mon, Ashley. Let's go outside awhile." Two of the group had swooped in to help the drunk. "Here let me have that." One twisted the drink away from Ashley, thrusting it at me with a hissed, "here, asshole."
I swallowed my instinctive, fuck you; instead silently taking the tumbler and watching Ashley dragged away.
"I see you'll fuck anything. I'm glad it wasn't just me you were screwing-over."
"What? Emily? I didn't do anything."
"Where have you been the last three months?"
"I don't know. Work. You know. Around."
"Sleeping around is more like it."
"Even if it were that easy, I haven't."
"Why haven't you called?"
"Why haven't you?"
"Girls don't call guys. Guys call girls."
"That's BS. You've called me before."
"I've called you back. I never called you."
"Fine. I just called you about an hour ago. Did you invite me over here just so you could bitch at me?"
"No. I told you to come over so you could apologize to me."
"Okay. I'm sorry. I should have called sooner."
"And?"
"And I apologize for being a jerk."
"And?"
"And I'm sorry, I'm an asshole."
"And?"
"And. . . ?"
"And you're sorry that you're a man-slut who sleeps around and tried to fuck my drunk friend."
"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm a man-slut who tried fucking your intoxicated friend."
Emily eyed me.
"Do you forgive me, Em?"
"I don't know. I'll think about it while we dance." Emily began tugging me toward the dance floor.
Pulling into the drive and waiting on the garage door to open, it was nearly 3:30 AM.
"Shut up! She did not." Emily was yakking away into her cell phone. "That's disgusting. Get out!" She cackled. Even privileged with both sides of the call, it would have been impossible for the conversation to be anything but inane and juvenile.
I eased the car into its spot then watched in the rear-view mirror as the overhead glided back into place. I opened my door and before swinging out I turned to Emily and asked, "coming?"
Without missing a beat in her conversation Emily opened her door and climbed out. "She's such a slut. Could you believe what that skank was wearing?"
I led the way inside. My cat was waiting. I let him out the back sliding door.
"You know she's totally gonna fuck Michael tonight then go right back to sleeping with Josh."
Josh sounded like a lucky guy.
"Look. I gotta go, okay? What!? Yes. I am not! You're a slut! No, you are. No, I really gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay slut? Slut! Okay, slut." Having finally settled on their mutual degrees of sluttiness, Emily pulled the phone out of her ear and set it on the counter. "She's such a slut. Not a good girl like me." She threw her arms around my neck pulling me down to mash faces with her for the third time tonight. First on the dance floor, then in the parking lot and now in my kitchen.
"Did you miss me?"
"Of course I missed you, Em."
"Then why didn't you call me?"
"I've told you ten times already, kitty. I got busy with work and stuff. I know it's stupid, but I hadn't called in such a long time and hadn't heard from you--well, I figured you didn't want me to call."
"I like it when you call me kitty. I missed that."
"Me too, kitty." I kissed her.
"You were wrong. I wanted you to call. You shoulda."
"I know. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?"
"What do you think?" She kissed me. "Speaking of kitties, where's the cat? I missed him too. What's his name again?"
"Morris. I just put him out."
She kissed me again. "Mmmmmmm. You know what?"
"What?"
"I think I'm getting sleepy. You think it's okay if I spend the night?"
Hours of drinking and dancing had left Emily's scent strong. I reveled in it. I luxuriated in making out with her pussy, cleaning the soft folds of flesh contrasting the hard button of her clit. I sucked her tender lips into mine, alternately darting tongue then stabbing fingers into the recesses of her body, stroking her engorged g-spot. I answered Emily moan for moan, both totally immersed in the momentary pleasure.
But my cock was growing impatient. It needed to feel Emily from the inside too, and I began easing Emily down. Slowing the intensity. Making my attention on her cunt less sexual and more loving. My kisses straying further--the inside of thighs, her mound, belly. My hand sustaining gentle pressure and warmth as I maneuvered slowly up her body--tits, underarms, neck. I lifted my hips so I could reach my cock and wipe spit on it before sliding home.
"Is this all you think I am? Some slut you can fuck, whenever you want?" She stiffened and began backing up the bed.
Oh fuck! No, I called you at nearly 11:00 p.m. on a Friday night because I wanted you to join my stamp club. What the fuck do YOU think? "Of course not," I answered. "I've missed you, Em. I think about you all the time."
"Then why didn't you call? Where have you been? Why aren't we together?""How many times do I have to apologize to you? I told you work got crazy. I should've called, but I didn't." Even if I didn't, my wiener knew when to give up. Like a tortoise it shriveled toward cover. Think man! You've got to score. "I'm sorry," was the best I could manage.
"Don't you know I love you? I want to be with you? I want us to be together?"
Love? Where the hell did that come from? No, I had no idea, and it wasn't something I'd contemplated or wanted, but sensibility and desire were competing for control of my brain. Time. Borrow some time. Say something! "I don't know. I mean, no I didn't know."
"How could you not know?"
I was doing gymnastic mathematics in my head trying to calculate the chances of getting laid with squirming from this entanglement later. Not good. "I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure how I feel."
"You mean whether I'm a slut or a girlfriend?"
"No. Well. I mean. I like you. I really do."
"Like? You LIKE me?"
"I guess you're not the right girl for me."
"What in the fuck does that mean? Ten seconds ago you were ready to fuck me, but now I'm not the right girl? What kind of asshole ARE you?"
I didn't say you don't have the right parts. I'm sure your pussy works fine. It did before. "I mean. Well. . ."
"Well what? Am I your girlfriend or just some slut to you?"
"Well every girl I've ever fallen in love with has cheated on me."
This seemed to instantly mollify Emily. "I would NEVER do that to you. I'm not like that."
"I know."
"Then what's wrong? You can trust me. I don't want to be with anybody but you."
"I know that."
"Then it's something else." Emily's compassion was quickly morphing back into anger. "You don't think I'm good enough for you, do you?"
"No, that's not it at all.""You do. You don't think I'm hot enough for you. You think I'm fat."
How could she read my mind like that? "That's not true. You're very sexy and cute."
"Cute. That's just a nice word for ugly."
Emily truly is cute, not ugly. She is a bit chubby and somehow I'd communicated that opinion to her. She knew she was onto something. That I called her because I wanted to jerk off into someone, and I thought she'd comply because she couldn't do better.
"It's not you at all. I mean not that. You're too nice."
"This is bullshit. You're a fucking asshole. I'm outta here."
"I get off on it."
"What?"
"I get off on it."
"Get off on what? Using women? Being an asshole? You're a dick!"
"I get off on being cheated on." (Read more. . .)
7 comments:
So curious to know what her reaction was. BTW, glad to see your jacking with Jamielin feature is back!
This is a faux diary, isn't it? You don't have to answer.
I like the tone of your blog very much! Refreshingly void of exclamation-marks.
By the way, the girl lying on the bed with her behind exposed I already had selected for a caption of mine before you posted it. And one of the girls in your jerk-off-gallery too.
Affinity of tastes.
My God you work hard. Or am I too naïve? Is this stuff made up?
I love your pictures as always (except the last one).
PL
Thank you?
Fuck you?
Maybe thank you?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Maybe fuck you?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How the hell should I know if they're real or not? I just transcribe the dictation the way my cat gives it to me.
I've agonized a few days over responding to your comments. I've started several times then deleted them because I get so pissed. Was that your objective?
Just days ago I wrote how I HATE the web frauds--especially that loser prick with 100s of followers passing himself off as a cuck even though on one of his first posts he confessed his girlfriend "doesn't know. Boo!"
Heaven forbid I should try and talk about my pathetic life in a more interesting manner. Maybe you'd like it better if each story began, "this one time, at band camp I finally got a date with this bank teller I'd wanted to nail for a long time, and we went out, and I threw down a couple hundred bucks and didn't get a sniff, and she said I was gay, and it sucked, and she's a bitch, and now I wanna wear a skirt when I beat off, and here's some dirty pictures?"
I know I've addressed this before. Maybe in this blog. Perhaps commenting elsewhere. I think it goes all the way back to the Tara story. Or was it Vicki?
I doubt anyone reading this now was around for my prior blog's incarnation. Well in that I pretty much launched with a four-part story about Vicki. I've never successfully recreated that story because it strayed so far from the truth. Since then, I've written only what I know, including a very real event with Vicki.
Should you read my stories thinking they are video replays? No. I've readily admitted I take license--for both interest and anonymity.
If it makes you feel better believing it's all fiction, alright but keep it to yourself, please. My life is fucked up enough without people thinking it's bizarre beyond belief.
I guess maybe THAT'S the problem here. I'm the naïve one. I read much more extreme blogs and believe them. My life seems well within the normal, although I know it's not, but comparatively it is. So in the end that's what it really comes down to isn't it? I'm fucked up, and somehow I need to quit this don't I?
If only it was that easy.
End tantrum.
Or end tantrum!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sorry to have pissed you! I just read your Vicky story. Very interesting! I really have to read through all your blog, what I haven't done yet. After that I might come back to that matter.
As to the question that pissed you: I asked because I'm curious, but, honestly, I really don't want to know. I simply wondered if it were possible that a person so intelligent and experienced as the author of this blog undoubtedly is, can act so stupidly. Well, I know, also intelligent people go long ways to get laid. Or if you simply spiced it up little by leading the sides to an extreme. If you did, you did well. But as I recognized before, I have no right to know, and it wouldn't do any good to either you or me if you told me.
As to the problem of being a fraud:
I don't know the false cuck you talk about, so I won't opinate on his case. As far as I myself am concerned, I can assure you that you can't rely on anything I say about me. I have no problem with lying or assuming - or trying to assume a persona in the blog different of who I am in "real life". For one year I was a quite noted online presence on that wanking site imagefap, impersonating a woman. I had a lot of quite substantial conversation and cyberfucks (just in writing, necessarily and unfortunately) without my female gender having been put into question. What was a great satisfaction to me. I do not say that everybody there was convinced that I was a woman, but for the site's purpose I was a good enough female. (The story I published today is from that time, just with another introduction.)
JamieLin, you are a moralist, and I appreciate that. I guess I am too. I read the advice you gave to that kid Katie, and it moved me genuinely. The internet is a fun place, but also a very dangerous place for naíve people. It's not always easy to stay on the path of decency. I hope one can see in my case that I am trying.
Ah, and I love your pictures too, especially the last one.
Wow. I apologise unreservedly. My only defence is that the idea hadn't entered my head until I read Friedolyn's comment.
I'll write more in the morning when I have access to a proper keyboard.
PL
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