Three Days (in moments)

This is how to fit months of sexual tension into three days:

My stilettos threaten to slip between cracks on the deck. I have to stop kissing him to take them off. I have to stop kissing him and his hand draws back from under my skirt and I can’t stand it, not even for a second. I’ve been too long without kissing. I need more.


I’d forgotten how messy sex without condoms can be. I’d forgotten how much I love it. I’m forgetting words other than “yes” and “more” and “please.” He’s still looking at me like I’m performing miracles every time I come. I don’t know why. I don’t want it to stop.


He says “I need to fuck you” but it only makes me moan. I have his cock in my mouth. His hand is trembling in my hair. It almost feels like hes pushing me away, apologizing as he thrusts into my throat. I’m struggling not to gag, but the struggle makes me want this more. This is what I’m greedy for: feeling him tremble, hearing him gasp. I want to be solid while he quakes. I don’t want to stop.

He stops me. I’m pulled up his body into kisses that are all hunger and teeth. He says “I need to fuck you.”

I tell him “no.” Our bodies are pressed together. I writhe. He shakes.

“I need to fuck you.”

“No.”

He’s pleading, between kisses, for anything more than kissing. I tell him “no” as I slide two fingers into my cunt. I try to keep kissing him though I’m struggling for balance and for breath. He’s making a face like he’s in pain. I want to draw this out, seeing him this desperate, but it’s too much. I make myself come, far too quickly.

He insists it went on for hours.


Kissing, every moment I can steal one. In my hammock. Through the walls of a grave. In the passenger seat of my car, my knees around his hips, hoping my skirt drapes over his hands. I can’t get enough. He doesn’t try to stop me.


I fall asleep, or into something spinning and dark that might be sleep. He wakes up to ask if I’m okay, more than once. I’m okay, nervous about being not-okay but not uncomfortable being touched. We don’t sleep late, up near sunrise and unable to keep our hands off of each other.


I’m half-growling at him to fuck me. He knows I’m sore already. I know neither of us really cares. He pauses anyway. Asks if I’m sure. I’m more than sure. Demanding. He says “yes, ma’am,” and I don’t know whether it’s the words or finally feeling him inside me that makes me moan. His mouth is everywhere. On my mouth, holding me quiet. Teeth on my breast, making my body arch up into his. I keep asking for more. He keeps giving it to me.


We need to leave for the airport. He’s complaining that my underwear’s teasing, that he can see too much through the mesh, so I take it off. He reaches under my dress as we kiss goodbye, briefly slips his fingers into me before getting out of the car.

e[Lust] #75

Kilted Wookie
Photo courtesy of Kilted Wookie

Welcome to Elust #75

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #75? Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Is it hate? Am I a fraud?
On Rape Fantasy
Just Breathe

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

sex, surgery, celibacy

Sex, Death, and Squirting

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

On Filth

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Non-Fiction

How I Became an Escort
I’m 2 and 0 for the season
He fights back
Hands On
The foodslut and the semifreddo…
The Photographer
Ex-Nazi girl: my hand on the back of her head
I Belong To You

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Disciplinary Drives
Surrender
On Filth
On sex positivity in public play
Cock Rings 101
A New Scene

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

The Fuck Feast Sexual Literacy Test
Sex Toys in Relationships — Yes, it’s OK.
Negotiating Power
Out of Touch
Don’t catfish: Be you.

Writing About Writing

On Jackie
Trigger Warnings (revisited)

Erotic Fiction

This would be fun
The Fucking Machine.
Erotic Fiction…With Aura
A Little Romance
Domination Dreams
My Pretty Dead Ones
Crushed…

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

5 Hilarious Pieces of Anti-Sex Propaganda
19 Reasons to Cheat on Your Boyfriend

 

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Wake Up

I wake up badly.

I sleep badly, too: long hours of failing to lose consciousness, interrupted with a start at every sound. But when sleep does come it is a dreamless black, and I am grateful for it.

I do not wake up gradually. There is no softness to it. I wake up gasping, startled, terrified until I can see that there is no threat imminent. No one strange in the room. No sign of fire. Nothing broken. No one hurt.  Or worse, in sleep I feel or hear something that could be a threat, and I wake up screaming.

A friend is coming to visit for the weekend. I’m looking forward to seeing him, and looking forward to the sex. But it’s near enough now that I’m thinking about sleeping, and I’m worried. Last time he was here, I didn’t sleep the first night. Problem solved. The second night I did, and within an hour of drifting off felt movement and warmth next to me. Woke up screaming. Woke up instantly aware of anxiety-brain’s error but unable, for a few moments, to get it to shut up.

It isn’t fair to him and it isn’t fair to my roommates, that I can frighten them all when absolutely nothing’s wrong. When they haven’t done anything wrong. I have meds that help–that work during bad days, anyway, and have worked on nights alone, but I can’t help but worry.

I am afraid of waking up. I am afraid I will wake up badly.

Negotiating Power

I once told a man he should cheat.

We hadn’t seen each other for some time. He looked exhausted. Miserable. He was talking about his partner of more than three decades, about hospital visits and stress and fear. About making every decision, wondering whether it was the right one. His partner’s dementia had progressed to the point he couldn’t make decisions about medical consent anymore. He didn’t remember things he should, he slipped sometimes into other times or experiences.

They had no romantic relationship anymore. How could they, when one of them could remember the other’s name only intermittently? They had no sexual relationship anymore. Not safe, when one’s mental state and physical health were tenuous at best.

“I’m celibate.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to be, but there it is.”

I told him he should cheat. What else was I going to say? Wait for your partner to die, maybe for years, look forward to the freedom to have sex or intimacy again?

A relationship–any relationship–is an agreement. There are terms and conditions. I’ll cook, you do dishes. If you have sex with someone else, I’ll leave. The terms can be somewhat fluid and not always discussed, but they’re no less real for that. Your relationship is how you interact with another person: when you change, or they do, what you are together changes. The terms and conditions change. They have to, if the relationship respects the needs of the people in it at all.

Sometimes renegotiating an agreement isn’t possible. Maybe there’s abuse: a person who can’t safely leave an abusive relationship still has every right to exercise autonomy, and shouldn’t be bound by terms and conditions they have not consented to. Maybe there’s dementia, a coma, an injury or illness that leaves a person unable to consent. Should their partner be bound to an agreement they would not be able to make or affirm anymore?

I won’t try to sugarcoat it. It is cheating, to break a relationship agreement instead of renegotiating it or ending the relationship. And I want to phrase this carefully because I know how many cheaters will say they had to cheat, because they would not be able to do what they want if they talked to their partners. That’s bullshit. Cheating because a partner wouldn’t understand or might end the relationship is cowardice. It’s the refusal to respect the conditions the cheating person has agreed to, it places their pleasure above their partners’ right to informed consent, and it is utterly despicable.

Cheating because one partner cannot consent…it’s cheating. It’s cheating, and the situation is awful and the world is awful for letting these situations exist. I don’t think it can happen without admitting that the relationship is already irrevocably damaged. At the same time, I won’t say that the man I advised to cheat should have had to leave his partner– to stop caring for him, living with him, being his companion–if he wanted to receive any kind of affection at all. I don’t think a person who is unable to leave an abusive situation should have to be isolated from intimacy until and unless they can gather the resources to escape abuse.

It’s been a few years. I don’t know whether he did cheat, before his partner died. We don’t see each other often and it’s not my place to ask. But I think I’d give the same advice again. I’m not sure it’s the right thing. It probably isn’t. But when the ability to even discuss the terms of a relationship is absent, I think it’s only compassionate to expect those terms to be less binding than they once were.