Sunday, June 10, 2018

Two One Two: White Lines

More archive materials from the past. I am posting these as messages-in-a-bottle, as memories from other days, from times when I was regarded as a good listener, as an interlocutor for lovely, sometimes self-destructive girls.

These notes are from a girl named Alessandra, someone I knew in another world, someone I knew when the century was still young. Some of the notes are about her friend-and-lover Alys--- yes, Aless and Alys. Red Alys, if I remember, with striking red hair. I have no idea where she is now. I'd heard that she finished university, taught English for a couple of years in Japan, and went on to law school and an MBA. I have a vague sense that she's doing something corporate these days, something in a high glass tower near open water, something that sends her overseas a lot.  I have no idea what she remembers about her past. The last time we spoke, we talked about Heath Ledger's death and a film Ledger had once made about drug life in Australia, a film from an Australian novel called "Candy".

I remember these stories, though, remember them from another, better summer long ago.

Oh, I wasn't happy with where my life was taking me in 2007. I spent half my time dreading going to class when I wanted to change universities anyway, and the other half actually in class and miserable.  I was isolated and doing tremendous amounts of coke alone-- in my private dorm room, in changing rooms at boutiques, in cubicles at the school library. I was in my first serious relationship with  a girl, one who had previously mainly been my best friend, and it was long distance. She (Alys, obviously) had been in a relationship with some Russian pre-med, eight-language-speaking genius, and I broke them up/she left him for me. She had a pretty bad coke problem at the time as well, and I was entirely emotionally dependent on her-- this accounted for MONTHS of being at one another's throats. 

While physically thrilling and fascinating to many, our relationship was beyond emotionally tumultuous, whether it was our age/immaturity, the distance, or the fact that we were two people who were already prone to anxiety who were strung out on coke 24/7, I don't really know. But it was a series of mind games and changes in voice tone resulting in both intentional cruelty and despair on both sides. I remember one night when we were actually together in bed, her becoming cross with me about something and saying that she wished her Russian genius boy would love her again-- I promptly took an x-acto knife and put gashes in my inner thighs. I hadn't been a cutter before, and I haven't been one since, but it was practically an automatic form of release.

My behavior lost that bit of exhilaration at being young and pretty and turned into a very bitter, very deliberate form of destruction that took its toll quickly. One acquaintance commented that when he saw me in Toronto in December '07, I was "electric"-- I hardly weighed anything, but was mercurial and alive, my eyes were huge and always darkly lined, and I was just burning with frustration.  By the end of my freshman year in May '08, all of that had taken a toll. I no longer looked electric as much as I looked completely haggard-- completely drained. 

Also, that particular highly-charged emotional restlessness made me emotionally dependent on others in a way that I generally try very hard to avoid. I'll always be a little reckless, I'll always be a little too daring, but I find joy in the balance of being those things as well as self-contained. I prize my ability to detach and withdraw more than anything.

Alys and I are still very good friends-- best friends, actually. She has a tendency to spoil me wildly, and we only recently (well, I say recently, but within the past, I guess, 6 months) have actually begun sleeping together again. It's easy to fall back with her--- it's easy and it's not fruitless, because I care about her more than anything else, and she's bright and very powerful in her own way. We just work at keeping things separate--- and who knows how well that goes, but so far (recently) we've managed.

Those notes are almost a decade old now. I have no real idea where she is now (Toronto? Vancouver?), and only hints that she's very corporate and flying to take meetings in cities filled with silent glass towers.  I'd love to sit with her over drinks in some neutral city and listen to her tales of her life over the last dozen years.  In the last exchange of notes we had, back years ago, she noted that Alys was returning to Halifax from Bermuda aboard a racing yacht with one of her father's friends, following up on the inappropriate glances she and her father's friend had been exchanging since Red Alys was in high school. I have no idea how that played out or whether there was any truth in it. I'd like to think it was true. Sailboats and posh girls and inappropriate affairs are perfect ingredients for stories.


Monday, June 4, 2018

Two One One: High-Functioning

A summer's evening here, warm and hazy. One more archived note, written originally almost sixteen years ago, drunkenly sent to a friend overseas in the austral summer.

The girl who wrote it reminds me that this is

an email from [me at 16], drunk and so stupid...

jim was an older, high-functioning-ish alcoholic that I fell in love with at sixteen...

The email is to a friend of hers, who was in China with her fencing team. So...let's go to a beach house on an austral bay in December of a lost 2002:

heyyy

wat the hell how come u sent Sarah 2 emails and me only one? that's so mean. i'm so drunk already its like 9 o clock here. it's my birthday tomorrow. ive had like 12 gin and tonics. i feel kinda out of it. we were having drinks and i got so upset i started crying. i was real gutted Christmas is so upside down ya know like spending Christmas with people that i never fucken see like my dad and his girlfriend but im not seeing the poeple i really love, its so gay. but jim looked after me and we had mad drunk sex. good to know. haha. Sarah just rang me and shes at a party at Telfords or something and Bradley Jacques is there and last week i went to Woolsworth and bought smokes and condoms off him and he's like real religious and shit and he didn't look to impressed with my fakey but he still sold to me. haha i dont care. so how is the Far East? how is the fencing? ya know its my birthday tomorrow. i'm 17 tomorrow like not a kiddo anymrore. by the way i had such a cool time last night me and jim picked me up and went in his car to Petone Beach and we just sat there for ages just talking and shit it was fucken rad. and i sucked his cock in the front seat ;) then we came back here cos im home alone and shit. Well i was last night and we just hung out, did lines and danced in the kicthen. he is so cool. ur like my best friend ya know and i'm not just saying all this shit cos i'm drunk. you are actually really cool. like not a cardboard cutout like Jingan and Juliana the Asians. You have like a personality. personalities are good. it will be so cool when you get back and we can go the Hummingbird and you can come to the Angus with the boys. oh my god, i keep having weird dreams about Fat Tony like i want him real bad but don't think i really do ya know. i can't believe you have not yet met jim. jim = light of my life, fire of my lions, my sin, my soul. ha ha just kidding that is Lolita. so what the hell loser EMAIL me!! why you email Sarah and not me? that sucks babe ya know. im a bit drunk so sorry if i upset you. you are rad as fuck.  

hVAE A good christmas in case i don't talk from you before then. i'm going to town tomorow for my birthday its tomorrow but jim's not going coming, i'll see him in morning instead. i wish he was coming i wish you were coming too. i know you think i just use jim and he just uses me but maybe it was kinda a little bit of that at the start but now i really quite love him a lot and he's cool as. He even knows about the venting and is a-ok.  i've gotta go now. email me back or i'll be so gutted. tell your sister.

laterhh

Sloppy drunk the night before she turned seventeen. I suppose I wish I'd known her then, just as she was launching out into her Bad Girl years--- her Bad Girl decade, really. I like her sloppy drunk, for whatever that's worth. She's a fun drunk, though prone to tears out of both sadness and happiness. I've no idea what became of Jim, though "high-functioning alcoholic" isn't something anyone sustains for long. How much older was he? Hard to say--- old enough to have a car in a country that tries to keep anyone under eighteen from having a "full" driving license. I also have no idea how long the affair lasted. Long enough for his inevitable collapse into being the non-fun kind of alcoholic?

Still...I've always envied her her past. Posh parents, inevitably divorced,  money and precious little adult supervision in her teens, a life by the beach, a life in posh neighbourhoods where long-legged blonde girls were given a great deal of leeway. She's a successful professional now, with a lovely reno'd house of her own and three rental properties providing her with a private income. A girl who flies to island countries for long weekends and takes her long weekends in elegant little retreat cabins by the shore in hilly wine country. Someone to whom I will always feel de bas en haut, forever and always.

I do envy her all her teen adventures--- envy, not jealousy. That says nothing good about me, but then I'm not likely ever to be described as "high-functioning" in any way whatsoever.

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Two One Zero: Lookout

Something else that I need to put here to be archived, I think.  A long account of an adventure a lovely posh blonde girl in the Antipodes sent me once--- a story from her teen years, back in 2002, in an email dated 29th March 2012:

They were water polo boys... I think I was 15, they were 16 or 17. We were driving round aimlessly in a Range Rover, parked up at the waterfront for a while, then drove up to the lookout.  We passed cans of RTD bourbon around. One of them rolled a joint. I was in the front seat, bare feet up on the dash. Jake, who was in the driver's seat, started kissing me & putting his hands down my top. Hadleigh was in the back. They were both blond, swimmers' bodies-- lean & muscular. Hadleigh was just on the verge of being drunk, Jake hadn't had too much to drink. I remember Jake leading my hands down to his cock, which felt so hard through his jeans. I undid his fly and took him out of his jeans. Hadleigh was watching everything from the backseat. I leaned over and started sucking Jake. He was running his fingers through my hair, gently guiding my head. Jake came in my mouth, and as I sat up and swallowed his cum with a mouthful of bourbon, I could see Hadleigh with his cock in his hands. He was so big and so hard. He pulled my arm and I climbed over to the back seat. I sucked Hadleigh's cock and swallowed his cum as it shot down my throat. I still remember Jake watching from the front seat.

Jake rolled another joint and climbed over and joined us in the backseat. Metallica was on the radio, we had a few more bourbons. There were always a few gay rumors floating around school about Hadleigh. I sat on Jake's lap and put my bare feet on Hadleigh's lap. Then some three way kissing just...started. I was just...filled with pure delight and amazement when Jake & Hadleigh first kissed. The way they looked at each other. Jake had his fingers in my cunt at the time, but I could tell they'd never kissed before.  Things progressed, and I watched fascinated as Hadleigh sucked Jake's cock. Jake had his fingers intertwined with mine, and he squeezed my hand so hard as he moaned and thrust and came. They kissed afterwards, then there was a moment when Jake and Hadleigh were looking at me. I thought I knew what Jake wanted, so I took Hadleigh's cock out and slowly started sucking. He was already hard. I sucked him, my eyes on Jake, until after a few minutes Jake leant down and kissed me, then took Hadleigh in his mouth. I sat back and watched again, so wet. It was incredibly hot. I had never experienced this before, and it was beautiful. Hadleigh came hard. Jake didn't swallow, the cum trickled out of his mouth, then he leaned and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 

I was like, gagging for some attention by this point. I climbed on top of Jake and rode him on the backseat (17 year old boys do have some good points...they recharge fast!) I finally got my orgasm too. They had both been fingering my cunt during the night, but I wasn't quite there quite yet. It was my first three way, and I fucking loved it. It wasn't until a few years later that I finally had two cocks in me at the same time, which was a game changer. But I will always think fondly of my night with the water polo boys.

The story isn't entirely implausible. My blonde friend went to a posh private high school that managed to be written up in her local paper on a regular basis for scandals involving sex and drugs. Not entirely implausible, though I might question the dates: I'd be readier to accept the story at face value if she'd been 16 or 17 herself. And I wonder if the boys wouldn't have been older--- getting cans of RTD bourbon at 17 shouldn't be a problem for any reasonably clever kids (it was no problem in my own school days), but American kids get driving licenses at 16 and I think where she lives, a "full" license, a license for driving at night is something that usually takes a couple of years longer to get. So I do have a few doubts. But I've had the story in my email for six years now, and it very hot. It's worth archiving here. Even if it turns out not to be literally true, I'm intrigued that she chose to use these images to make herself hot.

Any thoughts of your own?


Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Two Zero Nine: Rain

I'm going to be posting a few stories young ladies of my acquaintance have told me over the years.

I suppose these will be stories that I envy a bit, stories where I wish the male player could've been me. Or they may be stories I envy simply because they're hot and delightful--- stories from a world I wish I could be part of.

They're also here simply because this is an archive of sorts, because I want to be able to have records of these things, to have them saved in a place where I can read them again over the years.

This is a story from August 2012, a story told me a posh blonde girl in a distant city, and it's one of the hottest stories a girl has ever told me:

rain was pelting on the windows. i woke up on the floor, naked under a kid's toy story blanket. dry mouth, pounding headache, very shakey. i sat up, and looked around for my clothes. an asian girl was snoring quietly on the couch. there were bottles strewn everywhere. i felt sick and dizzy. my black jeans were in the corner of the room, covered in mud. my keys and $650 were scrunched into my pocket. weird, i never carried that much cash. i pulled them on, then vomited into a pot plant. i couldn't see the top i thought i'd been wearing, so i grabbed a men's shirt that was hanging on the back of a chair and buttoned it up. i had no idea where i was or what i'd been doing. i wandered through the small apartment. there were three men asleep in one of the bedrooms. in another bedroom was a few weed plants. i looked in the fridge and took out a beer. one of the men woke up and asked me if i wanted a smoke. we stood on the balcony, under the eaves, and smoked in silence. i have no idea who you are, he said. i just shrugged. you're wearing my shirt, he said. i just looked at him. i was feeling too dazed to put a sentence together. you can keep it, he said. he flicked his butt off the balcony, and offered me another. he lit it for me. can i see your tits, he asked. i nodded, and he undid the buttons on his shirt. can i take a photo, he asked. i nodded. he took out a battered iphone and took a few pictures, then started slowly sucking my nipples. he was tall, and dark haired. he had a beard and green eyes. i fucking love your tits, he said. do you want to suck my cock, he asked. i undid his jeans and took out his cock. i got on my knees and took him in my mouth. i was still feeling sick and almost vomited once or twice, but i loved the feeling of him in my mouth. do you want me to fuck you, he asked. i nodded, with his cock still in my mouth. i stood up and he bent me over the balcony and slowly peeled down my muddy skinny jeans. he kissed my neck and fucked me in the rain. the motion of it made me vomit over the balcony. i moaned at him not to stop. it felt so fucking good. his hand was rubbing my clit and his cock was deep in my cunt. i had purged and felt light and pure as air. he came, and rested his body against mine. he pulled my jeans back up, and buttoned my shirt. he put another cigarette in my mouth and lit it for me. i walked to caitie's apartment in the rain barefoot. i wasn't so far from there, 4 or 5 blocks. 

In November 2013, the same girl sent me this intriguing note:

Last night, smashing Jack Daniels, riding a rough bogan boy so damn hard, kissing his neck tattoo & thinking  is this how I live now?

Still have morphine in my pocket, still wearing yesterday's clothes, still thinking about you.

You'll never believe me til you're on your own.

The same girl sent me this a bit later, a lovely expansion of what she'd told me about what happened:

I got dragged to drinks at an apartment in the city by a friend who wanted to score some eccies. I was seriously not in the mood, but I know how it is when you need to score, and figured I'd go along for a little bit. We got buzzed up to the apartment floor, and as soon as I walked in I got a really great vibe. This was a seriously expensive apartment, huge, with a great view over the city and waterfront. There were heaps of people there...this bogan boy from up the line was doing the rounds of the room...I think he had some other stuff besides eccies, I wasn't paying too much attention. My friend paid for her eccies and we left. We'd just gotten into the lift when he came out of the apartment and called out 'Hey darlin', come for a drink with me?' We ended up at an irish pub, doing shots of jager & jack daniels. He took me back to his hotel room, and we did a few lines. I felt really hot, so I just took my top off, kicked off my ballet flats and sat on the floor looking at him, topless, legs wide open. I can still picture the exact look in his eyes as he fell to his knees and grabbed my anlkes, lifting my skirt, then pulling my legs as far apart as they would go.  He went down on me until I came twice, hard. I took his cock out of his jeans and started sucking him there on my knees. He came hard in my mouth, I swallowed most of it but some came spilling out my mouth and running down my chin. I wiped it with my finger then licked it clean. I could tell he loved that. We had a few more JDs, sitting naked facing each other on the floor, until he said if he didn't fuck me soon he was going to explode. I pulled him onto the bed and rode him hard, my cunt almost aching from it. He came deep inside me, his teeth around my nipple. He wanted me to stay the night, said he needed more. I shook my head, pulled my top & skirt back on, kissed him on the lips & cock and went to leave. He told me to wait, and gave me a hundy bag, and $50 for a taxi. He wrote his number on my upper thigh, and told me he'd hook me up anytime he was in Wellington.

I envy her sitting at a desk in her new house in a posh hip suburb of her city, looking at the hard drive where she keeps all her memories, seventeen years worth of them, all the way back to being fourteen. And I'm always both envious and jealous, thinking of all the stories she has there on that drive. I envy her being able to sit in her outdoor living space on the deck behind her house and sip bourbon and feel the wind in from the harbor as she loses herself in memories.


Sunday, April 22, 2018

Two Zero Eight: Caramel

I'm leaving notes here on a springtime afternoon. I have been thinking of how disconnected I feel from everything and how empty the year has felt.

Let's begin with---

My  friend who teaches abroad was once picked up by a chic Foreign couple in London Town. Nothing so terribly out-of-the-ordinary for chic couples to do in clubs there, of course--- bring home a lovely girl to play with. What made this story different is that the couple were from the Maldives--- he was some kind of junior cabinet minister; she was an official in some NGO or other. Wealthy Muslim husbands loose in LDN have been known to sample the local versions of depravity, but having the active participation of their wives, and especially a wife who works with some Islamic women's NGO...that makes for a rather more interesting story. Well, both the minister and his wife were Oxbridge-educated, so that may explain a lot. My friend would certainly have approved of the accents and the tailoring...as well as the exotic looks ("sculpted caramel", she enthused). She didn't tell me if the minister and his wife had any particular kinks; that's something I must ask about.

No. I have no idea if they paid her. I'd like to think so, if only because I rather like the idea of my friend's services being charged to the Maldives Treasury. My  friend does identify with Riley Keough's character in "The Girlfriend Experience". That shows good taste. Ms. Keough was strikingly lovely in that.

My  friend watched "The Girlfriend Experience" and laughed. Why, she said with perfectly poised sarcasm, this show is so...unbelievable! A beautiful girl with an academic background like that becoming a highly-paid companion to wealthy Older Men! Who'd ever believe in a such a character? I mean, in someone whose life was...exactly...like mine? If I'd been across a table from her in London Town, I'd have risen to my feet and stalked out of the bar without another word. Though I couldn't have had the satisfaction of sticking her with the check. She probably has a credit card from one of her Patrons. Or an envelope of cash. Though I wonder sometimes if my friend doesn't have enough of dark side to be more like the heroine/narrator in L.S. Hilton's "Maestra"...

That story is one about wealth and class markers. This one is darker.  A friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud wrote me in November 2012 to say---

My story probably isn't very remarkable...I was 16, drunk, high, at a party. He was someone's older brother. I didn't want him, didn't want it. He held me down and pulled my underwear down. At one point he had his hand around my throat, then in my hair. He was small, I remember that. He felt so small, and barely hard. He came on my thigh.

That's all. No description of what the party was like, no description of how he got her (presumably) alone, no description of what came after. She's never returned to the story. All my instincts argue that the context is what would make the story work--- what happened before and after. I suppose I never will know.

Yet I did ask the same girl if that was her only non-consensual experience in her teens. She wrote back (this was in May 2016) about a boy named Garrett:

he was tall, dark haired, rugby players strong build. the first time, he forced me to suck him. we were at his house, we'd been in his spa pool and watching movies when he pushed my head down and told me to suck him. I was 14, i think. he said you know you want to and that i deserved it. he came in my mouth of course. he is a big shot banker now...he emailed me a few weeks ago to help him work out a child support settlement! he never properly raped me later,  but we fucked for years after that, i wanted him so badly!

She was fourteen, she says. No idea about Garrett's age, or how often or for how long they did have sex. No idea about the key question, either--- whether they had sex again in 2016, when she was doing financial work on his child support settlement.

She always leaves mysteries, my friend does. This final one is from March 2014. Max is her golden retriever, still just a pup in those days:

did i tell you about the gorgeous maori boy i'm fucking. he's tall, with short dark hair & lovely brown eyes, light brown skin... he works at the doggy day care place max goes to, so he picks him up & drops him off every day. he was dropping max home one day and i was sitting in the garden drinking a beer. we started talking, and he showed me how he taught max to play dead. max was his last drop-off for the day, so i asked him to stay for a drink. he loved it that i don't wear underwear. his cock is beautiful.

Again, a mystery. Was it more than the one time? How did the two of them transition from the garden to the bedroom or the sofa? More mysteries. I'll have these notes, but I wish I had more context, more follow-up on the stories, and of course more detail.






Sunday, April 15, 2018

Two Zero Seven: Cars

My friend far away across the seas once sent me this note:

So many nights spent driving around with boys...I got my licence quite late, so if I wanted a ride somewhere I had to text a boy...and I liked to make it worth his while. 

I do love sucking cock, I always have. I have friends, even now, who hate it, and I just can't understand that. It is so hot, and such a powerful, sexy thing to do. I get so wet with a cock in my mouth, before I've even been touched. And I love the feeling when a man comes in my mouth.

She always claimed to have been the girl in her high school class who offered up instruction to boys:

Best memories... God, so many nights in cars...I was able to practice on boys just a few years older than me, so when I started spending time with much older men I was very good. And I like to think I returned the favour -- teaching 16 year old boys just how to eat pussy. 

I do remember one night...when I sucked two boys off while the other one watched... I loved that, and so did they. After I'd sucked off both of them and we smoked a joint, they did each other, which made me so wet... We were in the back of a car, and later I did ride one of them... But I still wish I could have had them both at the same time.

She wrote me later about the story with the two boys. It's not a bad story. Back of a Range Rover, parked at a lookout high above her home city. The extended version of the story is excellent and very hot. And plausible, mind you.  I've always loved her tales of her teen adventures, and I want to know more, to know about more nights at lookouts or parked on beaches. My only question about her stories is that she always portrays herself as very blasé about being seen having sex, as open to being naked around more than one person. I do wonder about that. Fifteen or sixteen seems to me to have been a time when people are easily embarrassed and usually very uncomfortable with their bodies. And my friend was ana/mia off and on through her teens and early twenties. I need to explore that issue.

In any case, the stories do make me deeply envious and jealous. I wish I could've been part of her teen adventures. I wish I could've been the one giving her rides. And I wish I could've been part of stories like that in my own teen years.

As much as I do love her stories, I find myself reading them and feeling glum. My teen years were nothing like hers. I do worry that she judges me for not having stories like hers, stories of her adventures amongst her city's posh teens. I worry that I'll never have the social and sexual points she amassed in those days.


Sunday, April 8, 2018

Two Zero Six: Grapes

Long ago, in the lost Year Eleven, a lovely young friend far away beyond the seas wrote me that:

oh, yes! went to Wairarapa wine country for a festival and had a lot of naughty fun between the wines.

She went on to say that

we met a group of guys early in the day and had a few drinks together, then came across them again at the last vineyard of the day...i sucked two cocks between the wines as the sun was going down...and scored 3 Es!

I asked if this had been two separate encounters, or if the two men had watched each other. Her reply was that

they both watched each other...then one of them licked my cunt...he was incredibly good considering how drunk he was.  i was on the ground, in a black and white striped summer dress, low cut and short, no bra or panties...i actually took a photo on my iphone of him licking my cunt...i have a shot of the top of his head, then another of him looking up & smiling...i love waking up in the morning & seeing photographic evidence of the night's depravity! they were both 50ish...and they both came in my mouth.

I found that story today in my email archives. Seven years old, it seems. That is a long time ago. My friend would've  been twenty-four or twenty-five at the time. She and I are still active correspondents (we've known one another for a dozen years now), and I suppose I'll remind her of the story. All these years later, I'd love to hear her own years-later take on what she told me once upon a time.I have asked myself whether I believe the story. It's not inherently implausible. She lives just south of the wine country, and she does enjoy driving up with her girlfriends for festivals. She does like older men, and she likes having more than a few drinks.

Of course, I'll never really know if the story is true. There's no way to do that, not at a distance of seven years and almost eight thousand miles. I'd like to think it's true because it's a good story, though I will admit to a gnawing, painful mix of jealousy and envy.

Jealousy? Well, that's obvious. In a better world, she'd have been doing things out amongst the vines with me. In a better world, she and I would've taken E and sampled wines and done wicked things. Envy? Well, as a gentleman of a certain age, and as someone whose social calendar hasn't been full this season, I envy her both the visit to the wine country and the adventure there under the grapes. I'd note that it's the stories I envy as much as the sex.   Sex with my friend would've been a delight, but having the story to tell--- sex with strangers! sex in a vineyard! wine country sunset! ---is even better than the act itself.Now I have said that for most of my life. The story is better than the act itself, and the story lasts for a lifetime. I will envy her being able to tell that story to her girlfriends over drinks for years.