In February 2011 my lovely, long-legged friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud emailed me to say:
darling,
its a rainy night here, and i'm texting a gorgeous girl who i'm meeting for a drink in an hour or so. i'm hoping to bring her home with me, and pass on some of my wisdom about corona bottles and pool cues. i shall share all details tomorrow!
She emailed me from her iPhone later that night to follow up---
her name is caitlin, she's 22. she's studying english lit & philosophy at uni. she drinks vodka tonics and smokes menthols. she carried 'the sun also rises' in her handbag.
In May 2011 she wrote this:
caity pissed right in my mouth when i was licking her cunt one time. she told me it was coming, she moaned 'i'm going to piss' and i just opened my mouth, i so wanted to taste her. i swallowed twice! a couple of small-ish mouthfuls.
By June 2011 she was writing to tell me that
Caity has a bright pink strap on, she loves fucking me with it. It's not huge, it's about 6 inches, but it feels amazing in your cunt. I love the look on Caity's face when she has me tied to the bed and just fucks me.
There were men involved, too--- most notably an ex of my friend's, someone with a beach house in a Wellington suburb called Seatoun, someone she described as "cute and stubbly" ---with whom my friend and Caitie had a few threesomes.
It ended badly, though. Caitlin/Caity was much more gay than my friend, whose tastes centered on older men. Caity wanted my friend to commit to the relationship, and while my friend enjoyed the sex and thought Caity was beautiful and bright, she wasn't going to be openly gay and/or monogamous. She'd had flings with girls since she was fifteen or sixteen, and she took having bi affairs as just part of being a posh party girl. But she wasn't ready to be as gay as Caity. Caity was heartbroken and bitter, and blocked my friend's phone number. As far as I know, they haven't seen each other since 2012. A sad ending, I know.
They had something just under a year together. There were stories in there--- the two of them at Wellington Sevens, adventures with Scottish and Kenyan rugby players, a 21-year old boy who claimed to be a virgin, possibly one of Caity's professors. Those are all stories I want to follow up on, threads I've needed to follow all these years. I'm jealous and envious, of course. Though perhaps more envious of the stories than of the adventures as such.
And I do wonder what other novels Caitlin / Caity kept in her handbag.
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Two Five Nine: Threads 3
Another loose thread left from stories I've been told over the last few years---
Afterwards, i spent my nights with younger boys, drinking cheap bourbon and listening to loud drum and bass. Younger boys were the cure for the heartbreak caused by the older men in my life. They were wild but easy. We would drive drunk and do burnouts in their crappy cars at Skid Alley, an empty lot in an industrial part of town. We had tactical vomits together in carparks halfway through the night on our way between bars. But we spent most of our time at house parties or at the beach. Bars and clubs didn't give us enough freedom to smoke, for their scuffles, for our endless drinking games. The end goal was always to get as fucked up as possible. The day after our parties we smoked weed and and cuddled under blankets watching 90s kids' films. We would fall into bed together, drunk and high. sometimes we just slept it off, sometimes we would just talk for hours and trade movie quotes back and forth, sometimes we fucked. No matter how we spent the last part of the night, everything would be the same in the morning.
A lovely friend sent me this once upon a time when we were talking about our younger days. Her younger days--- the days she's writing about here ---would've been at the turn of the century, in the very early Noughts. She'd have been sixteen in December of 2001. My own younger days would've been much, much farther into the depths of the Long Ago. Her stories, the stories implicit in the quote, might've been anytime between 2001 and 2005 or 2006. Boys--- "younger boys" ---wouldn't have had cars until 2001 or 2002. She graduated from her posh school in 2003, and the stories might well have gone on through her years at university. I've no idea how easy it was for teens to get into clubs and bars and drink where she lived in those days.
As for my own life, I don't think I went to more than two or three house parties in my high school days, and even at university I never really went out in groups. I wasn't amongst the excluded or ostracized, but I was someone on the edges of groups, someone at a party who was there with a drink in his hand, but not part of conversations. I have never done a "tactical vomit"--- I will note that. Needless to say, I wish I knew more about her stories. I wish she'd given examples of the adventures she had in those days. And I envy her those days with the consuming envy of someone who thinks his own life and past (at least in the days that really count for purposes of stories years later) was never as good as my lovely friend's.
Afterwards, i spent my nights with younger boys, drinking cheap bourbon and listening to loud drum and bass. Younger boys were the cure for the heartbreak caused by the older men in my life. They were wild but easy. We would drive drunk and do burnouts in their crappy cars at Skid Alley, an empty lot in an industrial part of town. We had tactical vomits together in carparks halfway through the night on our way between bars. But we spent most of our time at house parties or at the beach. Bars and clubs didn't give us enough freedom to smoke, for their scuffles, for our endless drinking games. The end goal was always to get as fucked up as possible. The day after our parties we smoked weed and and cuddled under blankets watching 90s kids' films. We would fall into bed together, drunk and high. sometimes we just slept it off, sometimes we would just talk for hours and trade movie quotes back and forth, sometimes we fucked. No matter how we spent the last part of the night, everything would be the same in the morning.
A lovely friend sent me this once upon a time when we were talking about our younger days. Her younger days--- the days she's writing about here ---would've been at the turn of the century, in the very early Noughts. She'd have been sixteen in December of 2001. My own younger days would've been much, much farther into the depths of the Long Ago. Her stories, the stories implicit in the quote, might've been anytime between 2001 and 2005 or 2006. Boys--- "younger boys" ---wouldn't have had cars until 2001 or 2002. She graduated from her posh school in 2003, and the stories might well have gone on through her years at university. I've no idea how easy it was for teens to get into clubs and bars and drink where she lived in those days.
As for my own life, I don't think I went to more than two or three house parties in my high school days, and even at university I never really went out in groups. I wasn't amongst the excluded or ostracized, but I was someone on the edges of groups, someone at a party who was there with a drink in his hand, but not part of conversations. I have never done a "tactical vomit"--- I will note that. Needless to say, I wish I knew more about her stories. I wish she'd given examples of the adventures she had in those days. And I envy her those days with the consuming envy of someone who thinks his own life and past (at least in the days that really count for purposes of stories years later) was never as good as my lovely friend's.
Monday, September 9, 2019
Two Five Eight: Beliefs 4
My lovely long-legged blonde friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud told me this story over a long period. She'd always hinted at having a dark secret, a shadow from her teens that carried over into her late twenties. This is what she finally told me, back in 2012:
I can't stop fantasising about my uncle (for clarification - he's my mothers cousin, but I shall refer to his as my uncle for convenience). He must be...62ish now. He's tall and tan and solid. He owns a pub in the outback in Australia. I first met him when I was in my mid teens, he taught me how to blow smoke rings, we drank sambuca and we fucked. Now I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw him...it must have been 2008? Or 2009? It was at a family funeral. When I saw him after the funeral I went up to him and hugged him. Brushing my hands around his waist, I felt something like an electric shock. 'Hey there, beautiful' he whispered in my ear, then kissed my cheek. An hour or so later I noticed him watching me, and nodding his head towards the bathroom. I swallowed the rest of my gin & tonic and walked ahead of him. I was wearing black heels and a black skirt. After he shut the door, he ran his fingers up my thigh, lifted my skirt and kissed my bare cunt.
I need him again.
And again, another story, some months later, in the spring of 2013---
it has been years. but there will never be anyone else. i met him when i was 17. not so young, i suppose. but give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life. cards on the table, right from the beginning. first cousin once removed is the technical term. and thirty-odd years between us. our first night together i was drunk. sambuca flowed through my veins. but it was electric. i knew at the time it was different to anything i'd ever felt before. i didn't know that i'd never feel anything like it since. it was a cheap motel room. we fucked countless times that night, then the next day he flew back to australia. a month later he flew me to his pub in the outback. we had a whole month together. to date, that was the longest time we ever spent together. i started to understand that it was love. we'd pour drinks at his bar all night, then take a bottle upstairs with us. we would drink and talk until dawn. the sex was amazing. he went down on me for hours. i'd had men before...but not like this. i felt so powerful, so needed, and so loved.
we've been together all over the place. vancouver, tokyo, auckland, sydney, the outback, fiji, wellington. we steal long weekends. we fly each other wherever, whenever we have the chance. for a long time i wouldn't let him cum in my cunt. my mouth was fine, preferred. i got over that though. its been ten years now. and nobody touches me like he does. nobody looks at me like he does. he is the only man i want, and i can never have him.
“The only obsession everyone wants: ‘love.’ People think that in falling in love they make themselves whole? The Platonic union of souls? I think otherwise. I think you’re whole before you begin. And the love fractures you. You’re whole, and then you’re cracked open.”
and i have tried to not let it consume me. i slept with men his age. boys my own age. girls. there is only him. i've had long-term boyfriends, who thought nothing when i flew to fiji for a 'girls weekend' and spent four blissful days with his tongue in my cunt and his arms around my waist. when i flew to vancouver with friends he arranged to be there for a weekend too...i told them i was catching up with my uncle, and had his hand in my cunt in the lift up to his hotel room. another time we were together for four nights in auckland. we stayed at a house in devonport, and it was like this 'what we could have been' experience. we cooked for each other, and read aloud to each other. we played cards, and mixed each other drinks. we walked around naked. we bathed together. we came together all week. it was agony to catch the plane home after that.
he is my addiction. we're a chemical reaction.
“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”
some nights i stay up late, drinking straight bourbon and smoking. habits i learnt from him, of course. they aren't my only bad habits. on those same nights i might cut and purge. i didn't pick up those habits from him, but i'd say he inspired them. it would kill him to hear me say that. what we have together chokes me. it annihilates me. it is everything, yet it can never be anything. how did it end up like this? i was young and drunk, our first night together should have been just that, a drunken regret. not the start of an affair which would come to both doom and define me.
and a few weeks ago i got a text. i will see him soon.
this is my secret.
I told other, trusted girls about the stories, and they always doubted it. It was too pat, the said, too cliched. That my Wellington friend has always liked older men isn't open to doubt, but her "uncle" ('first cousin once removed') as the key affair in her life? Well...it is a bit too much like a soft-erotica novel, isn't it? And certain things don't quite hold up.
He owns a pub in the Australian outback? Okay, fine. But her stories include tales of him taking her off for weekends--- or weeks ---in Fiji, Noumea, Japan, and every major city and beach resort in Australia (ten days in a rented villa in Noosa Heads, a week in Cairns), as well as a rendezvous in Vancouver and that rented house in Devonport, an Auckland beach suburb. He owns a pub--- a perfectly respectable social status, but how does he afford to fly her everywhere or fly to meet her? Three nights at the Fairmont Hotel in Vancouver? How did he--- and he is supposedly married ---afford that, or explain just suddenly needing to jet off to the States and Canada?
The affair has, according to my friend, lasted since since she was seventeen. That's almost half her life. No one has never discovered the affair. Not his wife, not her family. A month after they first fell into bed, he flew her to Australia for a month. How did she explain that--- at seventeen or eighteen ---to her parents? How did he explain to his wife that a blonde teen distant relative would suddenly be arriving and staying? How did she hide it from all her various boyfriends (and her supposed first husband) for sixteen or seventeen years?
She calls him B., though whether that stands for Bryan, Bob, or Bill I'll never know. She was claiming as recently as last summer to still be calling him frequently, to still be longing for him and planning or hoping to go with him to Mauritius or the Maldives. Nonetheless, it doesn't hold together. Too many security risks, too much time and money involved. As much as I care about my NZ friend, I can't believe the story. Her "uncle" B. would be almost seventy now. I don't know that he was ever real; I don't know what to think of any of this.
I can't stop fantasising about my uncle (for clarification - he's my mothers cousin, but I shall refer to his as my uncle for convenience). He must be...62ish now. He's tall and tan and solid. He owns a pub in the outback in Australia. I first met him when I was in my mid teens, he taught me how to blow smoke rings, we drank sambuca and we fucked. Now I can't stop thinking about the last time I saw him...it must have been 2008? Or 2009? It was at a family funeral. When I saw him after the funeral I went up to him and hugged him. Brushing my hands around his waist, I felt something like an electric shock. 'Hey there, beautiful' he whispered in my ear, then kissed my cheek. An hour or so later I noticed him watching me, and nodding his head towards the bathroom. I swallowed the rest of my gin & tonic and walked ahead of him. I was wearing black heels and a black skirt. After he shut the door, he ran his fingers up my thigh, lifted my skirt and kissed my bare cunt.
I need him again.
And again, another story, some months later, in the spring of 2013---
it has been years. but there will never be anyone else. i met him when i was 17. not so young, i suppose. but give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life. cards on the table, right from the beginning. first cousin once removed is the technical term. and thirty-odd years between us. our first night together i was drunk. sambuca flowed through my veins. but it was electric. i knew at the time it was different to anything i'd ever felt before. i didn't know that i'd never feel anything like it since. it was a cheap motel room. we fucked countless times that night, then the next day he flew back to australia. a month later he flew me to his pub in the outback. we had a whole month together. to date, that was the longest time we ever spent together. i started to understand that it was love. we'd pour drinks at his bar all night, then take a bottle upstairs with us. we would drink and talk until dawn. the sex was amazing. he went down on me for hours. i'd had men before...but not like this. i felt so powerful, so needed, and so loved.
we've been together all over the place. vancouver, tokyo, auckland, sydney, the outback, fiji, wellington. we steal long weekends. we fly each other wherever, whenever we have the chance. for a long time i wouldn't let him cum in my cunt. my mouth was fine, preferred. i got over that though. its been ten years now. and nobody touches me like he does. nobody looks at me like he does. he is the only man i want, and i can never have him.
“The only obsession everyone wants: ‘love.’ People think that in falling in love they make themselves whole? The Platonic union of souls? I think otherwise. I think you’re whole before you begin. And the love fractures you. You’re whole, and then you’re cracked open.”
and i have tried to not let it consume me. i slept with men his age. boys my own age. girls. there is only him. i've had long-term boyfriends, who thought nothing when i flew to fiji for a 'girls weekend' and spent four blissful days with his tongue in my cunt and his arms around my waist. when i flew to vancouver with friends he arranged to be there for a weekend too...i told them i was catching up with my uncle, and had his hand in my cunt in the lift up to his hotel room. another time we were together for four nights in auckland. we stayed at a house in devonport, and it was like this 'what we could have been' experience. we cooked for each other, and read aloud to each other. we played cards, and mixed each other drinks. we walked around naked. we bathed together. we came together all week. it was agony to catch the plane home after that.
he is my addiction. we're a chemical reaction.
“The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”
some nights i stay up late, drinking straight bourbon and smoking. habits i learnt from him, of course. they aren't my only bad habits. on those same nights i might cut and purge. i didn't pick up those habits from him, but i'd say he inspired them. it would kill him to hear me say that. what we have together chokes me. it annihilates me. it is everything, yet it can never be anything. how did it end up like this? i was young and drunk, our first night together should have been just that, a drunken regret. not the start of an affair which would come to both doom and define me.
and a few weeks ago i got a text. i will see him soon.
this is my secret.
I told other, trusted girls about the stories, and they always doubted it. It was too pat, the said, too cliched. That my Wellington friend has always liked older men isn't open to doubt, but her "uncle" ('first cousin once removed') as the key affair in her life? Well...it is a bit too much like a soft-erotica novel, isn't it? And certain things don't quite hold up.
He owns a pub in the Australian outback? Okay, fine. But her stories include tales of him taking her off for weekends--- or weeks ---in Fiji, Noumea, Japan, and every major city and beach resort in Australia (ten days in a rented villa in Noosa Heads, a week in Cairns), as well as a rendezvous in Vancouver and that rented house in Devonport, an Auckland beach suburb. He owns a pub--- a perfectly respectable social status, but how does he afford to fly her everywhere or fly to meet her? Three nights at the Fairmont Hotel in Vancouver? How did he--- and he is supposedly married ---afford that, or explain just suddenly needing to jet off to the States and Canada?
The affair has, according to my friend, lasted since since she was seventeen. That's almost half her life. No one has never discovered the affair. Not his wife, not her family. A month after they first fell into bed, he flew her to Australia for a month. How did she explain that--- at seventeen or eighteen ---to her parents? How did he explain to his wife that a blonde teen distant relative would suddenly be arriving and staying? How did she hide it from all her various boyfriends (and her supposed first husband) for sixteen or seventeen years?
She calls him B., though whether that stands for Bryan, Bob, or Bill I'll never know. She was claiming as recently as last summer to still be calling him frequently, to still be longing for him and planning or hoping to go with him to Mauritius or the Maldives. Nonetheless, it doesn't hold together. Too many security risks, too much time and money involved. As much as I care about my NZ friend, I can't believe the story. Her "uncle" B. would be almost seventy now. I don't know that he was ever real; I don't know what to think of any of this.
Sunday, September 8, 2019
Two Five Seven: Threads 2
There are a few more stories left whose endings and meanings and backstory I'll never know. Details matter, I've always said, and it's the context and the backstory that shapes and gives real value to the stories.
A message to me from March 2007:
I have a lot of stories. But I am 21. Too young for such stories perhaps? Or at least too young for the number that I possess. I spent some time with a very rich, rather lovely man last week. He is 60 years old. He called me a baby. He held my arm and got me a Jack Daniels and shook his head and said, you're just a baby. And I wanted him.
It would have been so easy to. He owns the hotel and bar that we drink at. I could have held his arm and he could have walked me through the bar, the restaurant, out a side door to the courtyard, past the pool and into his room. But that night, it didn't happen. Which is not to say that it won't sometime soon.
In January of 2008 there was one more mention of that night:
i looked below at what i'd written earlier this year. i wrote about the hotel owner that i wanted to fuck me. i spent my birthday with him a couple of weeks ago. we sat in a dark corner of the bar and talked. the drinks kept coming while we talked about affairs and money and our knees and hands grazed each others. my boyfriend was outside smoking and drinking, and if he hadn't been there i think i would have found it hard to resist going to his room.
However did that play out? Over the years the girl who wrote that message hinted that she did in fact sleep with the older man who'd bought her the drink. He may or may not have owned the hotel where the bar was, and five or six years later the girl may or may not have slept with his grown son, too. And who was the 'boyfriend' she was supposedly with. He appears nowhere else in her emails. Loose ends there, threads and random mentions that go nowhere.
And this one, from February 2007:
i am vaguely drunk. a friend and i have been sitting in my kitchen all night drinking beer, talking about men and writing lists. i feel slighly fuzzy, although not as bad as last night. it's only midnight, an early night for me to be heading to bed. not that i'm entirely sure that's what i'm going to do. i have a feeling i am going to leave the house, without changing my clothes, and see who is at the Angus. i want jim to be there. i've known him since i was 19. he is so familiar yet always exciting. he will probably have gone home by now. he will be too drunk to pick me up so he will walk to meet me. and we'll go back to his place and have a few more drinks and he will fuck me and i never know if it's him i'm thinking of or if it's mike.
So many loose threads there, too. I know what the Angus was--- a hotel bar that was her regular hangout, someplace close to where she was living while at university, someplace maybe halfway between her rented student's house and where she'd grown up. Jim? I have no clue. There was another Jim in her past, a "high-functioning alcoholic" she knew and had a disastrous affair with when she was 16 or 17. This post-19 Jim is someone new. Mike? Absolutely no clue. And..."not as bad as last night"? My friend was a party girl in her teens and early twenties, but I've no real idea as to how often she was out drinking while at university, and while I know her tastes--- Maker's, Jack Daniels, tequila shots ---I have no idea how many people she went home with. Or how her men broke down between the older men she always sighed over and the undergraduate boys she'd meet at parties.
One more passing mention of someone:
did i tell you about the gorgeous maori boy i'm fucking? he's tall, with short dark hair & lovely brown eyes, light brown-gold 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 he how he has taught max to play dead. max was his last drop-off for the day, so i asked him to stay for a drink... and he stayed the night.
That mention was from March 2013. Max was (and still is) her much-loved golden retriever, and he'd still have been a puppy in those days. The Maori boy was never mentioned again, though her message makes me think he was in her bed more than once.
And then this, from January 2014:
Last night, smashing jack Daniels, riding a rough bogan boy so damn hard, kissing his neck tattoo & thinking is this how I live now?
A message to me from March 2007:
I have a lot of stories. But I am 21. Too young for such stories perhaps? Or at least too young for the number that I possess. I spent some time with a very rich, rather lovely man last week. He is 60 years old. He called me a baby. He held my arm and got me a Jack Daniels and shook his head and said, you're just a baby. And I wanted him.
It would have been so easy to. He owns the hotel and bar that we drink at. I could have held his arm and he could have walked me through the bar, the restaurant, out a side door to the courtyard, past the pool and into his room. But that night, it didn't happen. Which is not to say that it won't sometime soon.
In January of 2008 there was one more mention of that night:
i looked below at what i'd written earlier this year. i wrote about the hotel owner that i wanted to fuck me. i spent my birthday with him a couple of weeks ago. we sat in a dark corner of the bar and talked. the drinks kept coming while we talked about affairs and money and our knees and hands grazed each others. my boyfriend was outside smoking and drinking, and if he hadn't been there i think i would have found it hard to resist going to his room.
However did that play out? Over the years the girl who wrote that message hinted that she did in fact sleep with the older man who'd bought her the drink. He may or may not have owned the hotel where the bar was, and five or six years later the girl may or may not have slept with his grown son, too. And who was the 'boyfriend' she was supposedly with. He appears nowhere else in her emails. Loose ends there, threads and random mentions that go nowhere.
And this one, from February 2007:
i am vaguely drunk. a friend and i have been sitting in my kitchen all night drinking beer, talking about men and writing lists. i feel slighly fuzzy, although not as bad as last night. it's only midnight, an early night for me to be heading to bed. not that i'm entirely sure that's what i'm going to do. i have a feeling i am going to leave the house, without changing my clothes, and see who is at the Angus. i want jim to be there. i've known him since i was 19. he is so familiar yet always exciting. he will probably have gone home by now. he will be too drunk to pick me up so he will walk to meet me. and we'll go back to his place and have a few more drinks and he will fuck me and i never know if it's him i'm thinking of or if it's mike.
So many loose threads there, too. I know what the Angus was--- a hotel bar that was her regular hangout, someplace close to where she was living while at university, someplace maybe halfway between her rented student's house and where she'd grown up. Jim? I have no clue. There was another Jim in her past, a "high-functioning alcoholic" she knew and had a disastrous affair with when she was 16 or 17. This post-19 Jim is someone new. Mike? Absolutely no clue. And..."not as bad as last night"? My friend was a party girl in her teens and early twenties, but I've no real idea as to how often she was out drinking while at university, and while I know her tastes--- Maker's, Jack Daniels, tequila shots ---I have no idea how many people she went home with. Or how her men broke down between the older men she always sighed over and the undergraduate boys she'd meet at parties.
One more passing mention of someone:
did i tell you about the gorgeous maori boy i'm fucking? he's tall, with short dark hair & lovely brown eyes, light brown-gold 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 he how he has taught max to play dead. max was his last drop-off for the day, so i asked him to stay for a drink... and he stayed the night.
That mention was from March 2013. Max was (and still is) her much-loved golden retriever, and he'd still have been a puppy in those days. The Maori boy was never mentioned again, though her message makes me think he was in her bed more than once.
And then this, from January 2014:
Last night, smashing jack Daniels, riding a rough bogan boy so damn hard, kissing his neck tattoo & thinking is this how I live now?
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 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.
Again, one single story. Did she ever say that he'd come back into town and given her a couple of more bags of weed or MDMA? I can't recall. No names, no details, and maybe no second act to the play.
Threads that hang loose from stories, pages missing at the end of the book--- stories I'll never get to really know or analyze. And...these days...stories whose believability I'll never be able to really assess.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
Two Five Six: Threads
I need to find more essay topics for this blog.
When I first started writing here, I wanted to devote myself to writing about issues of sex and its social penumbra here in these latter days. I wanted to write essays about what sex, romance, and all the associated rituals were like nowadays. My idea was to write as myself, as a gentleman of a Certain Age looking at the new world. I wanted to do social commentary, or at least record my own thoughts about things. I'd hoped when I began that I might attract comments and responses and find interlocutors with whom I could have long, rambling discussions about the subjects in my posts.
I still hope for that--- for followers and civil yet in-depth discussions. But I need new essay topics. My hope is that lovely readers will offer up suggestions, that they'll suggest things I might write about. Over the last three years we've all moved away from writing about sex and romance and begun writing about the nightmare of American and global politics. I can understand that: we live in a nightmare time. Yet sex and romance do still exist, and they remain as major topics in people's lives. So I hope that my readers out over the aether will leave suggestions. What should I write about? Are there books, articles, films, events that should become the topics of essays here? I am open to suggestions.
There are still stories that I want to use here, to save here, things I want to remember. There are stories that follow a classic narrative arc--- stories whose endings I know, stories I can see as a story. And there are stories whose full arc I'll never know, whose endings remain elusive. Let's look at a couple. The first one is something a friend wrote me four or five years ago.
The guy with the yacht was Jonny. He lived on his boat at the marina. I really liked him, and wanted him to be an 'official boyfriend'. He was smart and funny and cute. He had a science degree, and had worked all over the world as a boat builder. I desperately wanted things to work out between us, and at the time really thought he would make a great partner (maybe this was just compared to the other men in my recent past). But...he did have a few issues -- alcohol abuse, depression. He drove his car into the harbour in a suicide attempt a year or so after we broke up/stopped sleeping together. He was ok, but got sent to the psych ward and charged with dangerous driving. We are still friends and catch up for coffee now and then and I only want the best for him.
We went on a few sailing trips together - down to the Sounds, each time in the summer. The Cook Strait crossing was a bit rough for me at some parts. But it was beautiful...we saw lots of dolphins, and it was just incredible to be out on the open water. Two of the trips we booked a house to stay at, and one trip we slept on the yacht. He loved going down on me, and was fucking good at it. For years after I wished we had become something more, and I was convinced I could have helped him. But I think sometimes you just have to help yourself and let people go.
She noted that on New Year's Day of 2013 she'd woken up in bed with him on his boat, and that four months later he'd tried to kill himself. I'm trying to decide if the story is a sad one. She ran into him again last year--- discovered he was project managing the renovation of a big house in her new neighbourhood. She said hullo--- they hadn't seen each other around in a while ---and everything was cordial, but she didn't discover whether he was still boatbuilding or still owned/live aboard a boat. I suppose I felt a twinge of jealousy reading about that (did they sleep together again, even if just for old times' sake?), but the other thing I felt was a kind of emptiness. Am I someone a lovely girl would remember years later? Would she say hullo to me? Am I--- have I ever been ---someone's story? I do want to have been important enough to be remembered, but I suspect I haven't been...and won't be. And of course I'll never know the full story of her adventures at the marina or in Marlborough Sounds.
From October 2012---
It's much less gloomy today.It has really brightened up actually! and i just had a lunch date, which was very fun.i Today I 'm wearing black tailored pants, a blue and white striped shirt, and a black cardigan...very officey. And he is a friend of a friend, up & coming young lawyer. I will probably fuck him, but i do think i like him more as a friend. Very funny and cute.
I never heard about her lunch date, never heard about the lawyer again.
She wrote me a year later about another lawyer, this one much older:
I did think of you on Friday night, drinking Makers that seemed to set my blood on fire. Lying naked in a strange bed, all I could think was this isn't really me. i'm not really here.
I stayed until the morning and walked home in the dawn light.
Drinking bourbon feels like coming home.
He was a lawyer. I was Alex the florist, sexy & simple & uncomplicated.
She saw him again a bit later:
After our wonderful wicked exchange, I ended up in town until 3am, then ended up at the apartment of the lawyer with the impressive library, got an hour of sleep then washed my face and went to work. Was asked to attend a meeting with the partners...I almost had a fucking breakdown.
I do wonder what became of him. She wrote that he'd made her reach orgasm five times one night and that his library was impressive. I have to know what "impressive" means--- if he really collected books or it that was a euphemism.
And I need to know if Alex the Florist is her usual club nights alias. I need to know how she created Alex the Florist and what personality she constructed for her alter ego.
She told me this fragment back in 2011, a story from when she was 17, back in 2002-2003:
I slept with this guy I met at a club...he was in his early 30s. He gave me E and took me back to his apartment. After we fucked and he fell asleep I stole 2 books and snuck out...
One of the two books was a Steinbeck; she remembered that. "Cannery Row", she thought, though she wasn't sure. Somehow it does matter to know what the other book was.
Stories here with loose ends, with endings that remain unclear. I hate story arcs that go nowhere. I wish that I could sit with her and pour drinks and ask her about these things. I love her stories, and always have. I just wish I knew more about contexts and settings and the way things played out in the long run.
When I first started writing here, I wanted to devote myself to writing about issues of sex and its social penumbra here in these latter days. I wanted to write essays about what sex, romance, and all the associated rituals were like nowadays. My idea was to write as myself, as a gentleman of a Certain Age looking at the new world. I wanted to do social commentary, or at least record my own thoughts about things. I'd hoped when I began that I might attract comments and responses and find interlocutors with whom I could have long, rambling discussions about the subjects in my posts.
I still hope for that--- for followers and civil yet in-depth discussions. But I need new essay topics. My hope is that lovely readers will offer up suggestions, that they'll suggest things I might write about. Over the last three years we've all moved away from writing about sex and romance and begun writing about the nightmare of American and global politics. I can understand that: we live in a nightmare time. Yet sex and romance do still exist, and they remain as major topics in people's lives. So I hope that my readers out over the aether will leave suggestions. What should I write about? Are there books, articles, films, events that should become the topics of essays here? I am open to suggestions.
There are still stories that I want to use here, to save here, things I want to remember. There are stories that follow a classic narrative arc--- stories whose endings I know, stories I can see as a story. And there are stories whose full arc I'll never know, whose endings remain elusive. Let's look at a couple. The first one is something a friend wrote me four or five years ago.
The guy with the yacht was Jonny. He lived on his boat at the marina. I really liked him, and wanted him to be an 'official boyfriend'. He was smart and funny and cute. He had a science degree, and had worked all over the world as a boat builder. I desperately wanted things to work out between us, and at the time really thought he would make a great partner (maybe this was just compared to the other men in my recent past). But...he did have a few issues -- alcohol abuse, depression. He drove his car into the harbour in a suicide attempt a year or so after we broke up/stopped sleeping together. He was ok, but got sent to the psych ward and charged with dangerous driving. We are still friends and catch up for coffee now and then and I only want the best for him.
We went on a few sailing trips together - down to the Sounds, each time in the summer. The Cook Strait crossing was a bit rough for me at some parts. But it was beautiful...we saw lots of dolphins, and it was just incredible to be out on the open water. Two of the trips we booked a house to stay at, and one trip we slept on the yacht. He loved going down on me, and was fucking good at it. For years after I wished we had become something more, and I was convinced I could have helped him. But I think sometimes you just have to help yourself and let people go.
She noted that on New Year's Day of 2013 she'd woken up in bed with him on his boat, and that four months later he'd tried to kill himself. I'm trying to decide if the story is a sad one. She ran into him again last year--- discovered he was project managing the renovation of a big house in her new neighbourhood. She said hullo--- they hadn't seen each other around in a while ---and everything was cordial, but she didn't discover whether he was still boatbuilding or still owned/live aboard a boat. I suppose I felt a twinge of jealousy reading about that (did they sleep together again, even if just for old times' sake?), but the other thing I felt was a kind of emptiness. Am I someone a lovely girl would remember years later? Would she say hullo to me? Am I--- have I ever been ---someone's story? I do want to have been important enough to be remembered, but I suspect I haven't been...and won't be. And of course I'll never know the full story of her adventures at the marina or in Marlborough Sounds.
From October 2012---
It's much less gloomy today.It has really brightened up actually! and i just had a lunch date, which was very fun.i Today I 'm wearing black tailored pants, a blue and white striped shirt, and a black cardigan...very officey. And he is a friend of a friend, up & coming young lawyer. I will probably fuck him, but i do think i like him more as a friend. Very funny and cute.
I never heard about her lunch date, never heard about the lawyer again.
She wrote me a year later about another lawyer, this one much older:
I did think of you on Friday night, drinking Makers that seemed to set my blood on fire. Lying naked in a strange bed, all I could think was this isn't really me. i'm not really here.
I stayed until the morning and walked home in the dawn light.
Drinking bourbon feels like coming home.
He was a lawyer. I was Alex the florist, sexy & simple & uncomplicated.
She saw him again a bit later:
After our wonderful wicked exchange, I ended up in town until 3am, then ended up at the apartment of the lawyer with the impressive library, got an hour of sleep then washed my face and went to work. Was asked to attend a meeting with the partners...I almost had a fucking breakdown.
I do wonder what became of him. She wrote that he'd made her reach orgasm five times one night and that his library was impressive. I have to know what "impressive" means--- if he really collected books or it that was a euphemism.
And I need to know if Alex the Florist is her usual club nights alias. I need to know how she created Alex the Florist and what personality she constructed for her alter ego.
She told me this fragment back in 2011, a story from when she was 17, back in 2002-2003:
I slept with this guy I met at a club...he was in his early 30s. He gave me E and took me back to his apartment. After we fucked and he fell asleep I stole 2 books and snuck out...
One of the two books was a Steinbeck; she remembered that. "Cannery Row", she thought, though she wasn't sure. Somehow it does matter to know what the other book was.
Stories here with loose ends, with endings that remain unclear. I hate story arcs that go nowhere. I wish that I could sit with her and pour drinks and ask her about these things. I love her stories, and always have. I just wish I knew more about contexts and settings and the way things played out in the long run.
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Two Five Five: Beliefs 3
Let's consider another story from my leggy blonde friend in Aotearoa down in the Land of the Long White Cloud. This is something she told me in July of 2016--- not so very long ago. And it's not one that I believed then, and not one I believe now:
a contractor is here working on the ceiling tiles in our office.
he is wearing blue jeans, workboots, a long sleeve black top and a hi-vis vest.
and he is just my kind of dirty hot. you know the type.
wiry build, stubble, an ex-heroin addict aesthetic. mid to late 40s.
he actually looks kinda like bronn from game of thrones.
i made him a coffee on friday when he was working here. (side note - neither of the two receptionists offered him a drink, and he was working here for hours! i don't know if this is an age thing or what, they are very early 20s, a guy and a girl. obviously they look after clients with coffee/tea etc, but workmen & the IT guys all seem to get ignored!).
manners are important.
he was flirty and i was bored.
i may have found an excuse to make my way into the archive room he was working in, and quietly shut the door behind me...
he ran his fingers through my hair while i sucked him. he was big. i swallowed and sat in a meeting with cum on my breath.
And a bit later that night:
Yes, he was white not Maori, alas. And yes -- I did get his number. I didn't know his name (Rex) until he scrawled it on a piece of paper and handed it to me when he left the building a few hours later.
The lights were out in the archive room, as he was working on the light panels and ceiling tiles. He saw me come into the room while he was up his ladder. I smiled at him and shut the door behind me. He came down from his ladder and thanked me for the coffee. We didn't say anything else, really. I pulled him towards me by his belt and kissed him. We kissed for a while, and he had his hands down my shirt, on my breasts and nipples. I knelt and undid his jeans and took his cock in my mouth. He tasted clean, mild. After he came, I stood, kissed his cheek and left. I do want to fuck him...
She told me later that she did fuck him a couple of nights after that encounter, that she called him and got sloppy drunk with him at a bar on Cuba St. in Wellington and took him home. After that, he vanished from her stories. I can understand her being attracted to someone who looked like Bronn from 'Game of Thrones', but I don't believe the story at all. It's too cliched, too like something that Showtime or Cinemax would've featured on one of their late-night soft-core anthology programs in the 1990s. And I just can't believe in a character named Rex. I just can't.
There are stories she's told that are believable, of course. In March 2011 she did send an email from work that began simply enough: i had a delicious older man's cock in my mouth this morning. i love starting the day with a mouthful of cum. i missed my first class, i was having so much fun...
Her first class--- she'd have been finishing up an accounting degree in those days. She did take a degree in English Lit and then (practical girl!) go back to VUW to take accounting classes. She explained things a bit:
he's around 45. he's tall and strong. he has short dark hair and a cute, stubbly face. he owns a sand blasting and spray painting business and is a client. i'm not sure if its common practice in the US, but here young lawyers and accountants have to spend quite a bit of time out on secondment, getting to know the way their clients businesses work etc. so, thats how we met a few years ago. we ended up at the same function at the marina a few nights ago and one thing led to another.
the first time, he bent me over the bonnet of his car and fucked me from behind. it was so hot. he came in my mouth then carried me inside. he lives in Seatoun by the beach. his bedroom had big windows overlooking the sea. he had a beautful cock, big and thick and hard. it felt so good in my mouth and hands. he licked my cunt and i came so hard. he fucked my ass and cunt and told me i was beautiful.
i must have fallen asleep around 3, and had a terrible nightmare, because i woke up screaming and shaking. he pulled me towards him and whispered 'its ok, its ok' over and over in my ear. he ran his finger through my hair and spooned me for the rest of the night.
in the morning he was so gentle and lovely. i sucked his cock and he came in my mouth again. he made us both smoothies then fucked me in the shower and drove me to class. i'm meeting him for a drink after work tonight. he's gorgeous and funny and i want him.
So...he was around 45 in 2011--- in his mid-50s now. She'd have been...twenty-four? twenty-five? She added this later: This was Shane. He was gorgeous. I had a few nights with him and Caitie both. Do I believe that part, about the three-ways? Maybe. Maybe. But meeting him that way at a marina party and ending up in bed--- that's not implausible. The dirty-hot contractor? No--- I don't see that as plausible, especially since the risky-hot part, the risk of getting caught, would have meant losing a job and not just getting tossed from a bar.
One story I believe, and one I don't. Do we agree on plausibility? And...do comment and let me know what your own criteria for plausibility are. What things do make erotica plausible or implausible for you?
a contractor is here working on the ceiling tiles in our office.
he is wearing blue jeans, workboots, a long sleeve black top and a hi-vis vest.
and he is just my kind of dirty hot. you know the type.
wiry build, stubble, an ex-heroin addict aesthetic. mid to late 40s.
he actually looks kinda like bronn from game of thrones.
i made him a coffee on friday when he was working here. (side note - neither of the two receptionists offered him a drink, and he was working here for hours! i don't know if this is an age thing or what, they are very early 20s, a guy and a girl. obviously they look after clients with coffee/tea etc, but workmen & the IT guys all seem to get ignored!).
manners are important.
he was flirty and i was bored.
i may have found an excuse to make my way into the archive room he was working in, and quietly shut the door behind me...
he ran his fingers through my hair while i sucked him. he was big. i swallowed and sat in a meeting with cum on my breath.
And a bit later that night:
Yes, he was white not Maori, alas. And yes -- I did get his number. I didn't know his name (Rex) until he scrawled it on a piece of paper and handed it to me when he left the building a few hours later.
The lights were out in the archive room, as he was working on the light panels and ceiling tiles. He saw me come into the room while he was up his ladder. I smiled at him and shut the door behind me. He came down from his ladder and thanked me for the coffee. We didn't say anything else, really. I pulled him towards me by his belt and kissed him. We kissed for a while, and he had his hands down my shirt, on my breasts and nipples. I knelt and undid his jeans and took his cock in my mouth. He tasted clean, mild. After he came, I stood, kissed his cheek and left. I do want to fuck him...
She told me later that she did fuck him a couple of nights after that encounter, that she called him and got sloppy drunk with him at a bar on Cuba St. in Wellington and took him home. After that, he vanished from her stories. I can understand her being attracted to someone who looked like Bronn from 'Game of Thrones', but I don't believe the story at all. It's too cliched, too like something that Showtime or Cinemax would've featured on one of their late-night soft-core anthology programs in the 1990s. And I just can't believe in a character named Rex. I just can't.
There are stories she's told that are believable, of course. In March 2011 she did send an email from work that began simply enough: i had a delicious older man's cock in my mouth this morning. i love starting the day with a mouthful of cum. i missed my first class, i was having so much fun...
Her first class--- she'd have been finishing up an accounting degree in those days. She did take a degree in English Lit and then (practical girl!) go back to VUW to take accounting classes. She explained things a bit:
he's around 45. he's tall and strong. he has short dark hair and a cute, stubbly face. he owns a sand blasting and spray painting business and is a client. i'm not sure if its common practice in the US, but here young lawyers and accountants have to spend quite a bit of time out on secondment, getting to know the way their clients businesses work etc. so, thats how we met a few years ago. we ended up at the same function at the marina a few nights ago and one thing led to another.
the first time, he bent me over the bonnet of his car and fucked me from behind. it was so hot. he came in my mouth then carried me inside. he lives in Seatoun by the beach. his bedroom had big windows overlooking the sea. he had a beautful cock, big and thick and hard. it felt so good in my mouth and hands. he licked my cunt and i came so hard. he fucked my ass and cunt and told me i was beautiful.
i must have fallen asleep around 3, and had a terrible nightmare, because i woke up screaming and shaking. he pulled me towards him and whispered 'its ok, its ok' over and over in my ear. he ran his finger through my hair and spooned me for the rest of the night.
in the morning he was so gentle and lovely. i sucked his cock and he came in my mouth again. he made us both smoothies then fucked me in the shower and drove me to class. i'm meeting him for a drink after work tonight. he's gorgeous and funny and i want him.
So...he was around 45 in 2011--- in his mid-50s now. She'd have been...twenty-four? twenty-five? She added this later: This was Shane. He was gorgeous. I had a few nights with him and Caitie both. Do I believe that part, about the three-ways? Maybe. Maybe. But meeting him that way at a marina party and ending up in bed--- that's not implausible. The dirty-hot contractor? No--- I don't see that as plausible, especially since the risky-hot part, the risk of getting caught, would have meant losing a job and not just getting tossed from a bar.
One story I believe, and one I don't. Do we agree on plausibility? And...do comment and let me know what your own criteria for plausibility are. What things do make erotica plausible or implausible for you?
Monday, September 2, 2019
Two Five Four: Rough Coast
September is beginning, and I'd like to add this to my archives--- one more set of brilliant stories that I'd like to remember here in the latter part of my life.
More memories from my long-legged blonde friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud, memories from the early teens of this century. Memories of a girl she dated for a while, a girl named Caitlin (or Caity or Caitie), a girl who was a Lit major at VUW. I can't recall that my friend ever told me how she first met Caitlin, whether it was at university or at a bar on Cuba St. in Wellington. I remember my friend telling me once that she had a date that night with a pretty blonde girl who studied Lit, and that when she got to the bar the girl was reading..."The Sun Also Rises", I think. I must find that first message.
Memory says that Caitie and my friend dated for several months. My friend had had encounters with other girls before, all the way back to her friend Julia in high school, but Caitie was the first girl she'd actually dated. It lasted some months, but in the end Caitie was more lesbian than bi and wanted a more long-term commitment than my friend, who in the end preferred Older Men, was prepared to make. It ended with an angry and disappointed Caitlin not speaking to my friend and blocking her calls. Nonetheless, it was deeply passionate and carnal while it lasted, and they cut a wicked swathe through Wellington clubs and parties.
The most passionate memory my friend told me was this:
Caitlin and i went for a drive a couple of weeks ago, to the coast. it's a very rough beach, nobody swims there, but it's popular for bonfires and walks, things like that. Caitlin and i drove out there and smoked a joint and walked round to the rocks with a couple of beers. We started making out, lying on the sand when it started to rain. I got up to leave, but Caity pulled me back down and started un-doing my jeans. The rain was pounding down on us, the waves were crashing on the shores, you could hear the wind howling. but we couldn't stop. Her fingers were in my asshole, her tongue on my clit. I screamed and moaned so loud when I came. It was so fucking intense & so fucking hot. I couldn't move, I just lay there, getting drenched, Caity's head on my stomach.
I made a note about the date--- 9/18/11. Eight years ago. My friend would've been twenty-four or twenty-five. The rough beach was at a place called Wainuiomata, southeast of Wellington. The photos of the beaches at Wainuiomata I found via Google were wonderful. My friend described Wainuiomata to me like this:
Hmmm...on a late summer evening I would take you to one of my favourite spots from when I was a teenager. When everyone first started driving, we would go out to the deserted Wainuiomata coast, and drink and smoke weed and fuck.
At certain times of the year you could light bonfires, so we would do that and disappear in pairs...
It is a very rough and dangerous beach -- definitely not a swimming beach. But it's a nice drive out from the city and I have great memories from evenings spent there...
My friend was willing to try anything with Caity. She told me this, too--
Caity pissed right in my mouth when i was licking her cunt one time. She told me it was coming, she moaned 'I'm going to piss' and I just opened my mouth, I so wanted to taste her. I swallowed twice! A couple of small-ish mouthfuls. I've had bigger since... but that was my first time. Caitie loves licking and drinking piss, but I haven't tried boys' piss...
Her first time? Well, she didn't swallow really with Julia in high school, and she washed her mouth out with a few big gulps of tequila. So I'll go with "first time" here.
Other memories of Caitlin/Caity/Caitie... My friend told me that Caitie loved dildo play but didn't like random objects the way my friend did. And they did occasionally pick up boys--- a story dated 9/1/11: Caity & i took a cute little 20 year old home the other night & fucked his ass with Tyrone [her large black dildo]...God, he loved it!
There are other stories, too: my friend and Caitie going to the beach with a taxi-full of Kenyan rugby players one Sevens weekend in Wellington in early 2012--- with this addition: Caity ended up back at a hotel with a Kenyan. I went back to a different hotel with a manager of the Scotland team. We met in the morning for coffee before heading back to bed together. I'll have to archive the Sevens stories, and the tale of the Kenyans on the beach. That may be a bit awkward, since race was a big factor in the hook-up and both my friend and Caity loved using vocabulary during drunken sex that would get very awkward here in the States.
My friend's stories... Reading them now, I find myself looking at them with a hyper-critical eye, looking at them for inconsistencies and implausible moments. I no longer know what to believe, even though I very deeply care for my Wellington friend...and even though the stories are often so shatteringly wicked and hot.
More memories from my long-legged blonde friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud, memories from the early teens of this century. Memories of a girl she dated for a while, a girl named Caitlin (or Caity or Caitie), a girl who was a Lit major at VUW. I can't recall that my friend ever told me how she first met Caitlin, whether it was at university or at a bar on Cuba St. in Wellington. I remember my friend telling me once that she had a date that night with a pretty blonde girl who studied Lit, and that when she got to the bar the girl was reading..."The Sun Also Rises", I think. I must find that first message.
Memory says that Caitie and my friend dated for several months. My friend had had encounters with other girls before, all the way back to her friend Julia in high school, but Caitie was the first girl she'd actually dated. It lasted some months, but in the end Caitie was more lesbian than bi and wanted a more long-term commitment than my friend, who in the end preferred Older Men, was prepared to make. It ended with an angry and disappointed Caitlin not speaking to my friend and blocking her calls. Nonetheless, it was deeply passionate and carnal while it lasted, and they cut a wicked swathe through Wellington clubs and parties.
The most passionate memory my friend told me was this:
Caitlin and i went for a drive a couple of weeks ago, to the coast. it's a very rough beach, nobody swims there, but it's popular for bonfires and walks, things like that. Caitlin and i drove out there and smoked a joint and walked round to the rocks with a couple of beers. We started making out, lying on the sand when it started to rain. I got up to leave, but Caity pulled me back down and started un-doing my jeans. The rain was pounding down on us, the waves were crashing on the shores, you could hear the wind howling. but we couldn't stop. Her fingers were in my asshole, her tongue on my clit. I screamed and moaned so loud when I came. It was so fucking intense & so fucking hot. I couldn't move, I just lay there, getting drenched, Caity's head on my stomach.
I made a note about the date--- 9/18/11. Eight years ago. My friend would've been twenty-four or twenty-five. The rough beach was at a place called Wainuiomata, southeast of Wellington. The photos of the beaches at Wainuiomata I found via Google were wonderful. My friend described Wainuiomata to me like this:
Hmmm...on a late summer evening I would take you to one of my favourite spots from when I was a teenager. When everyone first started driving, we would go out to the deserted Wainuiomata coast, and drink and smoke weed and fuck.
At certain times of the year you could light bonfires, so we would do that and disappear in pairs...
It is a very rough and dangerous beach -- definitely not a swimming beach. But it's a nice drive out from the city and I have great memories from evenings spent there...
My friend was willing to try anything with Caity. She told me this, too--
Caity pissed right in my mouth when i was licking her cunt one time. She told me it was coming, she moaned 'I'm going to piss' and I just opened my mouth, I so wanted to taste her. I swallowed twice! A couple of small-ish mouthfuls. I've had bigger since... but that was my first time. Caitie loves licking and drinking piss, but I haven't tried boys' piss...
Her first time? Well, she didn't swallow really with Julia in high school, and she washed her mouth out with a few big gulps of tequila. So I'll go with "first time" here.
Other memories of Caitlin/Caity/Caitie... My friend told me that Caitie loved dildo play but didn't like random objects the way my friend did. And they did occasionally pick up boys--- a story dated 9/1/11: Caity & i took a cute little 20 year old home the other night & fucked his ass with Tyrone [her large black dildo]...God, he loved it!
There are other stories, too: my friend and Caitie going to the beach with a taxi-full of Kenyan rugby players one Sevens weekend in Wellington in early 2012--- with this addition: Caity ended up back at a hotel with a Kenyan. I went back to a different hotel with a manager of the Scotland team. We met in the morning for coffee before heading back to bed together. I'll have to archive the Sevens stories, and the tale of the Kenyans on the beach. That may be a bit awkward, since race was a big factor in the hook-up and both my friend and Caity loved using vocabulary during drunken sex that would get very awkward here in the States.
My friend's stories... Reading them now, I find myself looking at them with a hyper-critical eye, looking at them for inconsistencies and implausible moments. I no longer know what to believe, even though I very deeply care for my Wellington friend...and even though the stories are often so shatteringly wicked and hot.
Sunday, September 1, 2019
Two Five Three: Blonde
Once upon a long ago time, my leggy blonde friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud told me the story of her first time with a girl. I don't know how much faith to place in the account. After all, I don't believe her stories of travels all over Asia and the Pacific, and I have serious doubts that she was ever married to a wealthy businessman.
Nonetheless, this story has been something she's referred to for several years, and her various mentions of it have been consistent. I like the story, and I can see it as part of the autobiographical novel she's always talked about writing. So I will put some of the accounts she's sent me in my archives. The story is one worth saving, I think.
Long ago I asked her about her experiences with girls. She'd had a few, she told me. She defines herself as cis and hetero, she says, but she says that in her circle at school and after--- amongst upper-middle party girls in Wellington ---a "bit of bisexuality" was considered fashionable. Again, I can imagine arts girls saying that with a straight face. So let's see. When I asked her to tell me about her first encounter, this is how she responded over a few months' worth of exchanges:
Her first girl, she wrote, was a hippie girl named Julia:
i met julia when i was 13, at high school, and it would have been a couple of years later-ish.
Julia and I were at school together. Her mum ran off with another woman, leaving Julia and her sister Fran largely unattended. We had so many parties at their house, drunken all nighters. She is a single mother of two part-Maori boys these days and lives in a pretty grim council flat.
Julia was my age, and Fran was a couple of years older. We met at school. They lived by the beach - their parents were divorced and their mother was off living her new life as a lesbian, so the house was almost always free of adults. We always wagged school there. Julia and Fran were both hippy girls - no shaving, into natural remedies etc. Fran was seriously into drugs. Julia and I weren't as much, we just liked to drink and eat each other out. We had so many parties at that house. We never had 3 ways, but Julia and I fucked all the time. I may have eaten Fran out once. Fran would walk around naked, leave sex toys out in the lounge, have loud sex in the next room and come into the bathroom while I was in there. We did shower together once, and Julia, Fran and I swam naked together a few times. She had lovely big tits, and a hairy blonde cunt, just like Julia did. Now, Julia has 2 part-Maori sons, and I actually have no idea what happened to Fran.
hmm...i liked Julia's personality. she was up for anything. and maybe just that she was there. an unsupervised house, lots of booze and free time... she was pretty too, blonde and hippyish. she didn't shave.
first time with julia was at her house one day when we were supposed to be at school. we'd been working up to it for a while, flirting, taking things a little further each time. we were drinking wine, taking shots and taking an item of clothing off as we did. shots and wine led to kissing, led to fingering, led to us both naked in her room on the floor. i didn't tell anyone, i don't think, but her sister definitely knew.
this was either year 11 or year 12, so 15 or 16. julia had left school by year 13 so it was before then.
[That would've been 2001 or 2002 for the first time. By 2004 my friend was an undergraduate at VUW in Wellington, reading English Lit]
i remember one night with julia, an old friend from school. i was about 15 or 16 and staying at her apartment in town while her mum & her lesbian lover were away. we raided the liquor cabinet and were really drunk. we were out on the balcony and i was licking her clit and had my fingers in her cunt. she came and pissed at the same time, and a bit got in my mouth. i was not into it at all, and i grabbed our bottle of tequila and had a few big gulps. julia apologised several times...but also said how good it felt to cum and piss at the same time. i'm always very open to new experiences so i gave it a try...and it felt amazing. it made my orgasm so much more intense. julia loved it too...
later i discovered pissing while purging which is also amazing.
One night we found her older sister's sex toys and were up together until dawn just playing and experimenting. I loved that hairy little blonde cunt...
She noted that Julia was one of those girls who was beautiful and amazing at sixteen, but who burned out early. Currently the single mother of two half-Maori boys, though my friend didn't mention if the boys had the same father. The "grim council flat" idea is deeply depressing. She'd noted that she had no idea whatever became of Fran, but some months later she wrote to say that she'd heard Fran had died--- an epileptic fit at 29. I'll note that it's all-too-possible, especially if serious drugs were involved. It's a sad thing, and sadder still that I did raise a suspicious eyebrow.
My friend once mentioned buying weed in WGN from a hippie friend, and she later mentioned that a hippie girl she knew had been arrested for weed. I have no idea whether that was Julia or not, and no idea how long it's been since she's seen Julia, let alone since she slept with her.
I want this story for my archives. I want it to be something I can remember years from now. It's something worth saving, though I wish I could know more.
Nonetheless, this story has been something she's referred to for several years, and her various mentions of it have been consistent. I like the story, and I can see it as part of the autobiographical novel she's always talked about writing. So I will put some of the accounts she's sent me in my archives. The story is one worth saving, I think.
Long ago I asked her about her experiences with girls. She'd had a few, she told me. She defines herself as cis and hetero, she says, but she says that in her circle at school and after--- amongst upper-middle party girls in Wellington ---a "bit of bisexuality" was considered fashionable. Again, I can imagine arts girls saying that with a straight face. So let's see. When I asked her to tell me about her first encounter, this is how she responded over a few months' worth of exchanges:
Her first girl, she wrote, was a hippie girl named Julia:
i met julia when i was 13, at high school, and it would have been a couple of years later-ish.
Julia and I were at school together. Her mum ran off with another woman, leaving Julia and her sister Fran largely unattended. We had so many parties at their house, drunken all nighters. She is a single mother of two part-Maori boys these days and lives in a pretty grim council flat.
Julia was my age, and Fran was a couple of years older. We met at school. They lived by the beach - their parents were divorced and their mother was off living her new life as a lesbian, so the house was almost always free of adults. We always wagged school there. Julia and Fran were both hippy girls - no shaving, into natural remedies etc. Fran was seriously into drugs. Julia and I weren't as much, we just liked to drink and eat each other out. We had so many parties at that house. We never had 3 ways, but Julia and I fucked all the time. I may have eaten Fran out once. Fran would walk around naked, leave sex toys out in the lounge, have loud sex in the next room and come into the bathroom while I was in there. We did shower together once, and Julia, Fran and I swam naked together a few times. She had lovely big tits, and a hairy blonde cunt, just like Julia did. Now, Julia has 2 part-Maori sons, and I actually have no idea what happened to Fran.
hmm...i liked Julia's personality. she was up for anything. and maybe just that she was there. an unsupervised house, lots of booze and free time... she was pretty too, blonde and hippyish. she didn't shave.
first time with julia was at her house one day when we were supposed to be at school. we'd been working up to it for a while, flirting, taking things a little further each time. we were drinking wine, taking shots and taking an item of clothing off as we did. shots and wine led to kissing, led to fingering, led to us both naked in her room on the floor. i didn't tell anyone, i don't think, but her sister definitely knew.
this was either year 11 or year 12, so 15 or 16. julia had left school by year 13 so it was before then.
[That would've been 2001 or 2002 for the first time. By 2004 my friend was an undergraduate at VUW in Wellington, reading English Lit]
i remember one night with julia, an old friend from school. i was about 15 or 16 and staying at her apartment in town while her mum & her lesbian lover were away. we raided the liquor cabinet and were really drunk. we were out on the balcony and i was licking her clit and had my fingers in her cunt. she came and pissed at the same time, and a bit got in my mouth. i was not into it at all, and i grabbed our bottle of tequila and had a few big gulps. julia apologised several times...but also said how good it felt to cum and piss at the same time. i'm always very open to new experiences so i gave it a try...and it felt amazing. it made my orgasm so much more intense. julia loved it too...
later i discovered pissing while purging which is also amazing.
One night we found her older sister's sex toys and were up together until dawn just playing and experimenting. I loved that hairy little blonde cunt...
She noted that Julia was one of those girls who was beautiful and amazing at sixteen, but who burned out early. Currently the single mother of two half-Maori boys, though my friend didn't mention if the boys had the same father. The "grim council flat" idea is deeply depressing. She'd noted that she had no idea whatever became of Fran, but some months later she wrote to say that she'd heard Fran had died--- an epileptic fit at 29. I'll note that it's all-too-possible, especially if serious drugs were involved. It's a sad thing, and sadder still that I did raise a suspicious eyebrow.
My friend once mentioned buying weed in WGN from a hippie friend, and she later mentioned that a hippie girl she knew had been arrested for weed. I have no idea whether that was Julia or not, and no idea how long it's been since she's seen Julia, let alone since she slept with her.
I want this story for my archives. I want it to be something I can remember years from now. It's something worth saving, though I wish I could know more.
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