Tag Archives: Sexuality

Thai Terminal


friends

Written previously, recently revised.

We welcomed each other first with high spirited voices talking into our cell phones and waving from across the street like lost little kindergarten classmates.  Then we greeted like sisters with tight long bear-hugs in the same way we always have because there are a few things in life that never change.  I could hear her wailing happiness beating from her gut than her chest and out into the public and onto my ear.  I smile in her hair with immediate joy but reserved the sound of my joyfulness.

Xyza is an undercover mentor, a maternal-like figure, full of flashes of hippie love, extraordinary kindness and massive angelic light that illuminates from her aura.  I’m also an undercover mentor, half in age, full of loyal compassion, extraordinary hospitality and thoughtfulness that leave the innocent light on in the darkness of which I grow.

In the center of this embrace I reflect over our countless meet-ups and how it never fails, my constant awkwardness in the hub of sharing love and how despite iself, I’m genuinely able to digest her white magic, even if it leaves me depleted afterward.  Xyza looks tenderly beautiful with her strawberry blonde shoulder-length bob.  I compliment her on the new length when she declared, “I had a vision of myself twenty years from now, me with long gray hair and a flower in it off to the side.”

I love the visions she shares with me.

We settle in a Thai restaurant not far from her parked car.  Upon sitting, the server asks, “Are you tourists?”  “No”, we replied.  Xyza turns my way inching up her nose until it crinkles with a question, “How come everyone thinks I’m a tourist?  I was born in New York, but live just outside the city.  I guess.. because I travel a great deal.”  I nod in agreement and chimed, “Your aura never has that grounded feel from being in one place too long.”

But, with me it’s totally different; I’m a New Yorker who’s considerably considerate whereas I allow people to hit me with their bags as I stand overt with an introverted atmosphere on the train or bus.  Unlike Xyza, my roots are established in New York and it’s on display when I talk about my suspicions concerning the worldview.  I may come across as myopic, but I consider myself to be purely grounded.

Thirty minutes of conversation and I’ve been following Xyza’s lead because she’s paying so I never lay a finger on the menu.  The server comes over to nudge us politely – then Thai Chive Pancakes, Vegetable Spring Rolls and a glorious Mango Salad along with unsweetened ice tea lands sweetly before our eyes.  I continued following Xyza’s lead and didn’t touch a single carrot slinky.  I sat glued in passivity to the tales of my friend.

*

I listen to her speak about her ex-husband and how she’s pretty sure a demon owns him.  I listen when she said she knows of two men who have transcended beyond the physical and how they both married wonderful women, but not perfect women.  (It made me wonder, what constitutes a perfect woman according to a sixty-year old woman.)  I listen on in when she said she doesn’t want to play the romantic game from a male’s physical perspective, nor does she have any desire to play the woman’s perspective which is to trap a man in a relationship.  Of course, I agree.  I believe life is too short to live conventionally.

When Xyza decides to come up for air, I volunteer my own discourse.

I speak about isolation from the world and if canceling my gym membership is the wrong thing to do because at least this is a place where I can maintain some social skills.  I speak about having elevated to a place where physical sex is no longer an obligation of mine, nor is it ever a want.   I speak about the tiny things that make me happy like being by the water, the vision of living in a beach house single with two pets:  A husky dog and a petite cat.  I speak about not understanding the point of being in a relationship with men when being the opposite gender I’ve yet to connect and remain on the same wavelength.  I always feel superior.

*

We understood each other the way women and friends frequently do and we continued to eat, sip, laugh and talk the summery night away.

-Pennington

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Perspective inside a Perspective


Art 0
I’m tired of masturbating to him.

I wonder if it’s true, what he vaguely alleged, if I’d be able to overlook his emotional debuts and tiny manic moods if we actually had frequent sex?  And the fact remains that this shocked me because I paused more to myself than to him.  This could be a half-truth and this made me feel troubled and by troubled I mean my perspective on this matter had zero perspective on this matter (which calls for this entry).

Where would I be mentally or emotionally say if we had sex continuously for 3 months in the time we decided to get involved?  Where would he be? It’s been brought to my attention time and time again how sex is important to me.  I could live in part-time denial but I’ve been in the process of accepting myself for who I am a lot lately.  So where would my mindset be if we had continuous sex?  See, we only engaged in sex once for 3 pleasant hours:  One month and 12 days ago.  It’s going to be longer because he’s in California now.  (I’m not sure why I’m counting besides the obvious?  This is highly unlike me.  Plus I’m getting sex mighty well from elsewhere as is.) 🙂

It’s easy to memorize when I decided the next morning after our breaking night, how he said he loved me in the back of an Arab store drinking his sorrows to Sapporo beers as we made out like rebellious teenagers in public with his one hand scaring me as it clenched to my ponytail in a minor dominating matter as he vomited his feelings into the windows of my unready soul.  It’s easy to memorize how I took this time to conclude that through his mourning there’s a form of strong aphrodisiac from both ends, how I’ve been prepared to give my body to him since a year ago.  But the sealing of the deal was on his mother’s birthday, the first anniversary where she’s to represent a higher plane outside of this physical world.

I believe it’s true I’m in this (mostly?) for the physical aspect. But who’s to say I don’t like him deeply from the bottom of my heart.  That I like the way he manages his voluminous lips with Chapstick.  I like the way he takes care of me and massages my hip flexors and stretches me out like a considerate lover in the middle of a training session.  Or how I like the way he mentions his achy childhood stories with freedom and just how stimulated he becomes (like me) with a forty-minute conversation.

Still this relationship is a square of four total people involved.  We’re each affected by what one does or doesn’t do and by what the other person says and doesn’t say.  We’re each living a separate life and out of the four that make the line only three know while one has some idea.  Still this relationship is odd and dysfunctional.  It’s testing me in ways I’ve never been and it makes me feel things I haven’t felt.  I’m connected even when I try to look the other way.  Still this is part of the beauty:  No true reassurance of anything.  (Perhaps I like it this way?  It keeps the illusion of mystery alive.)  It’s following, weaving and it’s swerving.  It’s make a hard left and its turn a soft right.  And all in all it’s partially misleading.

I like that he reminds me of me.  When he pushes away is when I should be coming forward, when he says no he really means yes.  He creates distance when he doesn’t want to relinquish power.  Above all he tests my water, questions my abilities of patience, romance, positivity, fullness, training, learning to let go, being adventurous, swimming out with the other extroverts of life, nature, flowing, not questioning every single thing (because you can), the six senses and human connection.  Within experiencing somebody you experience yourself.

So where was I about masturbating? 😉

-Pennington

The Madness of Want


Madness.

Maybe I’m egocentric?  Or perhaps I’m unavailable to other people’s feelings when they’re based on significant others and compromises of exclusivity and the possession of my faithful sexuality to a single person?

I believe I’m made by nature to rebel against the norm, of the eager commodity of humans who remain in the center of what the world has ever known:  Familiarity.

I believe it’s exceptionally selfish to ask a person to be monogamous period.  To be able to make a conscious choice out of your philosophy, out of your environment is asking for rousing chaos.  It appears monogamy has much to do with sexuality and not of the love that unites two people.  What does love have to do with sex?  Or sex has to do with love?

I would like to know if anyone can offer me a good answer as to why a person shouldn’t be allowed to share themselves freely with another person in more ways than just an emotional or spiritual response.  Why wouldn’t I connect with someone unreservedly on sexual conditions just because my partner wouldn’t grant me permission?  My body is my will and so is my mind when I make a decision.

I’ve come to recognize there are lots of reasons as to why I don’t feel a closed relationship would work for me (until further notice).  I knew from the start I wasn’t some downright scandalous cheater but a person who felt caged and was practically dying to be unleashed into absolute liberty.

I’d wonder why I could be with a partner and decide at a whim of madness the desires I knew that weren’t going to be met by they.  Maybe what seemed to be hopeless was an expectation of a matter?  Something deeper I presently fail time and time again to put my finger on.

Perhaps I sit premeditating a cycle that becomes unbearable if I yearn for the obviousness of me wielding the power of a man’s shaft in my hands with a mind and mouth of a dangerous whore searching for the collection of sperm through wishes of instant gratification which takes place from her tangible performance.

Or perhaps I’m with a friend or two lounging with an array of smoke and alcohol and the heat of lust takes over me when I’m aware my partner and I rarely throw ourselves into the throes of passion where tongues collide first in a ritual of softness and saliva sparks the breath of required aspiration. Of a person savoring my body with their glorious hands and taking into account that tomorrow is never promised.

There isn’t a hiding place for greed, eventually it will catch up to you.  There isn’t a safe place for expectation to rest its head.  There isn’t a means to destroy the need for instantaneous connection.  Is there a point to living life without the utter abundance of life itself when there isn’t any time like the present?



-Pennington

Ardor


So I thought about you pressing me into the wall within the elevator metal ribs disregarding the camera spying from the top corner.  So I thought about the electricity conspiring against us because every woman wants you and every man desires me. And I could see our breaths suspend right between our spicy mouths before we come crashing into ecstasy of troubled ferocious passion.

So I thought about smiling drowning and happily suffocating under the mountains of your mesmerizing muscle-bellies.  So I thought about your penis and its girth a baseball bat and hung like a horse with veins the size of the snakes you have imprinted on your forearms and my vagina being pushed in out slow motion shamelessly promoting sexual commotion.

-Pennington©

Guys Are Never My Friends


Ever.

This is a fact in my life.

Regardless of the information I do my best to create a benefit of doubt because maybe I believe in that lotto line awfully much:  Hey you never know.  Still I learn the error within a benefit.  My hunches are typically correct especially when I went with this so-called friend of mine out to the village where he put me on the spot with my sexual issues to a complete lesbian stranger and decided to purchase a vibrator along with silicone liquid for me to take home while he bought himself a cock ring.

The episode he pulled in the Pink Pussycat Boutique had me extremely upset because this is a person who thought it was fine like a friendly sport pat-on-the-ass by his own discernment of me to bring up some of my personal problems (that aren’t really problems actually) to the kind stranger who helped him get toys.

It’s unfair and there’s absolutely no reason (unless there are hidden motives) on any account for a person to set you (or anyone) up for a high level of awkwardness and a clear disregard for not only your privacy but established boundaries that are supposed to be known between so-called friends despite your everyday boldness in life.  It is not like I met him yesterday.  I know him for years.

It doesn’t give anyone the right under any circumstance to involve YOUR issues because it’s fucking YOURS.  Why is he not laying his subjects as a matter of anxiety on the table for the comforting kind stranger?  Because things are never what they seem at first.  This isn’t about him trying to figure out for my benefit.  But for his.

I am quite happy with my mind state and how it’s evolving and I’m still discovering my petite issues pertaining to sex and intimacy.  But my sex concerns aren’t for anyone, friend or foe, relative or stranger to judge, pick apart or have an open discussion in public because HE, not I, wants an objective view of why I do not masturbate or choose to have promiscuous sex.

This guy doesn’t want an objective view and he’s not looking into understanding because he already has locked into his prejudiced scrutiny. The better approach would have been to ask me privately if I find him sexually appealing.  If my not masturbating means he has zero shot at my precious vagina?  My views have good purpose and if I don’t want to masturbate, one should automatically assume I have an excellent reason as to WHY I DON’T masturbate in the first place.  (It’s not like I never done it.) Self-control and discipline since you asked. 😉

What’s upsetting as shit to me has everything to do with the boundaries he has the audacity to push.  Like on one occasion he wanted to know the color of my nipples and pussy.  Now, would he ask his male friend what color is his penis or nipples?  I highly doubt it.  So why treat me different from your male friend if I’m a friend?  (I take this friendship shit seriously.)  And this is the thing about people, they are going to try and take advantage based on what your personality is like since I’m the kind of person who talks about sex as casual as the common cold conversation in the office.  Clearly it becomes a question of:  Why not drive the extra mile and see if she’ll tell me the color of her nipples?

It’s about people who see you in a personal light and believe they know you more than most rather than think the opposite which is they don’t know who the fuck you are in spite of their own delusions.  They shove and shove and shove their own perceptions of you down your fucking throat until you vomit all those impressions they collectively collected with a bang of FUCK YOU! Than they take about thirty steps the fuck back.

I couldn’t help but wait a few days to calm my furious ass down at the gift he bought me.  I made it a note to send him text messages questioning his motives until he confirmed that he’s my friend with the potential to be a lover.  And when I asked him if the sexual tension only comes from his part alone?  He feels the sexual tension comes from both me and him, cementing the delusion further.  I told him loud and clear I only want to be friends and he could take it or leave it.

He said he wants to be my friend and didn’t hit me up for a few days.  Than of course we haven’t hung out ever since that night.  He has cancelled on me probably as many times as his other lady friend (he thought he was going to have an ongoing casual-sex relationship) did to him.  I told him simply as a friend that he has no chance with her.

But you know how things go, life, it’s a thing you have to learn yourself and even though you go through shit, you just have to laugh at it.  From my hateful heart I say fuck those benefits of doubts.  I’m going to stay with my gut as it doesn’t stray me wrong.

Plus who needs so-called friends like that?

-Pennington

Sexual Filler Songs



I’m currently a hypersexual wildebeest meaning anything sets me off such as a piece of fabric caressing my skin to flirting with the coworker who’s dying to eat my pussy in the babysitting room at the gym.  I’m a sexual monster and I mean this in the most repulsive manner.  I’m completely ill with my days and nights of gargantuan hormones.  Currently speaking, no amount of Cardio, Yoga or Weightlifting has cured it this time around, not even a spec.

I’ve been scouting the gym and looking for possibles as if I were in some local bar.  I fantasized about picking one out, treating him to coffee where I’d perform my needs analysis and put my wicked talent of people character on the table for sex.  My stare is fully manic and my eyes are hypnotic demonic, with mouth ajar and head tilted slightly to the side with a flame-broiled horny face.

Earlier today before passing by a male stranger I gave him sultry squinting bedroom eyes with my lips puckered into a bodacious smooch.  I don’t normally like getting attention.  But I enjoy giving it to others and letting their mind race with entertaining thoughts of me and what I can do.  I play the part of a person’s fantasy very well just like an Oscar actress, a Porn Star or a beloved hooker.  He never saw it coming and I knew as he kept walking he wondered was it aimed towards me? and was it intentional? Yes. Yes it fucking WAS!

Being that I’ve been wildly consumed by my needs and desires and never consumed by the thought of actually and literally masturbating I thought to come up with a list of songs I listen to when I’m feeling hypersexual.  Some may get a kick out of this because some of you fuckers openly masturbate to me while others may actually get to probably enjoy a new tune.  Unless of course, you’ll be willing to let me in on one of the songs you play when you’re feeling extra frisky? 😀

1. Heidi Montag – Body Language
2. Oro Solido – La Tanga
3. Blondie – Call Me
4. Lana Del Rey – Lolita (Or Lolyta)
5. The Raconteurs – Broken Toy Soldiers
6. Norah Jones – Turn Me On
7. Sade – Is It A Crime
8. Country Strong Soundtrack – Shake That Thing!
8. Wynter GordonDirty Talk
9. Donna SummerLove To Love You Baby
10. Calvin Harris – Feel So Close
11. Britney Spears – Selfish
12. Shakira – La Tortura
13. Flashdance Soundtrack – Manhunt
14. Maroon 5 – Stutter
15. Janet Jackson – Throb
16. Metro Station – Shake It
17. Junior Reid – One Blood
18. Fiona Apple – The First Taste
19. Enrique Iglesias – I’m Fucking You
20. Billy Idol – Rebel Yell

-Ms. Hall

START SOMETHING: A REMINDER


(IT’S ABOUT TIME I REMIND MYSELF OF WHO I AM.)

I DON’T KNOW.
I DON’T KNOW.
I DON’T KNOW.

IF I CAN DEADLIFT 195LBS, 200LBS OR 210LBS FOR 5 REPS WITH SUPERB FORM. SOMETIMES A LITTLE BODY ENGLISH IS NEEDED FOR ADDITIONAL GREED.  CAN I SMELL THE ALLURE? TORCH THE STORM IN THE NAME OUT OF NORM?  HOW MANY TIMES MUST I AUTO-SUGGEST THE BEST OF THE DAY’S MANTRA AND SURRENDER RIGHT IN THE DAWN OF MY TANTRA?  DEVELOP MY MIND UNTIL IT’S OVERLY PREPARED AND WITHIN THE PROCESS BECOME CONSIDERABLY IMPAIRED? BECAUSE TOO MUCH TIME MEANS TO THINK AND SUFFER AT THE HANDS OF THE UNDECLARED.

IF THERE’S ONE THING I DESPISE IT’S BEING SLIGHTLY FRIGHTEN DESPITE THE HEART AND STRENGTH OF A TITAN.  TO BE OUT OF ONE’S COMFORT ZONE IS TO BECOME HEAVILY ENLIGHTEN.   SO YES, PENNINGTON, IT’S TOTAL BULLSHIT!  IF THERE’S ONE THING THAT PUSHES US OVER THE REPS, SETS AND GETS US THROUGH THE LIFTS, IT’S THE THUNDEROUS ANGER, THE MANY GEARS AND SHIFTS OF THE COLOSSAL RAGE OF NOT GETTING THE END RESULT TO FULLY STICK.

IT TOOK ME THREE TOTAL WORKOUTS TO GET PAST THE MILITARY PRESS.  WAS I HAPPY?  NO!  WAS I THRILLED WHEN I PUSH THROUGH THE RESISTANCE EVEN WHEN IT WAS TRYING TO CRUSH ME WITH ITS TENSION LAUGHING.. ENOUGH TO THROW MY INTELLIGENCE FOR A LOOP – AURA SCATTY?  FUCK YEAH!  FUCK YEAH!  BUT I REMAINED COOL.  COOLER THAN A PEPPERMINT PATTY.  COOLEST LIKE THAT TROPHY WIFE ON THE ARM OF AN ATM FATTY!

I KNOW I CAN GET X AMOUNT OF REPS IN.  I HAVE THE GUTS AND HERCULEAN DEPTHS TO TAKE BRASS BALLS ON MY CHIN.  THE FIRE, THE GLUTTONOUS BLOOD EDGING ME ON WITH FERVOR LIKE THE COMPULSIVE NEED FOR ONE-HUNDRED AND ONE LOVERS MIDST A CARAVAN INN.  I HAVE THE LIFTING DISEASE AND THERE ISN’T ANYONE WHO CAN SAVE ME!

-PENNINGTON

The Hardest Part: Determining Factor & Decision



Where do I start?

I want to have sex with this gym member who I’ve had a crush on for a little while now.  I’m used to dating, flirting, playing show me yours and I show you mines to just plain sex with my co-workers (if I trust them).  But not with gym members.

It has been an unspoken rule for years.  Not to say I’ve never dated any of these members.  But I just never went pass first base with any of them.  No one has ever been good enough to convince me out of my inner workings.   And in my case, liquor courage doesn’t help if you don’t drink liquor.

So somewhere between reading about Procrastination and needing some excitement in my life.  I voiced to gym member (who I’ll call) Mr. Stifler two weeks ago during a conversation of heavy bag and mixed martial arts how I found him to be good-looking.  By the end of the second week he asked me out to dinner for Sunday like a casual mess.

Obviously, the initial thought of sex is there because we both expressed our attraction towards one another.  Then it became obvious over dinner at the Thai place that we both aren’t looking for relationships and (unlike other females I presume he’s been with), how I don’t need drinks to be brave because I am comfortable in my skin.  Still when I expressed to Mr. Stifler how I don’t see the point in drinking, he chimed with his charming jerk self, then you’re not drinking enough.

Ah, peer pressure, excitement, lights, highness, left me with 3 big drinks in my belly on a practically empty stomach because who eats when attraction and flirtatiousness is filling up your appetite in itself?

Here’s my deal:  My heart and mind belongs to another, although we aren’t exclusive because of my terms.  So I don’t need anybody else’s love, devotion or affection.  I don’t require it at all.

However what I fancy is to have lots of desirable fun with someone who can keep me on my toes and can make me bend my principles and morals for a night or weekend or two.  This can involve having sex with new food tastes, getting an arm/shoulder workout from playing bowling or making out drunk in Dave & Buster’s with a guy who takes me out of myself right before I have to go and get a training session in.

My only issue is I don’t consider myself to be any good (anymore) in terms of just hooking up and making the home-run happen.  I matured a little bit too much apparently.  And the hardest part before practice is just getting started, right?

-Pennington

Handjob Limited


There’s something about getting too personal on a blog.  I do my best to refrain.  I have multiple blogs for multiple subjects and my semi-split or rather contradictory personalities.  When I put myself out there on my blog especially for many to see I can feel a little vulnerable.   But not much.. as I don’t give a fuck about what people say or think.  All that matters is how I feel about things.  So here is me getting a bit more personal.  Enjoy it motherfuckers!  😀

The only other thing (surely not the only other thing) besides a heavy make-out session with hair becoming knotty, breaths syncing with your partner, jeans having sex with one another, foreplay as if there were no tomorrows, knees buckling under the constant sexual tension, massages that run off way into the night of something completely new.  Something I truly enjoy that is a part of this list are giving handjobs.  (Receiving ones too.)  For me, there’s nostalgia in it.

All of these wonderful actions I mentioned were all the lovely things I started out on in my childhood.  What I call the ignorant in bliss stages.  The come now or never curious factor.  Or freedom of an invincible kind of the expression of Self?  Way before delving into sex and having it turned up its own nose on oral, vagina and anal intercourse..  There was what was and there was what is.  Never mind bedroom techniques that keep the boys home loyal with or without you being by their side.

I honestly love the days when things were simple.  No thoughts to ruin the underlying moment.  No indecisiveness.  Just total sexual combustion at will.  All the easy things to get off on that required no actual penetration.  I would love to go back to the time when things were still like this for me because when it comes to the complicated magnitudes of sex and all it’s idiosyncrasies, partners, conditions and affairs…I don’t know if I can win?  Somewhere between one’s thoughts, feelings and biased views there are disruptive limitations quickly set by the enemy of the mind.  And this is where handjobs come in.

I never give them anymore.

My nonexclusive partner wasn’t like all the other guys I dealt with.  Lube IS needed.  His head gets sensitive quick.  I would go into it overthinking, before, during and after.  It sounds a lot like this:

“Can I give a good handjob?  Can I keep up with the pace my lover wants in any given position?  Is his head too sensitive right now? Am I gripping too hard?  (I’ve had this complaint before.)  How will I know?  Do I have to play with his balls now?  Does he like it?  Are his moans real or fake?  Is there enough lube or spit on his dick?  Can I compete with his techniques he’s learned and has been accustomed to since he was a teenager?  Do I have to be good?  Am I doing poor?  Must I pressure myself?  Does he have to cum every time I give him a handjob?  Does any of this even matter?”

How can I make all these questions stop while giving him a handjob?  Or right before I like to give him a handjob that never begins?

When younger, I would never complicate what is or what was or if I could live up to my own expectations because for some reason it didn’t matter.  Sometimes the only thing I sought out for was just to have fun anytime, anywhere on every occasion like that one time at a party in the closet.  I took turns with the brothers.  Handjobs were fun!  So now I should be saying:  Who cares if the guy cums?  And who cares if there isn’t any lube?  It was enough for me to appreciate the act as did the people I gave handjobs to.

But now, I’m grown.  I’ve tarnished everything and everything about everything has to be in a structure according to my belief system..even if it’s not true.  The fuck is this about?  And how can I go about healing it?  Healing me?  Healing the penis I know I can worship with just my hand?

This is all.

-Pennington

Gym Sex!


There are times when I feel the tug and pull of both my conservative and liberal side when it comes to sex.  It’s both a curse and a blessing.  Just like beauty.  Or never being able to live in complete ignorance after learning about the truth.  Sometimes I’m painstakingly annoyed, downright disgusted and put off by the petite signals of sex.  Other times I’m upfront, bully or pressure for it and have even physically punched and kicked my partners due to the rejection of sex.  But on this particular night I was in need of some sexual action and not having to wait until I went home to get my first fix.  Plus I always wanted to have sex in my first home:  The Gym.

And so it began..

I was in a bout of hypersexual quickie mode where everything seem to be out of the fucking ordinary like orgasming unexpectedly from what I consider a difficult position (for me).  And though I didn’t bless any Bench, Swiss Ball or Nautilus Machine.  I found my experience to be pleasantly received.  Excitement came from everywhere, whether it was making sure gym members were out of the building or mulling over a secluded spot with nobody knowing what was to occur.  I was living within the moment, carefree as a social butterfly with a raging throb that kept pulling my attention below which rushed over me as I stopped my partner every few feet to innocently kiss him and snuggle his bulge with palmela.

With employees roaming around the building and the lights out except for the emergency ones that glittered streaks of red and whitish blue.  I grabbed my partner by the hand giggling like I won a plush toy at a carnival with a sun smile on my face guiding him into the darkened  women’s locker room carefully.  There’s always been something both strangely calm and dirty about having sex in the biggest stall of a gym.  I didn’t waste any time as I lowered my pants to my ankles while he kissed the back of my neck and massaged all my hills and curves the way I adore.  My heart was racing from the possibility of getting caught, legs tangled in anxiety bliss, middle moist with love and devotion.

I turned around to kiss him heavily on the lips to spill the pleasure he was giving to me with his hand on my ruby seed.  Willingly I unbuckled his belt, unbutton THE button, unzipped it as now was his turn to lower the cockblocking pants.  But the fun part came when I held onto the handicapped rail.  I half-way bent over with one hand mushing the wall for better balance.  Then tilting my head towards the side I can see hands fumbling, body shifting and hear his moistening the rod business to prepare for demand.

The first few strokes typically are the most painful for me.  But not tonight.  My pumpkin was ready and it swallowed him whole while I got up on my tippy-toes to add to the height and arch and awe of it all.  As our moans filled the air and the nervousness of sweat clung onto the fabric of our clothes, I took in, how his firm grip felt on my hips, how he pulled me in smoothly and how he strummed my pink hard seed all at the same time.  Probably the best feeling was the combination of how my calves were burning hell from being raised as I mimicked his rhythm and pace faithfully while he pumped me with sweet exaltation.

With all my senses lit, pumpkin contracted harder and harder.  Clamming down on my partner’s screwdriver while my clitoris was jerked heavenly upon.  My abdominals started to clench into what felt like a double crunch, my hand hanging onto the edge of the handicap rail trying to hold on.  But my body language deteriorated into a slump as I couldn’t contain my powerful sneak attack orgasm.  I convulsed with each stroke as he drove home deeper and deeper with a much fuller force.  He was more than close and my calves were championing between fierce blaze and a maddening cramp contraction.

No more deepened inhalations, only shallow gasps and slight gulps.  His elation was ready to spill over just in the jizz of time as I was about to dip into my lazy mode with my powerful orgasm and passion energy well spent.  He pulled out.  His aura felt like thunder as he came remarkably strong.  And on a final note:  Between you and I, let’s just say there wasn’t a mess the housekeeper had to clean the next morning. 😉

-Pennington