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A Revelation

So, we all know about my past. If you don’t, I’m sure you’ll be able to follow along without too much trouble. If you’re still confused after, read this too. If you still don’t get it then you’re dumb.

I figured something out tonight. After drinking a bottle of good red wine and watching “Secret Diary of a Call Girl“. You see, this show means something to me. I lived this life and find myself relating to so much. I read her blog and it’s like seeing an old friend. More so than any other blog I read, sometimes. She knows what I lived.

Anyhow, I often wonder why I can’t seem to keep men of late. By ‘of late’ I mean in the last 3 years or so and I finally know what my problem is. I let them meet Debbie the whore, Stacey, and not Debbie the person.

It was so easy to fuck all of those men when I wasn’t being myself. Easy easy. Like, painting my toenails was more work. I was a character and that’s who they met. Somewhere along the line, I forgot to leave that character out of my personal affairs.

I was even Stacey with the Pilot.

I played whore even when I stopped being one.

It’s not that I mind that I’m easy. Well, easier than most women. I love sex and don’t see why I should spend hours and weeks of time getting to know someone and then find out that we aren’t sexual compatible or, worse yet, that they are horrible in bed. I like to know there’s potential from the start. Not from the first date, but a couple dates into it. Some men might find this to be a bit easy and to those I say grow up. I can’t be one of those women wasting both of our time putting you through your paces to see if you’re worthy of the pussy, like some women do. Fuck that.

But, I have to learn to be myself in these situations instead of playing a character. It’s a relationship, not a paid hour or two of sex. It’s hard though. Even years out, it’s difficult to let that kind of intimacy in once the clothes come off. I slept with so many men and trained myself to put me and who I am out of my mind when it came to sex, that I haven’t found a place where I can integrate ‘myself’ back into my own damn relationships.

I suppose I go one step at a time and when I feel myself falling back into that protective bubble that is ‘Stacey’ I know that I’m hiding and I should take a moment and let ‘me’ back in.

Oh, that’s a scary thought. Wish me luck.

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For those of you who work with me, you may want to come back later. This post is going to be explicit and you may find it difficult to look me in the face. If you read on, don’t tell me you weren’t warned.

To say that I need to get fucked is an understatement. I could say, I need to get laid or I need to have sex…but those words invoke either a sense of one-sided participation or a sense of niceness. That’s not what I want.

I want to be made to participate. I want to have to earn some niceties. I want to have pleasure dangled in my face and then be made to work for it.

I’m talking about domination.

It’s been a very long time since I was free to submit to my submissive side and I’m craving it. From the top of my head to my tippy toes. I’m not going to be satisfied until I get this. Some may not understand it. But I love exploring this side of myself.

To surrender completely, to trust completely, to test your limits.

Most of the time, spiced up vanilla sex is perfectly acceptable to me. But, every now and then I need to be put in my place. Don’t confuse that statement with feminism, sexism, or abuse. It’s not the same thing.

There are just moments when I need to feel my hands tied behind me, I need to feel a firm hand on my ass making it red and stinging, I need to feel my hair pulled just enough to smart, I need to crawl around on my hands and knees obeying for a few hours, I need to feel the hard snap of a ruler across my ass, I need to feel the delicate slap of a cock across my face, I need to feel…

…something.

Anyhow, there is no other thing I wanted to say. Just needed to get off of my chest. Thanks for listening.

Now, watch a video featuring two of my favorite artists because it’s really good.

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This is going to be an interesting post, huh? So, if you’re easily offended or a crybaby or whatever you may want to come back another time. I’m going to be giving my opinion about religion and why most have waged war on the almighty cunt.

But first…

I had sex this weekend. Gorgeous, glorious, gooey sex. With whom? The Pilot.

Now before some of you give me the lecture about this man or whatever, let me explain something to you. I’m not in love with him or have any delusions regarding his intentions with me. We fucked. We talked. He went home and I got a great night’s sleep. The end.

What was weird about the night was when he asked me why we couldn’t make it work. I told him that I needed someone with a heart. He laughed and said, “Tin Man.” “Something like that,” I said. This conversation took place before we even started fooling around.

At some point mid-coitus he looked at me and said that he could be someone with a heart if I needed that. I laughed and told him the only reason he’s saying that was because he was inside me, then I squeezed him hard with my vaginal muscles and told him to shut up and fuck me.

After he left that night, I really thought about what he said and wondered why men say these things in the throes of passion. Either to get us in bed or when they are inside us. Things that after the erection is gone and juices are spent are either forgotten or just lies to begin with. And men wonder why women get angry.

Then I started thinking about the past, not mine but history, and I wondered about men and women and their struggle with each other. I thought about the power that I hold, and all women hold, between their legs. Cunt. Uterus. Life.

More women have died because of man’s jealousy and lack of power over our cunts than anything. I thought about religion and how these modern theologies regard women as either evil, weak, whore. God is a man and therefore man are more divine because they possess a penis. Phallus equals power is what they would have you believe. Adam’s rib.

I’m gonna call that bluff.

I think that power has always been with us females. The first sex, if you believe in evolution. There was a time when a woman’s power was revered. When whores and mothers and priestess’ were all held with high esteem for their place in society. Where the word virgin wasn’t even in the language and there were ceremonies that broke a girl’s hymen when she got her first period. A time where women were worshipped because they represented life. Power. Love. Cunt.

Then some man decided to use physical brute and power to ‘control’ women and thus started the era of ‘Patriarchy’. God. Male. Phallic. Power.

The only way men could control the power women had was to brutalize them, beat them down, take away their rights, strip them of their dignity, and of their sexuality. Sexual slavery, rape, assault, witch hunts, arranged marriage, circumcision, etc…

We start seeing this sexism in the Egypt, Japan, China, India, Greece, and Rome in the ancient times. But, at least there were female good to appease and so, the feminine was represented. Whores were highly regarded and important members of society in these cultures. Even in this country in the early part of the 1900’s, brothels and bordellos were popular places for both men and women to hang out and their proprietors were important members of society. No stigma was attached to these places or these women. They were thought to be doing society a favor, relieving men of their pent up passions so that they didn’t take them out on the unwilling. Sounds good to me.

It wasn’t until we started seeing a monotheistic belief system that women were pushed to the background. Chattel. Our cunts didn’t belong to us. They belonged to our fathers and our husbands.

Hundreds, even thousands, of years later and nothing has changed. Men are still in awe of our cunts. They express it in different ways now. Why is pornography such a huge industry? Why is prostitution such a lucrative business? Why do strippers make the money they do? I think to reduce men to pigs or rendering them as overly sexed isn’t the answer. I think that all humans like to see sex and get off on watching it, but it’s the heterosexual sex that is the biggest selling point and I think it’s because men are drawn to this powerful thing we have. For those who argue this, think about the ratio of men paying for sex vs. women paying for sex. Think about what women strippers/porn stars make vs. male strippers/porn stars. It’s no contest.

Throughout time, women have known that men will do almost anything to get inside us. Some men may deny this, but I would like to say that from personal experience I know this to be true. I think the scariest thing to a man is a woman who knows her power and how to use it. Bitch. Whore. Slut. Many mature men will probably agree with me about this power, the young ones not knowing much of sexual politics and not having much sexual experience with self evolved women.

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just had to get it out of my head. I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday. I know, if I wanted to, I could make a man give me whatever I wanted and I’m sure there are other women out there who know this to be true. I just wonder what would happen if all women were taught how to use their sexuality, in a positive way, at an early age. What if they knew that we had god living in our cunts? I wonder how different the world would be.

Maybe it’s all rubbish. Maybe I’m a nut. This is just my stream of thought. I wish I could think about simple things like shoes. Or purses. Or what color I should paint my toenails. Ugh.

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What if I told you that I know what you want when you stare at me?

Every morning, as I stumble on the train platform, I see you standing there. I feel you staring. You’re one of the few men who don’t stare at my breasts, but instead you focus on my lips.

I know the look in your eyes. The rare moments I look up and meet your eyes are enough confirmation. You want me. We all know that look.

You never speak to me. You never try to stand closer. You just look. Our eyes making contact once we enter the train, the sexiness in your stare unnerves me.

It makes me hot. It makes my breath catch. It makes my stomach hurt, in the best way.

What if I told you that I daydream about fucking you during my morning train rides?

The eye contact on the train is sexy, but holding your eye contact while I’m sucking your cock is sexier to me. I want to see the heat in your eyes intensify as I slide my hot mouth over the head of your cock.

Don’t look at my mouth, look in my eyes.

Did you know that while the train was delayed this morning, I thought about slowing taking you inside my mouth? Flattening my tongue against your head while my wet lips take you deep in my mouth. I can make my mouth feel like a nice tight cunt, I wonder what your eyes would look like when I did this.

How does it make you feel that I licked my lips thinking about how you would taste? I thought about swirling my tongue over the tip of you, firm and soft and wet, and then blowing. I thought of licking my way down your cock to your balls, rolling each delicate piece of flesh with my tongue.

What if I told you that I would tease you with my mouth, still holding your eyes, until I couldn’t take the sweetness anymore? I would have to take you inside my tight, hot, wet cunt.

Would you still look so controlled if I crawled on top of you and sank down? Don’t look away. How much more heat would enter your eyes when I start rocking, pulsing my vaginal muscles around you…loosening when you enter, tightening when you exit? Would your eyes burn me? I wonder what your face looks like when you come. Would you still look at me or would you have to close your eyes?

Today, I saw you on the train-ride home. This is a rare occurrence. You held my stare until someone sat down next to me. The whole way home, I thought about coming on your face. You were looking in my eyes the whole time.

I wonder what you’d do if I printed this out and gave it to you.

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Friday night’s date was quite good. John and I had dinner at a small restuarant and I suggested we go back to my place for an after dinner drink. He agreed and when we got halfway to my apartment I told him that I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to have sex with him. He laughed and said, “You sure get to the point, don’t you?”

Once at my apartment, wine was forgotten and we had nasty, loud, rough, exquisite sex…..all night. I don’t even know how many orgasms I had. Seriously, it was like one long orgasm for 10 hours. He is a big fan of going down and I swear I almost died from pleasure. He also enjoyed several orgasms himself. I couldn’t believe how many times he kept, erm, rising to the occasion. It was lovely.

He left late Saturday morning because he had to work the rest of the weekend and wanted to catch a few hours sleep. I took a shower, changed my sheets, and slept for a few more hours as I was totally relaxed.

And guess who I dreamed about? The fucking Pilot. Why? I have amazing sex with a great guy and I dream about another man. I keep wondering what that means. My brain makes no sense sometimes.

Anyhow, John called me last night and today just to talk. He’s cooking dinner for me tomorrow night at his place. I haven’t been to his house yet, so this will be nice. He says he has a surprise for me. I wonder what it is. I can hardly wait until tomorrow night to find out.

Okay, Ill see you all later.

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