19 April 2012


It seems to be a time when people think that there is something alluring or attractive of sending photos of themselves being naked on all fours with a gaping asshole.  Or nothing else but a semi erect pathetic looking cock . . .they seem to think that having such photos on their profiles is going to attract someone?

Hmmm . . . WTF?!

Why is it that people think these photos are attractive?

What is it about these photos that makes these males think that it is going to bring them to my notice?  Why oh why do people think that sending these photos is ok? 

It is neither attractive or nice.

In fact, there is nothing attractive, interesting or alluring in seeing a gaping asshole on the screen and I really wonder what goes through a persons mind that must make them think that it is ok to send them . . or are they really so daft or stupid enough to think that we are going to see theses picture and think "Oh my god, that is the sub for me?"

For me. It has the complete opposite effect.

I do NOT want to see such pictures attached to an introductory email or message.  

Why would anyone think that I, or indeed anyone else would?

I don't even think that these pictures have a place on a profile . . .yet . . .you go to the likes of CM, IC or Fetlife and there is profile after profile where the main picture is of a gaping asshole, a pathetic looking cock or even gaping cunts.

I don't know about anyone else, but I actually avoid a profile if it has a picture like that staring back at me.  It could be the best written profile, leading to the most perfect person, but for me, pictures like that just do not portray someone in the best kind of light.

There is a time and a place for such photos.  Sending them with an introductory email, sending them into my inbox, or attaching them to a profile isn't either!


13 April 2012

Letting go

You didn't ask, but tentatively your hand reached out to my own that was resting on the table.  And gently your fingers found their way around my hand, your grip tightening with every passing second.

Our drinks remained untouched, the ice slowly melting, watering the drinks down even more.  Words remained unsaid.

I had wanted to take my hand away.  I didn't want to give you anything to hold onto; there was nothing to hold on to.

You squeezed my hand, I could sense the pleading within your touch, the way you tried to gain a response from me as you stroked my hand with your thumb.  I tried to resist the sparks that it sent through my body.  I was desperate not to let you know that my stomach was in knots, that although the electricity between us was clearly felt, it was not enough.  That it could never be enough, especially when the things that were wanted were oh so much more.  I know that while we could give so much, it would always fall short.  We would always be both left unfulfilled.  Cheating each other out of what we ultimately wanted.  We would always feel shortchanged.  And that gave room for unhappiness, resentment even.  

It was better this way. Even if it didn't feel like it.

We didn't notice the people around us, those who came and went.  We didn't notice the people that passed by, the ones who sat nearby or indeed anyone else.  We didn't notice the people on the other side of the room who sat and watched us and the painfully sad moment that we were engulfed within.  I continued to look ahead, not needing to glance in your direction, not needing to look at you to witness the sadness and begging from your eyes.

I couldn't bare to see you this way, I couldn't bare how you just couldn't let go.  I couldn't bare farewells and goodbyes.  But we knew that was what was coming.  We both knew it was what was needed.  And yet we both knew it wasn't as easy as saying goodbye.

Your eyes caught mine.  And the emotions that came from your eyes tore at my heart.  Your eyes screamed and begged and yet there was no sound.  Your hand gripped my own tighter pleading with the same intensity, and as I glanced away I noticed the single tear that gently fell from the corner of your eye.  Your other hand reaching up to discreetly wipe it away before anyone else witnessed it.

"I can't do this" you whispered.  "I don't want things to end this way."

"But we can't do this either."

"I can't say goodbye." 

"So don't say it.  Just turn and walk away."

"I can't."

My heart was pounding.  Part of me wanting to take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply.  Part of me wanting to revel in his tears.  Part of me wanting to force him over the table and hurt him.  Part of me wanting to hold him and to whisper that it would be ok.

But, there was the part of me that knew that this was the right thing.  For him. For me. For us. For everything.

It didn't make it any easier.

It doesn't make it any easier knowing that it is the right thing when there's a part of you that doesn't want to believe it is the right thing.  But deep down you know.  Deep down you just know it is the right thing.  It doesn't stop it hurting.  It doesn't stop it reaching in and squeezing the life out of your heart, twisting it, turning it, hurting it before placing it back inside.

I gently pulled my hand from his.  Not daring to look at his face, his eyes or the sadness within.

"I can't do goodbyes."

 "I can't just walk away."

And with that, I stood up.  Knowing that what I was about to do was for him, for the best even though a part of me didn't want to let go.

"I can.  I will.  For you. For the best."

"But is it? For the best?"

And I stood, touching his face gently with my hand. Not daring to look at him, my heart feeling like a mirror hitting the floor as it shattered into a load of tiny pieces.  And as I started to walk away, my own tear matching his, I simply whispered "Yes JoJo. It is." 

12 April 2012

Coffee with milk

She never prepared him coffee in the morning.

In fact, it was always him that made sure there was coffee ready each morning, a glass of fresh juice, all ready in place just for a quick drink before she headed out of the door.

This morning was no different, in terms of the mad rush that was the start to the working day.

Except it was different.

She had prepared breakfast.  He saw it laid out on the table where normally her coffee and juice would have been lovingly placed.  He knew she was up to something.  And yet, wasn't quite sure what.

She poured him a coffee as he sat at the table, leaning forward, kissing him deeply.  Her hand working its way into his hair pulling him closer, allowing her to kiss him harder.  He had an appointment and knew that he was going to be late, and yet, he could sense that she didn't care about that.

He knew exactly what was on her mind as she lowered herself into his lap, rubbing her naked sex up his leg, he could feel her arousal, a trail of wetness being left on his leg.  His cock began to harden, and she sensed this, moving herself quickly and deftly as she lowered herself down on top of him and as she kissed him deeper she began to slowly ride his cock.

She rode him harder, her muscles gripping him intensely.  Harder and faster she moved up and down the length of him, gripping his hair, kissing him, biting him, whispering things into his ear.

She asked him if he wanted milk in his coffee.  He struggled to answer between the kisses and the desperation he had not to come inside her.

And yet, he knew that she would know exactly when he was about to reach orgasm, after all, she had learned to read his body, his reactions. She played him well, exactly how she wanted, when she wanted.  And he was fast realising that this time was no different.

She raised herself off of his cock, almost until he came out of her, then pushing herself down its full length, her muscles tightening around him.  He knew it wouldn't be long until he would come.

On the next time she raised herself off from him, she stepped aside pulling him to his feet by his cock, masturbating him hard and fast she pulled his cup of coffee closer, and ordered him to "come now".

As he did so, he ejaculated into his own cup of coffee, the spurts of hot semen floating around on the dark hot liquid that she had poured only moments before.

She leant forward, picking up a spoon, stirring the coffee for him.

She sat down with her own freshly poured cup of coffee, watching him, smiling at him.  Watching as the realisation dawned on his face of what she was doing.  His body and mind recovering from the intensity of an unexpected orgasm. 

"There you go my darling boy, coffee with milk.  Now drink.  We wouldn't want you to be late would we?"