Breathtaking Eros

Men. And attraction. From the get-go I have been a quiet girl. From the get-go, I have been attracted to the more energetic types. Popular guys, outgoing guys, guys that definitely have a spark inside them and a whole other labyrinth past their outer façade. That is always very enticing. I love to see the enigma inside people. Especially those who are so outgoing that their inner self is just that much more interesting. Luckily for me, some of them have been attracted to me, too.

One of the first guys I went out on a date with was a drummer. He was extremely talented, quite attractive however big-boned, and in general an entertaining, engaging person to be around. As is typical of me, I was very surprised when he approached me and we went out to the movies, and so on. Things didn’t progress much beyond that. I just wasn’t as attracted to him as he was to me, and he was more shallow than I’d have liked.

A long-term crush I had was on a sexy skinny goth boy. He was gorgeous, flamboyant, artistic, photogenic, and unique in a genuine way. Black on him was sexy. Now him I actually began to pursue, except we never went on an actual date, more just hung out together. We went to almost all of my high school dances, and that was fun. He lived far away, though, and it was a pain getting together. That didn’t go anywhere.

Ninja was another person who was firey, talented, attractive, and overwhelmingly complicated. Exactly the sort of person I liked to be around. What draws a person like him to a person like me? Opposites attract, right? I guess they did. However our relationship fizzled, the fact remains that my trend continued.

And it continues still. Events I cannot yet articulate are unfolding… I’ll see about explaining them later.

I think I’m being punished. I really, really do, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

Anyway, I had some free time last night so I decided to do some cardio kickboxing. Got on my sports bra, shorts, shoes, bandana, put on some good beats and was jabbing and kicking my way around my room while I was alone. Worked up a good sweat, tried not to let myself wuss out, and did a pretty good job. I’m a weakling, I don’t dare count on my two hands the number of push-ups I can do. But that’s alright, huh?

So I grabbed my robe and headed to the bathroom to shower. I caught myself in the mirror, of course. We’re all at least accidental narcissists. I think I look kind of hot when I’m all worked up like that. And when my hair’s up, you can see the bone structure of my face. Mmm, jawline. One of the best parts on a man. Shame there ain’t no men here…

So I took my shower and washed away all my sexy looks. I’m saving them. For someone special.

Today is Ninja’s and my one-year anniversary. I don’t really know what to do with myself, at the moment. Just one year, but a full one year. The best and most insane year yet!

I’d love to sit over dinner and talk. Go out on a date, dress up all sexy, nibble his ears and hold his hand. Tap on his feet with my toes and grin a silly grin. Play games, debate things, and draw together. Naked. And lead into some intercourse with all the works. I’ve never had a landmark like this. Just like any other day, I wish I could show him that I love him. With lots of physical attention. Lots.

Thus is the life of a sad girl in love!

So, since I can’t be treated to a fine dinner, can’t cuddle under a blanket watching a movie, can’t strip him of his clothes and start the fireworks on the nearest stable (or unstable) surface and so on, what can I do? Damn it. All I can do is take pictures and a bit of video. That’s not good enough, but I guess that’s all I’ve got at my hand.

Ninja has been bugging me to strip for him, haha… take pictures of that. It started from the Valentine’s Day pictures I sent him, in which I played dress up and donned some fishnets and my lovely, fitted, black strapless shirt. It was meant to be a joke, really, at first. I asked him if he liked fishnets, and he said, “on some legs.” Well… did he like them on mine? So I hopped on my desk, set the timer, and struck a pose. And he decided that he wanted more, and more, and more. He’s likened his desire for photographs to an addiction. That was his V-Day gift, me in fishnets being sexy. (He still owes me MY pictures…) And after such escapades he decided that he wanted pictures of me stripping. Oooohh silly boy, I’ve never done such a thing. He didn’t care, naturally. “I’ll be your coach!” he piped up. Yeah, sure…

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see about taking some pictures for him of that nature. It’s just a pain in the ass, resorting to such things. I don’t want to give him a cute folder of hot pictures. I want to be there, do it in person! Haha, that would probably be worse. But, still, damn it all. I hate how big the world is, I just want to have a day with my boyfriend.

Angst!

Eros has been playing games with me lately. I’ve been so horny, and sex has been everywhere. That’s not necessarily a good thing, either. Watching Carnivale with my mates here and enjoying those sex scenes, those are always fine in my book. Waking up in the middle of the night to Brat Roommate getting it on with her Non-Boyfriend? Not so good. I could hardly see straight, it felt like sometimes.

But then. Starting three or so days ago. It vanished. No masturbation. No desire. Not hotness. It’s allowing me to actually focus on my school work, but other shit is interfering in its place. I think I’d rather be outrageously horny than sobered and overwhelmed.

Can’t win!

In other news, whilst in the midst of some super-arousal Ninja managed to get a video of me masturbating. He requested a video tutorial of the Two-Minute Method, haha, and I also granted him that. See, after a bit of a talking to he convinced me once again that my embarassment about showing him was rooted in nonsense. It gets me all mixed up. I’m a modest girl. But a part of me also has no problems with exhibition. So the modest part of myself keeps a short leash on that exhibition girl. A very short leash, which might at some times indeed be too short. Oh well. Sorry, Ninja. He’ll just have to put up with shaking some sense into me from time to time.

I feel honored — one of my confessions is one of the week’s most “Me Too”-ed for the first week that THC has been up!

I hit the 1k mark, that’s pretty sweet. Thanks for reading, pervs!

Last night I caught one of my greatest, oldest friends from the internet online, Pyro. Somehow we got on the topic of sex, which was pretty interesting because I’m still mostly shy around real people… but I could always talk frankly to Pyro. He’s a cool guy.

In the midst of our conversation he said that he couldn’t get off from masturbating anymore. WHAT? It got to a point where he had to use porn… and now… he can only have his jollies with a chick. That sucks. Or at least is something kinda weird. Makes me wonder how much of a ladies’ man he’s become, because the last time this got brought up some handful of years ago, he said he was a virgin!

I swear he’s got to be doing something wrong, haha. Oh well, too bad for him. It makes me strangely glad that I can satisfy myself going solo. I easily forget that some girls don’t know how to masturbate, or can’t get a climax, no matter what they do. Obviously I don’t always have Ninja around, so if I were limited… well, I would probably deal with it as there’s nothing to be done about it, but the thought of it is so mortifying.

Having no Ninja continues. In the wink of an eye I fly back and start classes again. Satisfied? No, not one bit.

At least I can masturbate…

Sex is not just about feeling good. Cervix-pounding, breast-bruising sex is always nice. And, for certain, the sort of sex where it’s slow and purposeful, when his orgasm creeps up on him… yes, that is pretty nice, too. Endorphines and all those other chemicals and tingling nerves released definitely make sex a unique physical act. It gives two people a completely different, versatile vocabulary.

I remember almost every time Ninja and I would have sex, I would battle tears. Either that or I would get a grin on my face (or both), relishing in the aftermath of his satisfaction as well as my own. Oh yes, there is so much more to it than just “feeling good”…

I miss it. I miss that special thing. No sex is not like no Swiss Cake Rolls, but I guess it made sense at the time. From a completely desensitized point of view, it made sense. But no, I am a girl. A girl who loved to please and still found surprise in every time she was given the same treatment. A girl with emotions and a willing heart, despite what some people may percieve. I miss giving and wanting and craving and… giving.

So I’m getting dressed in front of my good ol’ door-length mirror. The shades are open (the only creatures around are birds and no one lives across the street) and with the foot+ of snow we’ve got, the sun shining in is bright and pure and really quite heavenly. Off go my oversized pajamas and I get a glimpse of my gorgeous self. Gorgeous in this light, at least! Okay, so I’m perhaps a bit of a narccisist and always change in front of my mirror. More curiosity - fat and skin and muscle and shapes, I like to look at them and I’m my only nude model around here.

Damn I look good today. I really have to say that getting my nipples pierced was one of the greatest things I’ve ever done for myself. I’d look a bit plain without them. They’re cute, they’re pretty, they feel good and it’s fun in that sneaky-sneaky way to know they’re there when I’m clothed. So just in case my mind wanders from sex, it can go right back to it. Maybe that’s not such a good thing…

My hair looks good, too. I slept on it wet (I couldn’t stand waiting ’til morning to shower, as I hadn’t showered yesterday morning because I was at my friend Ice Queen’s house) and wondered what sort of monstrocity it might have been crushed into. But, no, it looks quite nice.

For the hell of it, Ice Queen gets her nickname from the first time we met, at a friendly get-together. We did some truth or dare and made her put ice cubes in her bra. She had huge breasts, so she got the nickname Droopy Ice Queen. She’s since had reduction surgery, so Ice Queen remains. Our other friend, Cappuccino Pants, well, we had her dip her underwear in Cappuccino. Why? I don’t remember. Crooked got her nickname from her crooked buttcrack, which we invariably figured out some years ago while changing into bathing suits. Fun, huh? What was my nickname? V2000. Short for Vibrator-2000. How did I get that? (Un)Fortunately, it had nothing to do with vibrators. It was only because I got all shaky when we were using CP’s Ouija Board.

Anyway, I’m still standing in front of the mirror. I do wish my tan lines would go away from July - I’ve got a shorts tan. My top half has faded mostly, thank goodness. My hips are so wide. The skin clings to my anterior superior iliac spine - the hip bones. My skin also clings to my ribcage, and dips in under my sternum. My clavicles also are visible, and I’ve got a nice valley where my spine lays on my back. My shoulder blades have indentations on my upper back, too. My sacrum doesn’t have the incredibly sexy indentations, though. Ninja does, mm. My wrist bones poke out, which I like to see.

My stomach isn’t as flat as it was five years ago. My womanness wasn’t nearly as impressive then. It’s all about compromise, hmm? I love my body. My posture makes it worse than it is. The curve in the small of my back is more extreme than the average person’s, so naturally my stomach sticks out a bit more. At the same time, Ninja has remarked in the past that it’s a part of why he finds me attractive. “Mmm, sexy back,” he has said, rubbing his hands up and down my spine. Mmmm, I remember.

My body acts as though it is skinny, with my bones still visible, but I could stand to lose weight. But you know what? Standing in front of that mirror, with the ambient light and paleness of my skin, I felt radiant.

I only had time for a few supermodel poses, though, because it was time for some hard labor and to shovel snow!

Tonight Ninja comes home and tomorrow we reunite! Maybe there will be a bit of union with the bodies, or I’ll at least be able to give him his Christmas gift.