My Sex Diary 2010 Ch 03

ENTRY 3: FOR THE WEEK OF 18 JANUARY

Hi guys!

Sorry I'm late on the draw with this entry for last week. There's a ton going on; lots of exciting stuff.

As always, allow me to remind you to keep sending in comments. I've got a bit of a frowny-face going on for last week's entry, because I got many fewer comments and many fewer ratings than on the first entry. Please, please, please, please leave a rating, even if you hate everything below, and please consider leaving a comment as well, even if it's a one-word thing, something like "Good.". It means a lot!

If you haven't checked the previous entries, please do, because there's some detail about my life in there which I do not repeat here.

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It was a big week this week. It was massive. Both I and Matt went in really loaded, with super big expectations. I can't help but feel that I was more hyped up about us having sex than he was. I've said it before -- this relationship makes me feel I'm back in high school. But I've never felt so... well, 'giddy' about things. I hate the word, but it's a good description of how I felt. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I was also jumping up and down, totally ready to go. It must sound kinda crazy, but I couldn't even sleep at night.

We didn't see each other on Monday. Matt's parents were due to come back on Thursday, so we had a lot of time to spare. (My place was, of course, occupied by my family.) Matt actually invited me over on Monday. I ended up going over on Tuesday. I lied to him, and said that I was busy Monday night. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him or anything like that -- almost exactly the opposite. It wasn't even a period-clearing thing, the day after, whatever. I actually wanted to build up my body's expectation of what was coming. I was totally lusting the whole day. Thinking about him, thinking about what was going to happen... the whole deal.

Sarah, my best friend, called me on Monday. She's having a birthday party on the 1st of February. We had fun talking about it, and I helped her plan it out, so that took up a lot of my time.

I had already coordinated with Matt on the birth control. He sat me down once it was clear that we had become a bit more serious and explained to me that he wasn't a fan of condoms. And then, in a very diplomatic and round-about way, he asked me if I'd consider taking some sort of birth control. I was fine with that, and agreed that I would see my doctor about getting back on the pill. I've already been on the pill before with other guys, so that's never really been much of a problem for me, and it doesn't effect me in any weird way, as far as I can tell. And I can totally understand his side of it. It's always seemed to me that condoms are off once a couple becomes serious, anyway. It's sort of like a rite of passage thing, I guess. From the start of dating, I made my mind up that if I liked a guy a lot I wanted him in me naturally. Condoms don't play a massive difference in terms of feeling from my perspective, but Matt explained that he basically feels it cramps his style. And I want him in me anyway. No problems!

We both vouched for our clean bill of health regarding STDs. And we both offered to go to the doctor to get a check up and blood test -- we both assured each other, though, that tests weren't needed, and that we trusted one another. I don't regret that decision, and I know we're both totally fine in that regard. But I remember getting pretty brainwashed from classes in high school about always getting checkups before each relationship gets serious, and whatever. So I still think about it. But we'll be okay.

On Tuesday I woke up and the anticipation was killing me. I've never yearned for somebody as much as I was then. It was almost hard to function on a basic level. When I get nervous before a big event, like public speaking or something, the throat always feels as if it's tightened, and it gets hard to breathe and swallow. And that's how I felt then.

I went over in the afternoon, at about 6pm. I was practically jogging down to his place. And all the while I was thinking about how to approach the situation. It's never easy, and I know, never over think it, right? But sex usually happens naturally. Like, you're making out and things just naturally spiral into sex. But I was going over there for the express purpose of having sex with him. I knew it, and Matt knew it too. And it wasn't like I was going to step inside his house and just strip my clothes off. There had to be at least a little bit of tact involved.

So I got there and rang the doorbell and Matt opened the door real fast, like he was waiting for me. I shouldn't have worried that much, because it happened naturally -- totally straight from make-out into sex. As I stepped from the cold into his really warm house, I fell into his arms.

We started kissing each other, feeling each other up, right there and then. It was something like 40 degrees out, blistering cold (at least for me... too sensitive?), so I had a lot of clothes on. We held each other in the hallway there for quite some time, just kissing. Maybe he was trying to get me warm, because I was quite cold, despite him having all the heaters going in the house. When it's winter, it's winter, you know? But it was a nice feeling, as it always is: lots of rubbing noses and light pecks.

Eventually he carried me up to his room, up the stairs like last time. And he set me down on the bed. (By the way, I looked for my funky panties that he stole. No where to be seen. I swear he's probably got a box or a briefcase full of girls' panties that he's pilfered over the years. If I find his stash, I'll let you know.) As we sat on the edge of the bed we made out some more. I was getting hot and wet, and he was getting into it as well, both of us in anticipation of what was about to go down.

I stood him up and started stripping him down, and he did the same to me. By the time I'd gotten him naked he had me topless. Here's your homework for this week, readers: mail me through the email feedback system Literotica has and tell me what your pre-penetration sex routine is. You know, do you do the porn thing of "girl gives guy prolonged blowjob/guy gives girl head for about thirty seconds/then sex" or do you go straight into sex? Anyway, I was about to go down and give Matt a foreplay blowjob when he stopped me and turned me around.

He released the top button of my jeans, rested his head on my shoulder, stuck his hand down the front of my pants, and proceeded to rub my super wet pussy. It was like I was scratching an itch, this amazing release, and totally in this illicit way, too, with his hand down my pants, frantically rubbing at me and fingering me as if we were about to be caught by someone. With his other hand he weighed up my breasts, caressed them.

After some of that, I stepped out of my pants and panties.

"I want to taste you," said Matt, which was a pleasant surprise, because most of the guys I've been with rarely reciprocated with head before sex. He spread me across his bed, and draped my legs across the edge. I parted them, offering easy access for him. I wondered if we were going to fuck on top or under the covers. And then he lapped at me. And he didn't go slowly, either. He stuck his tongue right in me, with his mouth right against my lips, his nose embedded in my skin. With a finger he mashed on my clitoris. He got me hotter and hotter, and he'd only been going for a couple of minutes. I guess that's what they call the power of suggestion, because I felt like I was going to explode. I was emitting a lot of vaginal fluid, I knew that. I had totally creamed all over his face.

Eventually he stopped and threw the covers of the bed open.

"Get in," he growled. His voice was completely full of lust. Matt had shaved, by the way. Since I had shaved, I asked him to shave too. Sometimes bare skin against soft but prickly pubic hair can feel a little weird, and can be off-putting.

I got in his bed, and he followed me. I was so wet. I was soaked. I guess that's a positive -- no need for lubricants. He got on top of me, and I spread my legs underneath him. I could feel him positioning his cock. His cock head sat on the lips of my vulva. He paused, as if he was trying to soak up my vaginal fluids with his penis. He asked me how I wanted it: fast, hard, slow, soft.

I knew that I was still tight-ish. I hadn't had sex for a while. I was definitely wet enough to accommodate him, but I still counted on there being some discomfort, at least initially. I told him (and this is really corny and campy, so get ready) that I wanted him to make love to me. And he interpreted that correctly, that is, he went softly and slowly. And he fucked me.

He rested his head on mine. We looked right into each others eyes as he began to slid into me slowly, so slowly. I could feel that my mouth was open, agape, as I melted beneath him. He looked determined, as if he had a task sheet, a list of goals that had to be accomplished in order: he was going to do me, make me come, and then come himself, deep inside me. I fantasized about him getting me pregnant. That fantasy -- or rather that image -- that I think is common while people have that slow, meaningful sex. There's something that's deviant about that fantasy. I don't want to fall pregnant (yet). But the image of his sperm splattering all over me, deep inside me, filling me up is one of the most arousing fantasies I've ever had.

Matt's cock parting me was an amazing feeling. Of course I'd felt it many times before with other men. But this time it was a ginger feeling, so soft, so careful, and so tender. I felt his head sink inside me first. I heard myself moan a little, and I closed my eyes. He kissed me. I imagined his cock straining back as he sunk all of himself into me. It was slightly uncomfortable, just a little niggle as I adjusted to him. The walls of my vagina were wrapped around his cock like a glove. I squeezed down on him mentally. I wanted to feel every vein on his tool, every movement he made. He was burning hot.

He held me as we did it. He stroked my hair, and we never stopped embracing, kissing. When we couldn't kiss because it felt too good we just rubbed our heads against each other. He went slowly, like I had suggested. Matt's definitely bigger than average, as I've mentioned before, but not by much. He's bigger than, say, about ninety-five percent of the guys I've had sex with before. Only one guy has been longer than him. But that's only on paper. The feeling a man generates is so much more important, for me at least. Matt, for all I knew, was King Kong, with a schlong long enough to hang over his shoulder. As he retracted and inserted himself in and out of me, over and over again, I could feel my labia hanging on to him for dear life.

At first they were slow strokes. They built up the anticipation of what was to come. It was tantalizing, almost. Our bodies once stuck to each other, but under the covers we were too hot, and we were both totally coated with sweat, Matt, with his slightly hairy chest, more than me. My nipples were stone hard. He never focused on them. He was too tied up in other parts of my body, but their edges scraped up against his chest just enough to really set me off when the time came.

But that time was still far away. Matt increased the tempo. We could start to hear his body slap up against mine. He grunted some times. My pussy was being worked to over time after a long enough break. If you read last week's entry you'll recall how I tend to fall into a trance during sex where all I can focus on is the feeling of pleasure I'm getting. That's why I'm not good for talking during sex. But sometimes I break out and I can hear myself and I become aware of things around me, if only for a couple of seconds. That happened with Matt in me, too, and all of a sudden it struck me that I was moaning. I didn't even know that it was coming out of me, but I was moaning beneath him, and pretty passionately. He shut me up by kissing me. And all of a sudden he started going for it. He rammed his rock-hard rod in and out of my snatch, my tender little pussy, so innocent (once upon a time).

I was starting to feel it build up, and I could tell that he was feeling it too. But I knew that he would let himself orgasm before I did. I felt him spread my legs; suddenly both my legs were completely out of the way, pushed apart to either side of my crotch, and he was slamming into me like a jackhammer. His head was resting on my chest, on my breasts beneath the covers, and it was slipping about due to the sweatiness. I was crying out.

And then he eased up again, moved closer into me, carried on the pace but went more gently, and I sunk my hands into his hair and kissed him as much as I could. I couldn't get enough. Soon he was back to ramming me. I struggled to keep my eyes open as he looked into me. He gripped my hips and we bucked against each other.

I was getting closer, like a ticking timebomb. His hands searched my waist. And I came. And I came hard. I arched my head back. Something burst within me, and I wailed out as I had one of the strongest and longest orgasms I'd ever experienced. He knew that I was coming, and he wouldn't let up. I almost wanted him to stop -- it was almost too much to bear -- but he kept going. I moaned, and shook under him. My vagina was swamped in vaginal fluids, as if I was flooded. My vulva and labia were red hot and aching from the fucking they'd gotten. Surely they were red and bruised, I thought. But he kept going.

Matt had a while to go before he came as well. All the while I could feel every little movement he made inside me, like never before. I held onto him, arms hung around his neck, eyes shut. In an attempt to make it easier for him to shoot off, I wrapped my legs around his and closed them as best I could. And that did it.

He groaned as he came inside me. I always laugh when I hear people say they feel guys ejaculating, but I could have sworn I felt Matt shooting off his load within me, as if it was water spurting out from a hose, reckless sperm filling me up. I willed him to fill me up.

We were so messy afterward. We collapsed on each other. He couldn't pick his body up from mine, but his bed was so comfortable and supporting that I didn't feel his weight at all. His sheets had smelt clean before. Now the whole room had this amazing funk about it, and the sheets needed desperately to be changed. I smiled at him and pecked at his neck when I'd recovered my composure, but I could tell that he still wasn't able to speak. My smile was my little way of telling him that it was good -- really good. Totally amazing.

Part of me wanted to sleep, but I was out of energy. I needed some water and food, and desperately needed a shower. When we managed to roll out of bed we surveyed the damage we'd done to each other. Despite how hot, hard, tight, and good it had felt our genitals showed no sign of maltreatment. Matt was still semi-hard. We both could have gone again, then and there. His cock was thoroughly drenched and coated in my juice. I looked down at my kitty, and it was positively glistening too.

His balls weighed a lot. I felt them up with one hand. It was instinctive; I wanted to feel the tool that had rewarded me so. Somehow I found my way down on my knees and sucking his cock. There was nothing malicious in his movement, or his request. He simply directed my head to his crotch and I sucked. There was some hybrid combination of sweat and spunk (both from my body and his) all over his crotch. I lapped it up. It tasted fowl, and smelled even worse, and I loved every part of it. He got hard, put he pulled me away before he was anywhere near ejaculating more sperm. I had cleaned him well.

Wordlessly we found our way down to the kitchen, still naked, still incredibly dirty. Our scents filled the house. He'd have to open all the windows to get rid of it. I drank something -- I think it was a couple of vodkas, though I can barely remember -- and we had something to eat.

"We should shower," I said. It was the first words either of us had spoken in thirty or forty minutes.

"I want you to stay the night," Matt said.

I agreed instantly.

"In that case... why shower so many times in the space of twenty-four hours?" I had no idea what his question meant. But I soon found out, as he led me back to his bedroom once more. This time, he left me suck him off for good. He sat down in an office chair and brought my head between his legs. Once I'd made him come, he sat me up on his lap and fingered me. It was the dirtiest thing I've ever done sexually. I don't know what it is -- there's something very embarrassing about getting off by somebody shoving their fingers in you. And it was the way he did it as well. It was relentless, while being clinical. In and out and never once stopping or slowing down. I spread my legs on top of his like some kind of slut to allow him easier access. He knew what he was doing, too.

We had sex some more. It was much the same as the first time, same position, under the covers. Neither of us minded. There was a thirst for each other that needed to be quenched, as simple as that.

At about eight or nine in the evening we fell asleep after the bed, after more than enough orgasms for me. We still stunk, and the bed sheets were totally drenched with my girl-cum and sweat, and god knows what else.

In the morning we had our first bout of wild sex. Thinking back on those two days now, we really fucked a lot. We didn't mean to, that next morning. I thought we were going to shower, have breakfast, and I'd take off and have some time before work in the afternoon. We had over a week for more day-long marathons before college started, but the way we were going you'd think it was the last time we'd ever see each other again.

I had a lot to think about that night. Things were getting serious. And we live so close to each other, go to the same college. I'm seriously thinking now about when we should move in together. Find a place nearby to our houses. Yeah, we've only been going out for just under a month. It's still way too early -- even I know that. But that's the helpless feeling that love gives you, I guess. And I know that, too.

And I very quickly feel like I've become his slut. I mean it. There's this unstoppable attraction to him that I feel. I feel weak inside, like if he was to suggest even the dirtiest one-on-one sex acts for us to do, I'd say yes.

In any case, I was talking about wild sex after waking up. These things just kind of happen. One moment I was lying there, then suddenly I was on all fours on top of the bed, presenting to him like the slut I am, and he had his hard cock in me, taking me from behind, completely intemperate, like a wild dog. We were doing it doggy-style, so I guess the analogy applies. I swear that his dong was both harder than ever and bigger than ever. Either that, or my vagina felt so used that it was on the retreat, and desperately wanted to close up shop for a couple of days. If it didn't want to be used, it shouldn't have been emitting so much lube! And it felt so good.

I mean, he was reaming me. Ordinarily it should heave been unpleasant. I'm talking about just being used, like a sex toy. My boobs were bouncing about from the constant clashing and the shaking from the bed. My head was arched back. I was moaning like crazy. He had his hands on my waist, pulling me in, making me feel it. I told him to maul my breasts. Not in those exact words, but that's what he did. And he came inside me again. This time I didn't come, at least not with his cock. He just flipped me over and fingered me off. I writhed against him. We were both laughing as if there was something funny going on. I wasn't sure I could take much more.

But then we showered and cleaned each other. The fun was over, at least for a couple of hours. In the shower we talked.