Saturday, March 31, 2007

Zoo Needs A Good Hard...

'"Don't be a cocktease," you warn, grabbing me by the arm. I take your cock in my mouth, making sure to cheat the angle so that you can see the action. I'm sucking it in as far as I can, trying to make my forehead touch your six pack. I make it on the third attempt, and you let out a big sigh. The deeeper you breathe, the easier it is for me to make contact with your belly.

Your lap smells sharply of latex and pussy juice, but I can't say anything about it because my mouth is full of cock. You're rocking your hips so hard that most girls would be gagging by now. The veins in your forearms are sticking out and you're trying to grab my tits, so I slide your dick out of my mouth and climb onto your lap.

I'm so slippery you have to hold onto me. I reach behind me with one hand and dig under the harness to find your pussy.

Its hard for you to concentrate, so I'm doing most of the work now. My fingers are plunging in you as I slide up and down on your pole. "My man likes it when I play with his balls, doesn't he?" I ask.

You begin to contract around my fingers, and your nails dig into my ass as you start to climb. I'm whipering in pain and pleasure and it makes you thrash under me. You bite my neck and it sends me over. My back arches and there is a moment of complete stillness for both of us. You look at me and start to laugh.'

- Trish Kelly
'A Quiet Evening At Home'
in With A Rough Tongue: Femmes Write Porn (Amber Dawn and Trish Kelly, ed)

Its been almost a month of celibacy and I'm beginning to crack. I just don't know what I want. I mean, I do know what, its just with who that I really can't fathom. I want to be thrown down on a bed and cock-fucked hard for hours, until I am clawing at the cum-wet sheets and begging for a mercy I don't really desire, until I no have spit left to scream when my hair is pulled hard and my face slapped red raw, until I'm crying and laughing and squirting and there is a hand firmly around my throat allowing me exactly enough breath to orgasm, pillowbiting, cocksucking, gagging and gasping- just the usual really. But when I imagine it, I don't know who the cock is attached to, whether it is bioboy faggot-dick or more-than-a-mouthful trannyboy
or butch with harness and hard pink silicon:

'All the streets are crammed with things/Eager to be held/I know what hands are for/And I'd like to help myself/You ask me the time/But I sense something more/And I would like to give you what I think you're asking for/You Handsome Devil' (The Smiths 'Handsome Devil).

And I am so confused about who and what I am at the moment that even if I do somehow work out who and what I want I am unsure of how to ask for it, and totally lacking the confidence to cruise. None of my skins seem to fit right anymore, and I'm too embarrassed to present my adolescent self, all mumble and blush and half-sprouted wings, to the world and expect it to desire me.

This is how I come to be here on a Saturday night, sitting up alone in my living room with my computer and my fruit toast, reading Femme porn and fantasising about having leather faggots suck my cock. Ah, write some more and work on my shows, sublimate, sublimate, sublimate...

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