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Quality Control

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I was 13 years old the first time a boy went down on me. He was also 13 and it was on the cross-country trail that connected the middle school we attended to the high school we would be attending in a year and a half. A couple of girls in our class came looking for us, and while they knew we were messing around, they were not prepared for what they rolled up on that fateful winter’s day. Thank God for curiosity. Had they not been snooping, no one would have believed it otherwise: that a boy went down on a girl. Even then I had to wonder, “Who taught him this?”  There was never even any pay back, it was so quick and suddenly there were two girls watching us with their mouths wide-open in disbelief. You have to understand where that put me in the order of things. It would still be at least another year before the advent of oral into the average teenager’s diet, and that was still mostly girls going down on boys. The first vestiges of experimentation is usually attributed to the girl, as soon as she gets her braces off.

While playing the vision of his bobbing, blond head lapping me up, I began to think about what it must be like down there. So while laying in bed, I reached in with my finger and tasted it. I knew, even then, that I was embarking on a charmed sexual existence and I had to be sure that my pussy tasted good. Thankfully, it did.

I have to admit, I check myself every so often. Whether on the lips of someone who has just indulged or the trusty finger-test. A friend of mine was shocked to hear that this, I was more shocked that she hasn’t ever wondered about her own vaginal flavor and indulged.  No well-trained chef would put the sauce out there without knowing that it tasted good and fresh. Why should I be any different?

Written by whiptcreeem

December 8, 2010 at 3:18 am

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Happy. Thanks. Giving.

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Raaaaaaandom hook-up Thanksgiving weekend with a guy I know from around a certain scene of cats I party with once in blue moon. I was a little surprised when he started texting me, then a couple days later more texts ensued and the level of intimacy was raised. He wasn’t at all bashful about filling me in on his own latest escapades, until finally I had to let him know that a panty change was in my immediate future. That’s when I get the address. Showed up and he was an absolute gentleman. Drinks, pre-requisite convo, then the clothes came off and we went to the bedroom. He was incredibly giving. I am so totally into a good fingering and he was not afraid to go down like a champ. It’s pretty obvious that this man has been around and he had technique down to the numbers. Fast little tongue on that fellow, I climaxed twice during that session. We took a break, watched a movie, cuddled (funny how this happened in the middle, not the beginning). We decided to get ready for bed, because it was a school night for me. Let me tell you that this player had an arsenal of new toothbrushes under the sink, all I had to do was pick a color and go. Now that takes some planning. I’m left wondering just how much money a month this guy spends on toothbrushes.  We slept for about an hour, then during some half-awake cuddle session he got hard. Hard.

I’m 5’2 and when he slid his hard cock in, it filled me up completely. The only thing I can compare it to is a can of cranberry jelly. Stay with me on this one; the goal of a can of cranberry jelly is to get the cranberry jelly out of the can in one beautifully, congealed loaf. If the loaf is standing erect, you should be able to just put the can back over it, and let the jelly slide in and out, always filling in the circumference of the can airtight, until it’s ready to serve. Well, that’s exactly how a good cock should feel, like it’s taking up the whole space over and over. I hope he keeps my toothbrush on reserve.

Written by whiptcreeem

December 1, 2010 at 1:46 pm

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Ah, Serge….

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Written by whiptcreeem

November 3, 2010 at 10:45 pm

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Double Dipped

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I had sex with two different dudes in one night. Not at the same time. I had sex with one guy, then about 3 hours later had sex with the other. This is probably the fourth time this has happened to me. I say it that way because it has never been anything that I planned, it just kind of happens. I guess that’s what they mean by when it rains it pours. The second was far better than first, so I’m glad the whole thing went down, so to speak. The first dude came all over my stomach, so I have to admit it felt a little awkward when dude number two started kissing and licking there. I kept writhing around, trying to keep his tongue on my side or more near my breasts. I think he noticed because he said I tasted salty. I finally had to tell him, “I’m really ticklish on my  belly.” We continued for hours, sans the tummy play.

Written by whiptcreeem

October 19, 2010 at 12:27 am

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Hey, Man, Sorry About Your Air Mattress…

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I didn’t think we would really pop it.

Written by whiptcreeem

August 18, 2010 at 9:02 am

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Young Buck, Pretty Cock

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Well-groomed, hot-body, not the brightest bulb in the box, but I wasn’t looking for someone to talk to. At least not in the intellectual manner. The cock was pretty. I was impressed and I have laid on eyes on a lot of cock. It’s the type of cock that should be used as a mold for dildos. Seriously. He was very proud of his abdominal muscles and of re-iterating the fact that he had done 500 crunches that morning. This was, of course, a segway for him to lift his shirt, which leads to the shirt coming off and my hand running across the muscles and down into the pants. For what? Pretty cock. Did I mention how cleanly shaved he was? I mean balls and everything. Not a hair to impede any sort of access to the cock. I’m going to take at stab at this and say it was at least ten inches. And tan, as he also has a thing for tanning beds.

Young Buck likes things rough. I was a bit shocked when he grabbed me around the throat, to the point where I actually said, out loud, “Oh, you’re one of those.” He replied with, “Shut the fuck up and take off your pants.” He was physical. He liked to stand on the bed and tear it up from behind, which was rather amazing considering he was 6’3″. “I wish you could see this,” he was able to grunt out while riding me, standing, as I was on all fours with my ass tilted high towards him. I wish I could too, but the mirrors in the room were poorly placed in relation to the bed. He switched positions quickly, not really giving me the chance to get my own thing going on. At some point, Young Buck’s pretty cock was back in my mouth and before I could even touch myself he had shot off. That was a bit of a let down. He then told me to spit it out (duh, asshole). I guess he’s used to women doing that because we only swallow when we’re in love.

Then, he left. Not that I mind, because I find it difficult sleeping next to strange and I really wanted to sleep, but I was engorged. That’s right, I had a case of female blue balls because I had not gotten mine when Young Buck decided to peace out. I sang vibrato for a minute, if you get my drift, to take care of things. It’s going to be a few more years before Young Buck thinks less about himself and more about the pussy laid open before him. Making a man cum is easy, making a woman cum is a phenomenal skill and a thing of beauty to behold. A man with a certain amount of sexual prowess wears the making of a woman climaxing like a notch on his belt, or on his bed post, which ever is closer. What’s the point of a pretty cock if you’re not going to use it to spread joy and peace through the land? Such a waste…

Written by whiptcreeem

August 12, 2010 at 9:27 pm

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Learn To Live With It

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It’s been a while. I was out experimenting, with different ideas. To be honest I got called out about something and to prove a point, to myself more than anyone, I decided to get with the program and join Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous or SLAA. Now I have to admit when I first heard that a group of sex addicts are going to be meeting up over coffee, the wheels start turning and my imagination runs wild with possibilities. The first thought being that I would meet some lovely, nasty, beastly beauty of a man and we relapse together in the parking lot after the meeting. So to avoid such a thing, my introductory meeting was women’s only. I’ve been known to switch-hit, but muff-diving as a way of life has never been my thing. This was the worst slumber party I have ever been to and it only lasted an hour. A lot of good-looking, well-educated women crying over married men who they not only work with but are having affairs with. The most depressing are the lot who have been attending meetings for five years, still bereft over their “qualifier,” the term used for the person who made them realize that there was a “problem.” I never got on board with this term. For some reason I like to refer to mine as the “outlier,” because statistically speaking what we had was so far off the charts, how could I have not been addicted to it.

My next meeting was co-ed and far more entertaining. We go around the circle introducing ourselves. “My name is Whiptcreeem and I am a sex and love addict.” Then everyone says, “Hello, Whiptcreem” and you lay it down for the next two minutes as to why you are there, leaving out the really dirty details (yawn). There was the “player,” who by his own admission had no other talent but sex, so from high school on he has honed his skills. Then the teacher, who turned on his overhead projector, connected to his laptop, connected to the internet, still on the craigslist ad he was cruising before the middle schoolers took their seats in class that day. We had a stalker, a couple gay men mentally abused by their much older boyfriends over the years, the soon-to-be ex-wife of a musician just off suicide watch and a handful of “anorexics,” the avoidants of any and all forms of intimacy.

I never thought that I would be someone who in the midst of some life folly, would feel the overwhelming need to have to go to a meeting. However, I found the meetings cathartic, insightful, and a  little humorous. When faced with some work difficulties,  something that had nothing whatsoever to do with sex, I was off to the nearest meeting. Fearing that I was late, I sped through rush hour traffic, ran from the parking lot to the meeting room and found three people, one woman and two men, gathered around a table. I plopped down in a chair, out of breath at this point,  and I introduced myself “My name is Whiptcreeem and I am a sex and love addict.” Silence. Then it hit me: “This isn’t the SLAA meeting is it?” They shook their heads “no.” Unabashed, I apologized and went back to the car.

I haven’t been back to a meeting since. I’m not ruling it out, I’m just saying that after a lot of soul-searching, I’m not ready to hang it up yet. And why should I? judging from this past weekend, some of these boys still need to learn a thing or two.  By all means, stay tuned…

Written by whiptcreeem

July 17, 2010 at 11:42 pm

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