This story was inspired by a tweet from @DomSigns and a text from a friend of mine. While the scenario is imagined, the guy I picture while writing it is very real. As finding another name to replace the one that I know him by is painfully hard, I’ll refer to him as E when the story requires it. (And if he’s reading this, I hope he’ll talk to me soon.)
I am not a good person. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of; I’ve made mistakes that I am deeply ashamed of. Sometimes I’m ashamed of my fantasies, too. They’re certainly reflect the thoughts in my head. The pervy thoughts, the dark thoughts, the I-can’t-believe-I-want-to-imagine-or-worse–wank–over-that thoughts. Sometimes my mind takes a single snippet of someone’s conversation and wanders off until it has twisted it into something completely different.
Somewhere, there is a guy who insists that I have stolen a pair of his boxers. I haven’t, but considering the number of times I have held them over my face and deeply inhaled, I do see why he holds this mistaken belief. Frankly, I struggle to understand why he wouldn’t have stolen some of my knickers; one of the first things I discovered when I began exploring my body was how much I love the way I smell.
I have never been fucked in a toilet. I’m not sure this is exactly for lack of trying. Today, while I’m craving sex like I usually crave hot chocolate on a cold autumn morning, my fantasies creep towards the bathrooms that I know are upstairs as I cup my frozen hands around a warm mug in Starbucks. I think about fucking in toilets, and wonder why it’s so much more appealing than the linear matrixes on the textbook page that I should be studying.
To properly celebrate the start of my sex blogging adventure, I’m taking part in Kink of the Week. The prompt was Halloween, and this is where my imagination took me – or one of the places at least. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I encourage you to go and check out the other amazing submissions by clicking the image at the bottom of my post!
I don’t set alarms to help me wake up any more. This causes a few problems at times, though in general I’m quite good at waking up with enough time to shower before I need to leave my flat. I do it now and again, of course, like when I’m catching a plane at 5am. Recently, though, the only times I have set an alarm in the morning is when I’ve spent the night with someone. And even that doesn’t always end well.