Stories of a Trampy Broad

Saliva is a powerful weapon

2008-08-04T20:34:00.000-07:00

While I've always enjoyed the use of spit during sex, it's become more powerful weapon to potentially be used against me in recent years. There's something dirty and sexual about spitting on someone. It's insulting, it's degrading, and it makes me wet just thinking about it.

The lengths I will go to in order to have someone spit on me--properly, mind you--were really brought to my attention several months ago during a one-time encounter with a new friend. We had started the evening by casually watching movies before a bottle of Jim Beam was brought out. I know plenty of women who think they do things they wouldn't otherwise do when they've been drinking alcohol. In my case it makes me finally quit being so shy and do the filthy things I fantasize about without experiencing shame (during or after the fact).

As we drank more the conversation drifted from mere sexual innuendo to bluntly sexual. As we discussed my interest in being dominated, we discussed the acts that a man could take to make me feel like he was truly in control of the situation.

"What really does it for you though? I mean what's guaranteed to make you feel like you have no control over the situation?"

"I don't want to feel like I have a choice."

From what I can remember, the alcohol was kicking in by this point. I went from sitting upright next to him to having him sitting on my chest, practically chewing off my bottom lip while he held me by the throat. I should've been afraid, but I wasn't. This is what I had been asking him to do in a roundabout way all evening; get what he wanted by forcing me into it.

He snapped me out of this contemplative state by grabbing me roughly by the face.

"Open your fucking mouth, slut." He'd gone from zero to sixty in the dirty talk department. This is always a sign that a male is about to assert his dominance. I couldn't wait to see what had in mind--you know what's coming don't you?

He spit in my mouth with force. It wasn't a slow dribble that passed from his mouth into mine, the connected kind of spit that stays all together. This was a brutal, insulting sort of spit. Of course, once that started I knew whatever he asked would probably happen.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with the secret to my sexual undoing: spit in my mouth like you mean it. Spit like you think I am the dirtiest whore you've ever laid eyes on; the more you play it off as a true insult, the more likely you are to see what exactly I am capable of. After all, I do have salivary glands of my own you can put to good use once you've played your cards right.

Baby pubes

2008-07-09T01:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I use varying free networking sites that target dating and/or casual sexual encounters. More often than not I don't wind up closing the deal--there's a lot of weirdos to be had when your initial impression of them is made via internet. Somehow while browsing local users I stumbled across a one-timer from many years ago when I was working in some swanky sandwich shop.

Well, swanky in comparison to McDonald's I suppose.

He still looks not a day over 15 as he comes up on 25. This was prior to me accepting my sexual attraction to baby faces for what it is--I had guilt almost immediately afterward. I picked him up while making his sandwich, it couldn't have been more than 72 hours later that he was fucking me (poorly, I'm sad to say) in his bedroom. We were closing in on done when his grandmother started calling a name from downstairs... except it wasn't his name. After he smoothed things over--I was faking it loudly, by the way--he takes me out of the house. I've never had an old woman look at me with such utter hatred before. First time for everything I guess.

Like I said, the sex wasn't great. His rhythm was off, his balls were saggier then I had expected, he was incredibly awkward. I can overlook/fix all of that on my own if I want to make a sexual experience gratifying. I know how to get myself off on thought alone out of necessity, which happens to be situations like this. Except I don't think this guy had ever trimmed his pubes in his life. Hairless face, arms, chest... all that hair had chosen to sprout solely on his testicles. Either he had never noticed (an idea I find hard to believe), or no girl had ever told him that he should at least have the courtesy to trim if he was planning on getting laid.

I can't recall if I gave him head, which is probably a much greater blessing then I realize. I just remember the disgusting feeling of his pubes touching my freshly shaven vagina. They were long, and straight, and obviously this has scarred me badly enough that I still remember the specifics of his pubic region to this day.

To all you baby-faced boys out there that I will someday (hopefully) cross paths with: please trim. Please, please, please. I cannot enjoy the twisted kick that is me pretending to rob you of your innocence if I have to acknowledge that puberty has in fact long since ended.

I dream of anal

2008-07-04T19:22:00.000-07:00

There's one thing I've never managed to master thus far--anal sex. It's not for lack of trying. I've purchased many plugs, beads, vibrators, dildos, and stimulators of all sizes over the years. When used in conjunction with vaginal and clitoral stimulation I've had some epic orgasms. But every time I've tried to get whomever I'm sleeping with to boldly go where no one has ever gone before it's failed miserably.

No toe-curling orgasms. No overwhelming sense of being entirely dominated by a man. Just a sore asshole and mildly perplexed guy (that I usually had to beg to even try it) to show for my struggles. I can't figure out how anal sex isn't pleasurable when I get the chance to act out my #1 fantasy. When I watch porn, read erotic stories, and yes--even when I masturbate, anal stimulation plays a huge role in if I have an orgasm or not.

I remember a former lover of mine that actually was willing to put up with my skittish reactions to anal sex for the rare occasions when everything would be just right and I'd do nothing but orgasm the entire time he fucked me. They were very few and even farther between but every time it happened I spent the next week sure my body could not handle cumming ever again.

It's been years since then, and I've spent a hefty portion of my time since trying to figure out why I haven't ever had a successful string of anal sex exploits. Today I think I finally figured it out while in the midst of an "experiment". What can I say, I just love doing research!

Here's the missing element when guys become involved: feeling like I have a choice. All the times my ex was aggressive and I felt dominated it was easier (and far more enjoyable) to just let it happen. On my own I always have the best response when I push myself a little bit faster then is necessarily comfortable. The appeal is in the head game.

Yes, I realize this is probably not the most typical reason girls don't get into anal sex. They don't want it to hurt, they want to be in control of the situation, they want the opportunity to back out when it quits just being scary fun and becomes just plain scary.

That's okay. Not everyone can handle what it means to be a tramp.

Bosoms on the brain

2008-06-24T04:55:00.000-07:00

Lately I've found myself spending a lot of time thinking about girls. Well, not just thinking about them. For some reason it appears my period of disinterest in sleeping with women has ended, leading me to reminisce on girls I have slept with previously. Sometimes I find myself questioning my sexuality, but not because I think I'm gay.

If anything, I'm concerned that I've been less gay then usual lately. See, I always check off the box provided in any kind of social networking site's profile questionnaire that says "bisexual" instead of "straight". Rationally I know I like girls--a lot. I am constantly aware of my sexual attraction to females. The weird part is that the more I think about it, the more depressed I am when I realize it's been about three years since I've come into sexual contact with another female.

Part of the problem is my propensity to develop crushes almost exclusively on straight chicks. I'm pretty sure I slept with every female "best friend" I had in high school at least twice. (You know, just in case one of us was having an off-day the first time around.) There's only so many times you can help a girl cheat on her boyfriend with you before you begin to wonder if what you're doing is morally reprehensible. The answer is always yes, but when you have your face and fingers buried between a girl's legs she's hardly considering the consequences of dyking out with you. There was only one downside to my teenage years of constant pussy-chasing; eventually all those not-so-straight girls decided they should calm down and quit sleeping with me while their boyfriends were out with their friends.

I'm only a little bitter, I promise.

To top all that off, girls that actually like girls make me nervous as hell. I have no idea why, you'd think I'd enjoy the idea of having sex with a girl that could potentially give me more orgasms then I could give her. Maybe it relates to the fact that most lesbians I know are very uncomfortable with the fact I primarily had sex with men. Lesbians of the internet, please realize this is nothing personal. It's just how things are. You can hardly blame me for being incapable of choosing only one gender of people to sleep with when there's boundless members of each sex I would love to let throw me around for an evening.

I think I am going to start looking for a female willing to put in the time and tongue-lapping necessary to assist me in my return to the joyous realm of fucking girls. I'll let you know if I find anyone up for the challenge.

Slut-utations

2008-06-24T04:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you have to go with what works, so borrowing from one of my personal favorite sex blogs I've decided to begin this with a brief introduction. I've spent the majority of my adult life (what little of it I have experienced) with a plethora of thoughts on sex I felt the need to share... until now. For the most part I've done a good job of keeping my sexual exploits under wraps from my family and friends. Especially my friends come to think of it.

There's a few people over the years that have potentially seen through my protests of sexual naivete, but they were usually already in bed with me by the point that they realized it. Sortof negates the importance of their opinion, wouldn't you say?

It's not that I've kept the truth to myself so long because I'm embarrassed--I wouldn't be doing the things (and people) I do if I didn't enjoy it. If anything I've embraced the fact that I am a pretty sexually-charged being. Maybe I've kept my experiences to myself because I've truly been afraid of what happen to the more innocent parties I've taken to bed if they knew the truth. Here's to hoping they aren't reading this.

So here I am, ready to expose myself for what I am. This is it, Stories of a Trampy Broad.