Twenty women I loved in my twenties :: Q

Sick giggly one.

Who likes to fuck me with a black strap-on.

Must be something Freudian.

Femdom queen.

No strings attached.

You get me down on all fours.

You try to make me cum with no hands touching.

It never works.

It makes me feel on the verge of coming. But penetration itself never pushes me across that border.

Afterwards I feel physically ‘open’. And very vulnerable. As if the world has pierced my armor and can now enter me at will. An effect that lasts for a couple of hours, until my ass recovers.

I’m also afraid it’s not quite healthy. Afraid it will give me prostatis or something else that sounds vicious.

With my fragile personality that is so easily bored I look for exciting things that I can’t handle.

A little bit too far down the lane of insanity is just far enough for me.

Like a pendulum I soon come screaming back from extreme behaviour towards, boring every day sanity.

You want to go further.

I call it quits after about two months. Before I need to wear a diaper to work, because you ruined my bladder with your fake cock.

It’s taught me a lesson about the receptiveness (or something) of women.

And how scary that is. To receive. To take in.

I’m more prone to dissolve and not to receive.

And in a big leap of thought this makes me conclude:

Men are always running from life, whereas women are almost always running towards it. Receiving and not meaning to penetrate, not taking from it.

Except Q.

A heterosexual woman who likes to penetrate men with a 12 inch dong.

I won’t go too deep into it. Sometimes a pleasure is just a pleasure, and not the result of a horrible childhood trauma.

Q happens to be one of the best high school principals in the country.

Jedem das seine.