1.22.2001
Reverse cowgirl:

Male specimen lying on back.
Female specimen seated on male specimen's turgid member, facing away from male.
Female specimen perspective: facing away from male, preferably looking at a mirror.
Male perspective: Female specimen's posterior as it bounces up and down.

I thought everyone knew this one. Right? I'm not sure what this falls under in the
Kama Sutra.


posted by Dopamine Junkie at 4:38 PM


So this weekend I hit it and I hit it hard.

Nothing too freaky going on but I had a grab bag full of images in my head (both
heads), ready to send me over when I needed the extra kick.

I have a mirror in my room so I can watch. Watch everything. Watching myself getting
worked on. Watching myself go to work. Watching myself getting pounded and
stretched out. Watching as each thrust made my titties bounce. My fingers working on
my clit as I bounced up and down, reverse cowgirl style.

I didn't get to hit it on Friday night as planned, but I was a little tiger all weekend long.
The kitty was starving you see, and it needed to be fed.

Somedays I need the sensual envelope, to be wrapped up in images of drawn out
desire and power dynamics.

Somedays I'm purely carnal, animal, savage and just need a plumber to clean my pipes.

Somedays I prefer to stay at home alone with my collection of magazines and videos,
stroking off until I cum, fall asleep for awhile, wake up, and do it again.

And maybe eat some ice cream in between.
posted by Dopamine Junkie at 1:22 PM


What is this, week 3? Another week and I have the same reservations about
continuing. Eventually I'm sure I'll become bored with this, just like everyone else.

But I've fallen deep into a well, and it will be hard to crawl out now. I am a pathological
blogger. But
aren't all bloggers ridiculously driven to record their every shit, in hopes that someone
will read them
and give a Shit? Most of these blogs are cries for attention out into that dumping
ground for the obscure known as cyberspace.

Reading some of these other blogs here on Blogger.com,alas, each one carving out a
bit of self-importance.
"Web publishing will make me a star!"

I don't wish to enter this particular competition for sympathy or recognition with the
mindset that I would open this up for all the world to see. I've already received several
suggestions as to how I could "increase site traffic" but I'm not interested in that.

I like keeping it "underground" so to speak. I like that not one of my "real life" friends
knows about this little project of mine. It's only the curious that came over from CL that
know. Barely a handful know of myif's existence.

My first dark and sexual feelings emerged as a child. Finding pornography hidden at my
house when I was about 8 or 9. Not Playboys or Penthouses, but Cheri and Oui and
Club and Odyssey, etc. So I've had this secret sexual life since childhood, the fantasies
I would make up as a child while I masturbated, which in my religious household was
considered very very wrong.

So I hid my desires in shame for a long time. And I guess I still am hiding.

I had a brief period, not too long ago, of complete sexual liberation. Of course, my
circumstances then dictated that I separate all real emotion from my sexuality --
instead I felt more of a hedonist, an
instrument of sexual pleasure. It was easier to do when I had no real emotional
involvement.

Since then my inner self has healed and I've achieved the kind of stability and
contentment which has lulled me back into the Vanilla Zone; not that this is inherently
undesirable, but I know now that I won't sacrifice potential lifelong commitments to
casual freakiness. I just have to find other ways to express the inner freak.

This blog is it.

I still have a longing, though. To find everything wrapped up in one neat package, one
person who can swallow it all, all of me; the just normal me, the freaky me, the childlike
me, the badass sexual
predator me. Someone who gets it all.

Looking for that mythical creature, that unicorn with the big Horn.

I've wondered if I should stop, if this blog is overly megalomaniacal or misleading in its
intention.

But I decided, this is where I can purge it all, get it all out, somehow virtually fulfill and
become
desire.

And if the inner freak remains a secret until I am old and gray, like a diary, I hope to
have this as a
record of a sexual vitality and passion. I hope when I am 60 I will read this to myself
and still get off.

Speaking of getting off, I bought some new porn this weekend. I used it this morning.
I would review porn mags professionally if I could. A porn critic. Part-time job?

I crossed the Bay Bridge this weekend, and seeing Sather Tower on the Cal campus
from the Bridge made me horny. Not just for it's phallic features, but because the East
Bay, the Berkeley Hills, filled me with lust.


posted by Dopamine Junkie at 10:09 AM


1.19.2001
Last blog of the week. DSL is dead at my house, so I'll be back on Monday. Hopefully
with salacious tales!

I don't axe much in return for this little cubbyhole. But I hope that around the city, or
wherever you are, that something wickedly scandalous happens this weekend.

As for me, I shall spend this weekend trying my best to release the stress, be low-pro,
kick it with my homies. I also have to buy some new boots.

If the weather's fine enough, catch a sunset.

I may be freaky, but that doesn't mean I don't like to "walk on the beach" just like all
the other w4m's!

My parting list of things that get me:

Being called "little one"
Being fondled at the movies, underneath my coat
Giving head in a bathroom at a club
Getting head in a bathroom at a club
Stockings, garters, and no panties.
Being fucked to sleep.

Have a wonderful weekend.
posted by Dopamine Junkie at 3:51 PM


chocolate croissant and coffee for breakfast. heavenly.
oops. sorry for interrupting. please keep reading.

btw, I sat next to a girl on the bus today who was wearing pigtails. it wasn't me!
posted by Dopamine Junkie at 10:30 AM


Among other things, I am a bit of a hypochondriac. Dizziness, chest pains, flutterings in
my tummy - I fear the worst but also hate going to the doctor. But most of the time,
when I actually make it to the doctor, I am repulsively healthier than I think I am.

Once, the doctor checked my lungs and said, "Great! Your lungs are very clear. Not a
smoker, right?"

I wondered if she was being sarcastic.

Don't even get me started about the gyno. One word that makes me cringe: DUCKBILL.

Power dynamics are very sexy, I think. I don't have any specific doctor fantasies, but I
used to visit a very attractive older man, my chiropractor, for awhile. Balding on top, a
neatly trimmed mustache and beard, always wearing comfy looking loose pants, Birks
and socks, dark turtlenecks. He always looked so relaxed.

And his magical hands could pinpoint my sorest spots immediately and work out the
knots with his strong fingers and hands.

He would first adjust me facedown on his padded bench. Then he'd instruct me to
straddle the bench, and he did the same, sitting behind me.
I'd taken off my shirt to wear the hospital smock, open in the back.

- You'll need to remove your bra.
His voice behind me.

I reached back to fumble with the clasp.

- Would you like me to do it for you?
He asked softly.

- Please.

Warm hands expertly unfasten the clasp, brushing against the skin of my back.

I am thankful that he cannot see my face, see me blushing.

He moves to reach his tube of jelly, squirts some onto his palms, applies the cold gel to
my back. The ultrasound wand is pressed to my skin, moving in circles. I relax, drift.

And suddenly I feel his hands massaging my lower back, sweeping down to encircle my
waist, slipping forward to touch the skin of my stomach. I gasp and arch back into him,
my head on his shoulder, and we both look down to see his hands moving over my
chest, under the thin hospital gown.

I am waiting for him to cup his hands beneath my breasts, and stroke their undersides
with his thumbs, to make me shiver and my nipples bud.

Then his palms directly on my nipples, grazing over them before satisfying me with the
firm pressure of his hands, gently squeezing.

At the same time his tongue slips into my ear, and one hand slides down my stomach
to my inner thigh, sweeping to cup my steaming little snatch, humiliatingly soaked with
my cream.

- end of dream sequence -

Back to your regularly scheduled programming.
posted by Dopamine Junkie at 10:25 AM