[i am busy girl today. unfortunately.
and I have so many things to tell you.
It's a clutter. But try to make sense of it all if you can.]

samedi soir
1.04 a.m.
chez moi

apres minuit samedi soir

a smorgasbord of choice packets. . .

Jeudi
I went to the strip club with a huge group of girls to look at nekkid girls.
The strippers were very diverse in size, shape and color.
tig ass bitties
smalle titties
slim hips
bodacious bootays
shaved twats
flesh

you see i was there with a group of college girls
who were on a field trip for their female sexuality class . . .
this bar was totally nude
so as we walked through the door we were handed soda cups and
pointed to a self service soda bar on the other side of the club.

audience demographic:
before our arrival:
75% white and shady looking men, 20% strippers, 5% group of randy young dudes.
after our arrival:
50% college girls focused on discovering their "female sexuality",
20% strippers both aggravated and relieved
and jaded by the arrival of the college girls,
20% white and shady looking men,
10% groups of men and women attracted by the rambunctious peals of feminine screams.

the club at first glance lacked the edgy and unpredictable
quality i am accustomed to, something i attributed to the lack of alcohol.

everyone was polite, no one was being sloppy.
girls took seats and sipped their cokes
watching the titties and the splayed pussies as if this were a life drawing class
i enjoyed watching the other girls watch the girls
watching to see the rise and fall of their breath
as they squirmed with the indecision on how to react,
what was acceptable, who was watching them
could they detach?

all girls were politely leaving tips on the stage like offerings to a goddess

having grown up in an age of feminism;
no one wanted to insult or objectify with the strippers; we were all acutely aware of each other,
as women, as we would relate to girls beside us in the bathroom mirror, applying lipstick, fixing our hair.

i watched another asian girl, she came along with the class,
but didn't sit with the other girls really.
i watched as she grew more and more interested in each strippers' undulations,
in their awareness of their own movements.

i watched her as she grew more heated, taking off her sweater,
and pulling up her hair, placing the dollars on the stage for dancer after dancer.

she looked sweet, confused, vulnerable. and i wanted to kiss her cheek.
and whisper soflty, silkily, into her ear as she watched the strippers pump their hips into the air,
"do you think she is beautiful?"
"would you want to touch her?"
"do you want her to come over here and kiss your breast?"
"do you want me to put my hand between your legs?"

But meanwhile, some of the other ladies had fgone across the street to drink,
and brought back with them just that Mardi Gras kind of
titty flashing sloppiness as seen in Sorority Girls Gone Wild.

Placing their dollars bills in their mouths,
they had come back more brazen, fueled by liquid courage.
The strippers would come over to take the dollars with their teeth,
throw the bill to the stage, and lean in to kiss the college girl on the mouth.

Another breathtaking moment.
Would she kiss back? Would she be down?
Would she struggle, feel disgust and be shy, back away?
To watch the indecision, the spark of desire,
and the final submission as the two women crushed their mouths together,
softness upon softness, slip of a tongue.
The whole hearted participation of an audience member gained,
the stripper pushed the limits, sliding the straps off the young girls shoulder in a quick thrust,
exposing her to the room. I had to hold my breath watching them rub their tits together.

The coupling of a young girl with pierced nipples a
nd an domme stripper yielded an impromptu soixante-neuf onstage.

The piece de resistance was the teacher.
She'd come with the class, a smiling sweet faced woman, late late 20s or early 30s I would guess.
Attractive.

She flirted with the dancers as well, making out, dry humping on the stage.
Showing her tits. Leading the way for all her proteges to be emboldened, empowered,
enraptured by female sexuality.

She and the domme stripper were fabulous.
Crawling on the stage the stripper approached her to take the dollar bill out of her mouth.
Throwing the money to the floor they start to rub their lips together, kiss, the stripper kisses the teacher's
neck, pulls down her top to expose her tits.
They rub their chests together.

The domme pulls her up on stage.
They get into a sixty nine position, hips humping at each other.
Teacher is taking off her top and blouse altogether.

The domme gets up and climbs to the top of the pole,
then hangs upside down, invites the teacher to join her.
The teacher takes off her jeans, pulls down her white thong,
and climbs up the pole so the women are in a standing 69.

Too bad they weren't playing Hot for Teacher. That would have been perfect.

After the show . . . I am sweetly and savagely fucked to sleep. Not by Hugo.

:insert raised eyebrow here:

Friday I met with someone new for a drink after work.
He knows who he is.

I wonder what he thinks of the dopaminejunkie in the flesh.
I represent myself as I perceive myself, and this I have already described to you.

He makes me wish to plunge myself into sweet chaos.
I think we're all in need of some disorder.

Saturday as I spent the day with Hugo I wondered at myself.
What creature have I become?

My voracious appetite has been whetted and my hunger for flesh
to sink my teeth into, flesh to sink into my flesh, only increases by
the day.

As I watched the young college men of Berkeley passing by,
I felt myself salivating. Both little mouths. w(h)etted.

Sunday and the day began with the talk that I have been so reluctant to have with Hugo.
About us, my unhappiness.

He is not unhappy at all.
He wants to get married "someday".
He wants to spend the rest of his life with me.

I told him I am not ready.
That he should know better my feeling about marriage.
That I felt we had no communication, just a delicate status quo which
I swallow loads of sticky and unpleasant dissatisfaction to preserve.
That although I love the man he has evolved into.
that I miss the man I first fell in love with.
The one with the wicked smile, the wicked blue eyes.
Who whispered terrible things in my ear as he slid his hand up my thigh.

Long story short.
"Maybe you need to date other people."
He says.
"Maybe you need someone else to provoke you, excite you, help you grow."
My mind is racing. Could it be he is offering me what I want?

A two way exit?
In the end my eyes were puffy.
And he said "I'm going to dip out for a few weeks. So I won't see you
until the weekend after next. If you want me, call me and I'll come to see you."

My mind was racing ahead.

Do you know what kind of trouble I can get into in 2 weeks?

The conversation ended as he was getting hard.

Why do my tears inspire erections?

I asked him to tell me about teen sex as he fondled me.
He'd had sex with at least 15 people by the time he graduated high school.
That's a lot of teen sex.
His stories excited me.
Afterschool fucking was something that I never did.

Newsflash. He wanted to 69.
That's right.
He kissed my kitty.

It was hard to believe, and I have been so conditioned to think he doesn't
enjoy it anymore that I think I forgot that he was actually good at it.
He spreads his tongue flat against my slit and licks it, not too hard,
but with enough pressure, until I'm moaning with his cock in my mouth,
and he sucks on my clit.

I was so astounded I couldn't concentrate on cumming.
In fact, when he flipped me over to take me from behind I was too sentient
to really cum.
I think I was too surprised.

He really fucking loves me.
But I really need to be free for awhile, at least.