Sleepovers and such.

I always thought she was pretty. I always enjoyed the way she would insist of spooning when I sleep over at her house. The way she would nuzzle up as soon as she knew her parents were asleep would make me shift back, curling into her body. We never talk about it in the morning, and more recently I have found her hands trailing in the night, but I would never move to stop her.

Tonight we are on her parents' couch again, and they are gone for the night. While we always start quite close to each other, as the movie moves on I end up as I always do - head in her lap, hand on her thigh, her hand playing with my hair.

We have talked about the boys we've fucked, the cocks we've stroked to cumming in locker rooms and behind buildings. And then she asks the question that she has been waiting to for hours.

"So HAVE you ever kissed a girl?"

I blush, smiling up at her, shaking my head. "Have you?" She is a few years older, so I always assume that when she asks me something, she has done it and I have not.

She has not yet stopped stroking my hair, pushing it behind my ear. "I have." My eyes go wide as I nudge and push for details, eagerly turning over, my elbows resting on either side of her hips. I feel her hips push up towards me as she shifts to accommodate my movement. My chest is pressed between her legs and she shifts against me as she speaks. "It was really nice. I liked it. But we were just practicing..."

I nod, resting my head on one hand. "I've never practiced like that."

"You should, it makes you a WAY better kisser." I nod, looking up at her earnestly. I do want to be a very good kisser. I sometimes practice with Daddy, practicing to be the best little cock sucker he can imagine and be proud of, but he never kisses me.

"You think I should?"

She looks down at me, and I can't stop staring at her lips. I think about what they will feel like against mine, what her tongue will be like. I imagine it stroking over my tongue and feel my nipples strain against my tank top. I imagine her tongue flicking out over my lips. I imagine soft velvet. "If you want to be a good kisser, you should." I nod, looking down, waiting to think of something to say. "Do you want to practice right now?"

I nod again, smiling up at her and shifting up. I feel her move her hips again. As I shift, I feel her press against my arm. Between her legs, I can feel a heat I wasn't expecting. And I'm not sure, but I think I can feel a spot of wetness at the seam of her pajama pants.

"How do we do this?" I sit up, my back rigid against the back of the couch. I want to taste the popcorn and Diet Coke still on her tongue.

"Have you never kissed before?"

I laugh. "I've never practiced before. How do you start?"

"Kiss me, asshole."

I smile and lean in, my lips just barely cracked open, and press them to hers lightly. She presses back and I feel her lips nudge mine open. They widen with a nervous eagerness that only the combination of curiosity of what this will be and an assurance that it will be good can bring.

I let her tongue stroke mine first. It is soft and teases instead of insinuates itself like many of the boys I have kissed. She wants to coax me to kiss her back, and I do. She wants me to run my tongue over hers and I do. She wants me to shift my head to the right in order to get deeper in between my lips - and I do. She is giving me excellent practice. And while I should be thinking about the next time I am under the bleachers or tucked away in an empty classroom, I am only curious what she will teach me next.

I move closer on the couch, and her hand comes to rest on my hip, and her fingers skim the surface of my skin under my shirt, just at the top of my shorts. I feel goosebumps blossom after such a soft stroke.

I gasp and our lips break. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting that." I am flushed. I want to practice more. Her lips feel so soft against mine.

"Oh, I was just moving to get more comfortable. I'm stretching really weirdly to reach you."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry. Here... Let me move." When I move to get closer, I shift to sit on her straightened thigh. My thigh goes on either side of hers and I feel her move closer, getting my leg tighter in between hers. I can feel how achingly hot she is between her legs. I don't know what to make of it, but I don't want to shy away either.

As I lean in I feel her move against my leg. As much as she tries to hide it (barely), it is clear that the friction is something she's enjoying very much. As I lean in and kiss her again, her hips move more purposefully against my thigh. She is grinding slightly and I hold my leg in place. I can hear tiny moans beginning to emanate from her throat.

It's hard to concentrate on so many new things at once, but I do my best. As I notice that her pajama pants are soaked, my tongue stops moving, and it takes me a second to remind myself that we are, in fact, kissing. My tongue flicks back to life against hers and I begin to push my leg into her pussy, feeling my thigh get wetter and wetter with her juices. I can feel my own clit swelling, starting to hurt a little.

Finally she lets out a longer moan and I stop, blushing and worried I have done something wrong.

"What?" She says, a little caught off guard. "Why did you stop?"

"I just..." I bite my lip and then open my mouth to speak again. "You're soaked."

She nods, blushing a little, putting her hand between her legs, feeling how wet she is through the fabric. "You're a good kisser." I laugh a little, feeling braver. I put my hand down, over hers, pushing her hand into her own pussy, softly. She moans again, enjoying my emerging curiosity. "I can't believe it's so wet even wearing underwear and pants..."

"I bet your underwear and even worse." I pull back and look at the spreading wet spot on the blue cotton.

"Yeah... wanna see?"

"Of course." I loop my fingers into the waist of her pants and pull them down. She is right. Her cotton panties are translucent. I can see her open lips, the soft fuzz around her sopping cunt. "You're going to leave a stain on the couch if you're not careful."

She nods, and I catch her blushing harder. "I think I might have already left one." I can't help but laugh with her. I scoot back, settling onto the floor in front of her. Her legs remain open and I watch her fight to touch herself. I have never seen this bashfulness written so plain on her face. The more I look at the wetness of her pussy behind what is not gauzy white fabric, the more I want to touch her.

I put my hand against her soaking cunt, rubbing directly over her clit, pressing the fabric into her. She pushes against my hand, breathing harder. Her cum has soaked her panties down to her ass, and have clearly seeped into a small puddle on the couch below her. I'm glad we're at her house. I push my hand down, underneath her and she pushes down, pushing into the couch and making the puddle worse. 

"You should get up. It's going to be hard enough to explain." I look up at her, and I can't help but smile just a little. My nipples are hard behind the fabric of my shirt. Even on my knees, I know she will do whatever I say right now.

She doesn't move, as my fingers are still pushing against her pussy. I doubt she can even hear what I'm saying. All she can think about is her clit and how much she wants it touched, wants the pain to go away. She is bashful. She is bared in front of me. I finally pull my hand away and she stands, her pussy so close to me. I raise up on my knees and look up at her. "You're going to stain your panties if you keep them on."

She nods. I reach up, pulling down them to her knees and watch her open her mouth, and say nothing. Drips of cum string from her pussy as I pull them down and stick to her inner thighs. I watch goosebumps rise on her thighs.

"Do you usually get this wet?"

She shakes her head, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. When we were younger, she used to tease me about being younger, being smaller, being less experienced. This is going to be a beautiful revenge.

"What do you do when you get this wet?"

Her mouth opens. "I... I.. uhm..." she stammers. I reach up to her inner thigh and touch the drips of cum which have run down.

"What do you do?"

"I touch myself."

"Oh yeah?" I rub her inner thigh. "Here?" She smiles and shakes her head. I run my hand closer to her pussy. "Here?" She gasps a little and shakes her head. "What about here?" I press my fingers to her clit and she moans, pushing forward. She nods.

I pull my fingers away and she almost falls.

"What about here?" I slide the tips of my fingers into her cunt. She moans loudly and tries to push down and take more.

"Yes, yes, there." I leave my fingers there for a long moment, letting her struggle to get more, before I pull them away again.

"And have you ever been kissed here?" I lean forward and take her swollen clit in my mouth and softly begin to suck. I feel her knees weaken as she struggles to say no, she has never had a mouth planted on her clit. Her clit is soaking and swollen and her juices are thick and sweet. I can feel them coating my cheeks and chin as I move in to fully lap at her clit.

My tongue runs back and forth, licking it harshly, demandingly. We have masturbated more than once together and I have seen how fast her fingers move, and how harshly she treats it and my tongue seeks to mimic these movements. I let my lips wrap around her clit, full and hard like a jelly bean, and pull it into my mouth.

I hear her moan loudly, her knees bending and opening as she pushes into my face. She rocks slowly, but lets me take control. I rub her clit back and forth, moving back and forth between strong licking and teasing flicks. I can feel her cunt pulsing, tightening, trying to feel something inside. I have watched her fuck her fingers, thrusting them harshly into her pussy. She has teased me in the past for only rubbing my clit while I cum, and watching her cunt beg now feels delicious.

She begins to beg. I can her her whimpering half sentences, wanting more. I graze my teeth over her clit in response and she almost freezes, trembling. She pushes a little more, but tentatively and I suck, pulling just slightly with my teeth. She whimpers but continues to push. "God, please... Please, I need..."

I pull back, her juices smeared across my mouth. "Yes?"

She looks down, breathless. "Please?"

"Please what?" I smile up at her, and I know she doesn't entirely know. She wants more. She wants to cum. She wants to fuck herself. She wants me to fuck her more.

She breaths heavy. "Please make me cum."

I smile, looking up at her coyly. "Please what?"

"Please make me cum. Please fuck me." She is pleading, practically whimpering, desperate. I watch her wants move towards her pussy, but I know she will not finger herself. She knows if she begins to finger herself I will stop.

"Lay down."

She gets on the floor quickly, and I finally pull her panties off her legs, spreading them. I push her legs back with one hand as I slide two fingers inside her with the other. She is so wet and eager that I immediately push in a third. She moans, pushing back against my hand and begins to fuck them as I fuck her.

"This is what you wanted, huh?" She nods, spreading her legs wider for me. I lean down, my mouth finding her pussy again. I lick all the way up, molding my tongue over her clit, stroking it faster. I lick hard, working it against itself, against my lips, against my teeth. She writhes, bucking against my mouth harder. I curl my fingers inside of her, pumping my fingers harder, the same way I have seen her work her cunt.

"Fuck me, please fuck me." she recites over and over and over. I can feel her pussy squeezing, getting closer. Her body is beginning to tremble and I know she is close. Her legs are tightening, and her pulse is pounding.
 She is about to cum in my mouth.

I hear the garage door begin to open and I jump back grabbing her panties and wiping off my fingers and cheeks. She is startled and I point to her pajama pants. She hurries into them, and I see her wince when she realized that the entire crotch and ass are soaked. We hop back on the couch and turn on the television, flipping channels as they come in.

Her mom walks in first and smiles as we are cuddling, as usual, on the couch. Her heart continues to pound. My nipples are still hard. Her face is flushed. But we are undiscovered, as the menial small talk lets us know. They ask about our night, we ask about theirs and we promise to be good and head to bed soon. That one we shall keep.

Messes She Makes

Daddy knows that I have bad habits. Everyone does, of course, but Daddy knows what they are. I think he knows, though, that when he takes that tone, looking me dead in the eyes to give me a command, I get wet first and foremost.

One of the habits that he always taunts me about is my unwillingness to go to pee until I am absolutely bursting. He has watched me hop from foot to foot, pressing my legs together while I finish dishes, chapters in books, preparing tea, or any number of other things which could easily paused if only my stubbornness would allow.

"You're going to get yourself in trouble one of these days, babygirl."

"I know, Daddy." and yet, I always push the limits, darting off to the bathroom as soon as I have finished the task before me and not a second too soon.

I see him watching me as I am doing it again today. I have a whole series of small to-dos in front of me in the kitchen and I am already bursting to go. But I will finish preparing breakfast first. All the tasks are so small, and I am determined to get everything together before I run off.

"Babydoll."

"Mmhmm?" I am pouring water into the kettle, trying to move quickly. I am hopping from foot to foot.

"Are you going to finish all of that before you sprint to the bathroom again?"

"Mmhmm!" I smile and nod at him, knowing that I can make it, even when things look precarious. I have timed this all before, and the muscle memory carries me through, even as I squeeze my legs together.

Each movement is urgent, rushed, but no less precise. I chop bananas, pull out milk, find various additions, and make sure I put together breakfast exactly as I would any other morning. I look forward to this breakfast through my entire workout and morning routines, and I refuse to create anything subpar after I push myself so hard.

The worst part is waiting for the water to boil. While I am running around the kitchen, it's easy to squeeze every necessary muscle. While I am standing and waiting, though, it is painful. When it is just on the verge of squeeling, I pour the piping water int othe mug and set the timer.

I am very conscious about my tea. There are very clear rules for black tea which people so often pretend don't exist, but they are sacred. The perfect cup of black tea steeps at 200 degrees Fahrenheit for three minutes. Four if it's flavored, generally.

And then I have three minutes to wait. I wish in this moment that I had made green tea (which steeps for 90 seconds at 175 degrees. But all I have to do is wait for 3 minutes, take out the strainer, and then I can run to the bathroom and pee, and it will be glorious.

There is a very good chance I will moan.

I stare at it and Daddy stares at me.

"You're going to wait for it?"

"Yes. I don't want it to oversteep. I made the effort, and I will see this through."

He smiles, having seen this exact trait in me. I love when he gives me protocol. I love when he gives me an exact structure to follow and I complete whatever task he sets out. I love when I am asked to perform and I arise to meet the challenge and my creation is perfect. And this ritual, this structure, is gifted to me from nature. I have no choice but to see it through. The world commands it so.

"What if I told you to let it oversteep?"

I pout. I furrow my brow. It would feel painful to watch it. It would sound obsessive-compulsive, but I would hate letting the timer go off, screaming in my ear that the process is done. That there is nothing I can do but follow my orders and watch something be destroyed in front of me.

"I would let it over steep."

"And then what would you do?"

"Drink it and immediately make another cup."

He smiles as the timer ticks down. I am squeezing my legs, until finally I put a hand between them.

"That's where you are, honey?"

I blush, smiling softly, bashfully staring at the timer.

"Your commitment is powerful, babygirl."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"I love that you would sacrifice yourself, your pride, all to complete these tasks."

I smile. I know he knows and feels my dedication every day. And this moment, this process, this dedication to simply making a cup of perfect, beautiful tea, is simply that dedication in another form. And he thinks it's powerful. I am proud.

As the buzzer goes off I pull the steeper from the cup and turn - he is standing in front of me and I gasp, giggling a little. His face is not stern, but he is remaining calm. This is the part that scares me. He is amused by something, but not feeling playful. His smiles always calm me. A neutral face, a face I love but cannot read, scares me. His hands move to his button and zipper.

"Daddy, I will, I have to-"

"No, babydoll. Right now."

I look up at him with wide eyes. I did not time for this. "Daddy, just let me."

"No." His face tells me all I need to know and I simply furrow my brow and take a deep breath. I look him in the eyes, pleading with him silently. My eyes whimper instead of my voice. I want to beg but he'll tell me to shush. "Babydoll, you're wasting time. You clearly don't have to go."

I pout harder and lean up to kiss him softly. It is not a begging kiss. It is a kiss which only confirms that I am his girl. His lips remain closed but he still kisses back, accepting what I know I will give. I let the back of my fingers run over his jaw and he finally smiles softly.

I get down on my knees slowly, pulling his pants and boxers down in the front to pull out his cock, which I immediately put into my mouth. I squeeze my legs together and take a deep breath before I fill my mouth with his growing and hardening cock. While my instinct is to simply pull and suck and lick as hard as I can and immediately get him hard and then to fill my mouth with cum, I know that this is not the blow job he deserves.

I am aching to piss, my bladder straining and muscles aching, but that does not mean I can give him anything less. I slide my lips down the shaft before I drop my jaw and pull all of him back into my mouth. As he hardens, I can feel the tip pushing back into my throat.

As he starts to push, I hold steady and begin to gag. This is the moment where my eyes always water and the first pools of drool begin. As I gag and my body tightens I squeeze my muscles tightly, whimpering. I try and concentrate as my body spasms and it becomes seemingly impossible to hold on for a split second.

I hear him moan and I try and take a breath through my nose. As his cock swells I begin to pump my head slowly, pulling it to its full length. I do love his cock in my mouth, like no one else I have ever fucked. As my lips slide, and my tongue runs over the smoothing ridges in his swollen shaft, I begin to feel my clit swelling as well. As much as my stomach muscles hurt (I can already see the tiny belly bump my bladder is creating) the pain and pressure is making my pussy ache all the more.

I move my mouth fast, sucking a little harder, my hand wrapping around the base as I open my mouth and the first pools of drool run out and down the front of my chest. It pours out, slicking my chin and beginning to soak my shirt. I will soon be slipping in a pool on the hardwood floor.

He takes my chin in his hand and I know to open my mouth and slide my tongue over my bottom teeth. He begins to fuck my mouth, to fuck my throat, and my body begins to tense again. I always push back to his cock, wanting more of him, even while my body reacts in panic. I can feel my muscles spasm, confused where to put their horror at my need to serve.

I dart a hand between my legs and squeeze. I can feel myself reaching my limit, and my bladder simply hurts. I debate trying to let a little go, but I know that's a terrible idea. I can't remember the last time I pushed my bladder this hard, and the pain is catching me off guard. I am trying to focus on his cock, as every time I squeeze between my legs, my mouth goes a little loose. When I feel my jaw slack a little I keep having to catch myself to open it again, to let him drive his cock into my throat as much and as long and as hard as he wants.

But I ache none the less. My brain is scattered and I want to cry. I feel so lost and so desperate. He is destroying me. He fucks faster. I look up at him, and the pleasure written across his face makes me resolute. I want to please him. I want his cum in my throat.

With one hand still pushing tight against my pussy, I place the other one on the shaft of his cock and begin to stroke him into my mouth. His hands move to the back of my head and I begin to suck eagerly again. I want his cock. I want to please. I want to make him cum. I feel his cock pulse and hear him groan as he realizes how much I want it.

I squeeze my legs, shifting back and forth so I can focus on his cock while I try and hold on. I realize as I am eagerly working the beautiful, swollen erection in my mouth that I have begun to whimper. He loves to watch me struggle. I am so focused on so many things that I am not even noticing that am I covered in spit, and my nose has begun to run. The only thing I can do is squeeze my pussy tighter, feeling just barely on the brink and suck his cock. They are the only things that matter in the world right now.

He begins to push harder into my mouth and though this is what I wanted - I know he is getting closer and closer to spilling his sticky, thick cum into my throat and all over my lips - I am caught off guard. Being so focused on his cock, on sucking him eagerly and fully, I am surprised by the feeling of his tip piercing my throat.

I feel it - the first squirt of piss into my already wet panties. I open my mouth and gasp, my face betraying any calm. It is just a squirt but it is enough to feel it run down my thigh and it takes everything inside me to clamp down and hang on.

I look up at him, not sure if I should continue or stop or cry. He looks down at me, kneeling, covered in spit and tears and snot and my juices and now a single shot of warm piss which has dripped just barely onto the floor. I am still struggling.

I have never seen more need in his eyes. When he is beating me, disciplining me, when we are playfully wrestling and I get a tiny edge and he must actually reach down for strength - I have never seen a deeper need to cum in my life written across his face. I open my mouth, my hand tight between my legs and he fucks my mouth hard, forcing me to gag and whimper and drool all over his cock. My face, my makeup, is long destroyed.

I hear him get closer and he fucks harder. I hear him strain and fuck my open, wet mouth, thrusting hard between my lips as I lean up to cross my legs, squeezing them together. I slip a little and another shot of piss squirts out into my panties. I make a loud whimpering, pained noise. He responds with his own and I pull back and open my mouth and stick out my tongue.

He cums hard, spraying wave after wave of sweet, hot cum across my lips and face and into my throat. He cums epically hard, shooting every drop he can. I am covered. And when I am sure he is done and I have licked the last of cum from the tip of his cock I stand and run as fast as I can to the bathroom.

I being peeing as I slide my panties down my legs, soaking them further and sitting with a loud moan. I gasp and close my eyes as I re-create the moment that just happened and piss hard, achingly, with a sense of relief that is unparalleled. I am practically trembling, my legs weak and shaking from their hard work.

He slowly walks to the bathroom, as the door has remained wide open. I must look a fright - soaking panties around my knees, eyes closed, mascara smudged and tearing down my cheeks, covered in spit from my lips down the front of my chest, and with streaks of piss down my inner thighs. When I open my eyes he is standing, clothed, staring at his messy, exhausted baby girl, a smile softening me and making me smile back.

"You did a good job, babydoll."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"I'm proud of you."

I smile as he walks over leans down to kiss me softly on the lips. I cannot stand yet. "Thank you, Smith." I smile at him and push my panties off my legs and throw them in the sink. "I'm a mess."

"You are. It's beautiful. Shall we get you cleaned up?"

I nod as he turns on the shower. I have made him proud. He knows how far I will go, how hard I will try to be good for him. And now, he will take care of his prized girl. This is my ecstasy. My euphoria.

To dream.

When I lay in bed at night, I usually sleep on my stomach. Whether I like it or not, I often think about you and begin grinding into the bed. When I sleep beside someone it's even worse, as another body in be beside me reminds me of you.

And so I find myself fighting not to touch, not to reach down between my legs and achingly rub my clit, to push my fingers into myself, to think about you watching me, or better yet, to think of you beside me, your body wrapped around mine, your fingers plunging inside me over and over while your cock stiffens against my ass.

I get soaked. I leave drips of my cum on the sheets. I ache not being able to cum. I feel my clit ache with the throbbing of blood pulsing to it, demanding attention. I pout and whimper and hurt because your cock is not filling me.

Your memory is my ultimate tease. Because it means that all I want, all I can think about is how you are not inside me when that is all I want in the world. What I would give to live a life devoted to being used by you, your cum perpetually drying on my skin or dripping out of my cunt, which is always waiting and ready for you.

It tastes like pride.

The surge of energy when she hits me is intoxicating. I can see nothing but her face. I can feel nothing but her fist. I can hear nothing but my own breathing. And I can taste nothing but the copper taste of blood in my mouth from the cut where my lip and tooth connected.

Two others hold my arms and all I can do is hold my ground and pride, letting her slap and punch and grab and grope. She wants to make me small. She wants to destroy and degrade and shame, but more than that she wants me to prove that I am worth the attention she is lavishing on my body.

And she is extolling a great deal of attention. I gasp, aching and humbled by her punches, but not ready to break.

"Aren't you scared I'm going to hurt you?"

"I'm not afraid to be hurt."

She smiles and lands another hard smack on my cheek, holding my face to look back at her. "You're bleeding."

I nod, spitting to the side, and the spit comes out bright and brilliant red. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you wet, too?"

"I'm not sure, but I bet you'll fuck me either way."

She laughs, holding my face again. "Are you worthy?" Her lips are so close to mine, and this, this briefest of touches, will get me wet.

"I believe I am."

"Are you mine?"

"I am mine, Ma'am. But I will let you use me." She slaps me again. Harder. I smile, red seeping in between my teeth as my lips curl up and open.

For the file. 006.

He was on his back and I was on all fours over him. We were only a foot or so from the mirror and so it was easy to see every movement; the light from the building around through the windows was enough.

The shadows moved as fast we my mouth over his cock, eagerly bounding up and down the shaft. It felt amazing in my mouth, feeling the head of his cock stroking the roof of my mouth. I pushed my nose into his body and the head into the back of my throat, forcing myself to gag, forcing my eyes to water.

His large, strong hand held all of my hair tightly. He pushed my head down harder before pulling me back and turning my face to look, to see what he saw.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" I see myself gasping, leaning up on my hands, arching down, aching to take him in my mouth again.

He pushes my head back down on his cock, bobbing it up and down, gasping more, letting the cascades of saliva slide down out of my mouth and over his shaft. I want it in my mouth. I want it in my cunt. I want to feel him. I want to make him cum. I want to be a good girl and please him. My eyes water more and I know my lips are swollen and slicked with the drool which is running down my chin.

He pulls my head back up and turns it again. "And every time I do it, you just get more beautiful."

He repeats the act again and again, and each time I am messier. Each time I am more degraded. Each time I am looking more and more like the used slut that he knows I am. I am raw and dirty and messy and broken and I am perfectly at peace, for this is exactly where I am supposed to be. This is exactly the girl I want to be.

Pause on the Porn for a sec

So I'm going to have a non-porn entry, which we can all admit is pretty damn rare. I'm going to make a quick little stand, and you can read it or not read it, but I will say: I put up, absolutely free with no strings or questions attached, some pretty raunchy shit. I do it for myself, I love that people are enjoying it, and I don't intend to ever make this a pay site or anything like that. So now and then, I hope that I have won enough favor from you guys to also read a REALLY short plea for a tiny, miniscule moment for something that feels like incredibly low-threshold social justice for no other reason than I care about it, and I would appreciate it.

By now a lot of you may have heard about this Cheerios ad: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/31/cheerios-commercial-racist-backlash_n_3363507.html and the absolutely horrific, racist outrage and backlash it's received. It's actually just a really sweet ad where a mixed-race family is featured - that's all. Shockingly, even when you have parents of different races, you still eat cereal. (And yes, we can talk about the definition of couples/family representations which aren't shown, etc, but I don't find that helpful.)

As many of you guys know, I'm not white, I'm actually mixed-race Asian and white. Lots of people assume I'm white (which is not a big deal at all), and I haven't run into nearly as many of the really offensive moments as many others who stand out more. But there is something about being "different" looking and people feeling entitled to walk up and hit you with "so what ARE you?"* or assume they know and need to ascribe not only a race/ethnicity to you but characteristics in which you are deficient. (I've been told I'm a poor representative of Latinas because I don't speak Spanish. I told her I was a poor representative of Latinas because I wasn't Latina.)

So here's my ask. Buy Cheerios. That's it. I've bought two boxes in the last week. And yes, I had another cereal I always bought before but now I'm switching to Cheerios. It's not a huge act, and we could all do more. But in the meantime, switch to Cheerios. They showed a family that looked closer to mine than I have ever seen in a mainstream, normalized way AND THEN stood up to all the assholes out there who said horrible, offensive, racist things very loudly. And so I'm switching to Cheerios from here on out. If I'm going to put my $3.50/box somewhere, they win. Thank you, Cheerios. It felt really nice.

(Moment of irony: I actually NEVER ate cereal growing up. My mom's Asian, so lactose intolerant. We didn't really drink milk. I ate noodles with chopsticks for breakfast. No shit. But I'm a Cheerios girl now.)

*I'm not saying it's not ok to ask, or be curious, but please be polite! "Excuse me, I just wanted to say that I think you're beautiful - may I ask your ethnic makeup?" is a very different experience than "So, what ARE you?" And be aware that even when you do this politely, you're inserting yourself into someone's space/life and kind of demanding that they categorize themselves for your benefit. Not saying that's a bad thing or something inappropriate, just something to be aware of.

3. Calm

I have cum twice, both times for you. Both times I moaned and whimpered and cried out, and came so hard I was breathless. My pussy aches from the turn from cold to hot, from being fucked hard by something unforgiving. But I sit on the couch, catching my breath, feeling my pussy pulse and spasm.

I slowly pull the glass dildo out of my cunt, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to slow my heart back to normal. I roll my head back and breathe slowly, coming down. The process of coming down is always a small bit of work. I could easily float for so long, letting everything return to normal, but letting the glow of submission live on.

When we are together, I let that linger on. When I am by your side, I live in the tingling afterglow of submission, of degradation, of humiliation, and I curl into your body in a way that allows me the safety of that lack of awareness. I hide from the real world, tucking myself into the safest space I could imagine: you.

But I am not with you. I am simply worshiping you from afar.

I stand, catching my breath and balance. Walking back to the kitchen, I turn on the water again, heating it to a quick boil. It bubbles to the surface quickly, popping and warbling with heat. The more it trembles from the heat, the more I can focus on it, letting it temper my come down.

I turn off the heat and move to the cup, pouring the water in slowly, though it pops and explodes as it crosses the heated metal. The water splashes around the cup as well as it in and I can't even be bothered to slow the pour. It envelopes the tea, though I leave ample space at the top.

Usually, I love the ritual of tea. I let the moments where I can steep a cup break up my day and I worship every second. I time each steep, making sure to choose the perfect allotment of time depending on the boldness of the tea, type of leaf, type of bag, quality of the tea, and a myriad of other factors. I let it steep, quietly, not pulling or dipping the bag like people often do. I trust my diffusers to do their job without me. I give them calm. And when the bell digs I pull the teabag out, pour in whatever else (almost milk, often) I choose, and am rewarded. My commitment to ritual, to trust, to taking the two or I've or nine minutes required for something perfect, and I am met with something that I have participated in.

My ritual for this, though, is not for reverence of the tea, but instead reverence to you.

The tea steeps and I realize a few moments in I haven't set the timer. When it looks somewhat done I pull the bag out, and take hold of the dildo. It is covered twice over in my cum and juices. And with just as much precision as I usually measure out Russian Caravan of Oolong, I let the dildo descend into the stir, slowly stirring it, washing it clean, allowing it to mix with the smokiness of black tea.

I let it sit, let it steep just as well, until I know that it is slicked clean. And just to be sure, I pull it from the water and slide the smooth, hot tip into my mouth, letting my tongue run over it... just to be sure.

I sit with the tea and meditate on this feeling. I cannot help but smile as my heart speeds and slows once more. The couch nestles me, allowing my breathing to come back. My flesh, which still prickled with goosebumps, has again laid and relaxed. My blood has drifted back to its slower currents, no longer coursing through my veins with need and panic. My pupils have re-found comfort in light. My breathing has lost its momentary hiccups. And most of all, my heart has calmed.

With every sip, I descend a little more until my feet are back on the ground. I gulp it faster as it cools, letting the tea and cum roll down my throat and coat me from the inside out. I feel like I am being welcomed home. And though you are still achingly far, you are here. And I am again calm.