Buckle up, we have to catch up. We’re only at the halfway mark for 2017 and I’m already drinking for two (ever go so hard on a weekend that you’re fairly sure you gave yourself fetal alcohol syndrome?) So far this year I’ve broken a toe, started a new job, gotten a promotion at said job, ruptured an eardrum from an insane sinus infection turned ear infection, had a MRSA infection develop on my face after I performed minor surgery on an acne cyst, shaved my head to support my friend with cancer… and I’ve started dating. On my weight-loss journey I’m down 55lbs; I’ve been hovering in the 160’s for a hot minute. Who or what am I dating? Even the doc overseeing my over-zealous monthly STD testing voiced her curiosity. “I wondered what kind of man you’d actually date-date…” Stop me when you’re surprised: he’s younger than me, good-looking, in the Air Force, hopelessly devoted to me, and we’re on the same spectrum- autism. He met me after stalking my Snapchat for a while, which he picked up seeing me on a couple dating apps but didn’t muster up the courage to contact me until masturbating in the bushes for a few weeks. Clearly I have to marry him because his whole hand fit inside me and I will only be one man’s Muppet. Our first actual date was him accompanying me to get my head shaved for my friend, then he took my QBall ass out to one of the best restaurants in Alaska, and finished up with an ESCAPE ROOM! He mentioned several times I was his Make a Wish Foundation date. Swoon, motherfucker. It’s goin’ down, I’m yellin’ timberrrrrr.
He’s blond, blue-eyed, strong jaw, speaks German. With my monthly head shaving making me look like an older, fatter, less famous Sinead O’Connor (or just Sinead O’Connor now,) we could make white nationalist parody porn. American History XXX, I’m Edward Norton in the shower. I asked him if it was weird to get a blow job from Powder, he said “sometimes.” What I’m trying to say is that my haircut affiliates with the alt-right movement. Every month when my friend PolterTits goes in for her chemo treatment, I shave it down to the skin. The ambiguously gendered duo. This has made hooking up uh, interesting. Now when men contact me its equal parts telling me how brave I am (I got a haircut, she had a double mastectomy…. I’m so brave,) and how hot my GI Jane look is. Call me Ripley, LET GO OF HER YOU BITCH. We are not monogamous at this time, and I’ve continued my lifestyle with him by my side enjoying the ride with me. A strong man can share his partner and not feel threatened by sexual encounters with others… he did mention once I had “penis breath,” after returning from my first sexual encounter outside of our union. He gets a kick out of my daily screenshots and shut downs. My favorite past-time is outing cheaters to their moms. (Your wifey might forgive and get passed it, your mom however knows she raised you better than that and will remind you of it for the rest of your miserable life. You’re welcome.) I’m doing the Lord’s work.
Background on the boyfriend, he has a sexual dysfunction… or a blessing, depending on how you look at it. He has a very difficult time reaching climax. His cock will stay hard indefinitely and he goes down for days, plus he’ll pretty much just fuck me any way that I want for as long as I want with zero expectation to cum. Full stop. I have taken it upon myself to learn his combination so I can get him off with a little more frequency than any partner before me… which isn’t a tall order considering I’m only his 4th sexual partner. My competitive streak compels me to wreck him like Marla Singer. It’s not me pushing you back and riding your cock with determination and vigor, it’s my ego. No joke, he said the words “I don’t cum, so sex is just for you.” Marry me. Our combined sex toy collection keeps me busy on our off time from each other, my Sybian has it’s own room in his house. I now live at his place on JBER (Joint Base Elmendorf Richardson) on the weekends, and I catcall the joggers in my neighborhood. No shame in my game, short-shorts. If you don’t laugh when I scream “HEY BABY, YOU EVER HAD YOUR ASSHOLE LICKED BY A FAT MAN IN AN OVERCOAT,” you’re probably not fun. So far, no takers. Does street harassment not work?
Now that we’ve mostly caught up, I’m sorry for my absence lately. I’ve been so busy with my new hours at work, being properly wooed, summer in Alaska is full of outside activities, and now I’ve actually braved the stage and started doing stand-up comedy open mic’s at Koots. That’s right. I finally did it. I got on stage and I did fairly well despite being so nervous I couldn’t feel my legs. So yeah, I’m busy! I’ve attempted several times to engage in sexual congress with men other than my beau, but it’s been harder than I thought it would be. He sets the bar so high I just don’t feel like risking a bad lay when I could be sitting on his face and eating tiramisu while watching Orange is the New Black. I’ve put on 5lbs since we started dating. I know it’s to be expected, but I promised myself I wouldn’t get fat (again) until I’m an officer’s wife. You have my word. The encounter I want to share with you today is the first time I made him cum.
I had been horny all day, but my duties as a Momazon were priority. Once I got a break, I tackled the man on my living room couch and quietly rocked his world. I was wet, aching, and voracious. GIVE ME ORGASM NOW. I did not undress. I did not remove my panties. He pulled his hard cock out through his pants, pushed my panties to the side, and shoved two fingers inside me. I was more than ready to take him. He’s about average in his manhood, thicker at the base. Recently circumcised by choice, the scar is interesting to look at. I wish he’d kept his foreskin, but it’s too late now. Maybe I’ll just loosely wrap it in deli meat. (That works for both a foreskin description or sex with me.) I sit down on it hard, taking him to the hilt on the first down stroke. I grip him hard (have I mentioned I 200 kegels a day and my vagina’s nickname is She Hulk?) He never stood a chance. At that moment he mutters an “oh god,” and I know this will be the time I make him cum. He’s a quiet lover, this is out of the ordinary. I push back down on him hard and deep while his hands are desperately gripping my hips to guide me to the sweet spot. When I reach it I give my hips a subtle swivel and he gasps again. He whispers “just like that,” and I continue my rhythm, primal panting and breathing into each other’s necks as I bring him close to the edge. One of his hands grabs my tit hard and his head goes back as he exclaims “Don’t stop.” You got it.
I don’t stop. I push back hard, faster, more determined. I ride him hard and steady as I feel his cock swell right before he cums. “You’re going to make me cum!” NO SHIT, THAT WAS THE PLAN! The tremble in his voice pushes me over the edge right as he pulses and fills me up, I tumble over the edge right along with him. I take him as deeply as possible as he spasms. I love this feeling, if only the world wasn’t cursed and condoms weren’t so necessary most of the time. Simultaneous orgasms. From start to finish this interlude was a sweaty 5 minutes. Though it was brief, that feeling of accomplishment had me riding a high for several days. Not only did I make him bust, I brought the noise. Much like Wutang, my pride ain’t nothin’ to fuck with. I’ve licked him, he is mine now. I buy all my boyfriends/ serious partners a cologne I like, its my way of marking them. No no, you’re not wearing my ex-husband’s cologne, you’re both wearing mine. Pi by Givenchy, by the way. Do yourself a favor and pick it up. Panty dropper.
My body progress, in a corset