y=mx+b
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These two
Thank you.
Desultory and Impulsive
- Thread starter y=mx+b
- Start date
Thank you.
Blueeyesrenee
Literotica Guru
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AlliaPotestas
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Nah - we are all very british on my early commuter train. It simply doesn’t do to notice one anothers tears. The late train home might have been different, when a proportion have had a drink...
Arianthe
Freak of feminine nature
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y=mx+b
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She comes around to see me
To catch up on my words
...my thoughts
I don't know why
There are better writers of words
Better thinkers of thoughts
I have convinced myself it is out of habit
Still flavored with a bit of curiosity
And perhaps
A little hope.
Hope of what?
I do not know
But I think it might be there
To catch up on my words
...my thoughts
I don't know why
There are better writers of words
Better thinkers of thoughts
I have convinced myself it is out of habit
Still flavored with a bit of curiosity
And perhaps
A little hope.
Hope of what?
I do not know
But I think it might be there
y=mx+b
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Waking thoughts as I lay here still in bed
There's been only two times in my life where I didn't mind being called "daddy"
I was running shirtless both times after having decided to stop trimming down my chest hair (for the time being --at the time--).
Both times almost caused me to double over laughing.
The first time was by an unashamed, absolutely fabulous young gay man as I ran past him on approach and he did so in such an excellent lispy higher pitch gay male voice that was just so perfect.
The second time I was running along the lakefront and. College had just started and there were a group of girls doing soccer drills or whatever a good distance off from the running path. I was the only individual on the path for quite some distance and really wasn't thinking much of anything outside of wondering if I should break stride, give into my growing insecurity about having not trimmed my chest hair and put on my shirt when I heard a very loud, very direct, youthfully mature female voice yell, "DADDY!!!"
And those are the only two instances I got a kick out of being called "daddy" by an adult exhibiting a sexual interest in me.
By-and-large, the thought of being called "daddy" is an angering interest killer. And rightly or wrongly I question the validity of motivation behind any man that requests to be called such in any kind of intimate situation.
This isn't to say that I think such play is wrong. I get the appeal, and from what I've gathered throughout my life here on lit, a lot of women seek that out. And periodically seek that out from me. And given the nature of some of my posts, I get it. But um.... no. Which then leaves them questioning what to call me, what title can they give me to fulfill their internal need for whatever their need is.
Master?
Sweet Jesus fuck! Can't a guy just be a guy?
There's been only two times in my life where I didn't mind being called "daddy"
I was running shirtless both times after having decided to stop trimming down my chest hair (for the time being --at the time--).
Both times almost caused me to double over laughing.
The first time was by an unashamed, absolutely fabulous young gay man as I ran past him on approach and he did so in such an excellent lispy higher pitch gay male voice that was just so perfect.
The second time I was running along the lakefront and. College had just started and there were a group of girls doing soccer drills or whatever a good distance off from the running path. I was the only individual on the path for quite some distance and really wasn't thinking much of anything outside of wondering if I should break stride, give into my growing insecurity about having not trimmed my chest hair and put on my shirt when I heard a very loud, very direct, youthfully mature female voice yell, "DADDY!!!"
And those are the only two instances I got a kick out of being called "daddy" by an adult exhibiting a sexual interest in me.
By-and-large, the thought of being called "daddy" is an angering interest killer. And rightly or wrongly I question the validity of motivation behind any man that requests to be called such in any kind of intimate situation.
This isn't to say that I think such play is wrong. I get the appeal, and from what I've gathered throughout my life here on lit, a lot of women seek that out. And periodically seek that out from me. And given the nature of some of my posts, I get it. But um.... no. Which then leaves them questioning what to call me, what title can they give me to fulfill their internal need for whatever their need is.
Master?
Sweet Jesus fuck! Can't a guy just be a guy?
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Moochienanu
Kintsugi
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S
Sexybritches69
Guest
42 spankings, plus one to grow on coming up...
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AlliaPotestas
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Kimleigh
Booblicious
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Happy birthday, sexy!
Blueeyesrenee
Literotica Guru
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Arianthe
Freak of feminine nature
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y=mx+b
___________
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Thank you everyone
And all you everyone's that wish for me to not know about you
The following is going to be a bunch of words you don't have to read. I really don't feel like falling asleep, but I also don't feel like making much of an effort to try and make sense. So... this all is going to make much less sense than what you are probably used to. But I will do what I can to try and break it up to make it more readable for those that can't bring themselves to stop reading shit they've started reading.
maybe something will turn out
We'll see.
Ready?
Sets!
GO!!!
I am
To aim
This is what
To say disdain
Is a cheap rhyme
Start over
Because that was stupid
Her....
That's a start
Because you all like when I write about her
That's the impression I get
I know that she likes me writing about her
At least
That's what I tell myself
But nope. Not her. Not this time
This time is about you
Which could be me referring to her as in a direct way
Directly into her
Injection
toxic masculinity
Where I work
Two guys
Fuck those guys
One guy imparticular
In part icular
Testicular
Fortitude
Lack thereof
No dancing at the castration
And this brings me back to being published
Which I am not
No
Not ever
Mode out of water
My displeasure at all that you have
That I do not
That being you
Or her
Or her heat against me
Her lips around my cock
Looking up at me
Countenance
Cat candor creation
I wish I could covet
Truth is...
I do
And I want to let go
Doing so
Would be the fair thing to do
I know it
And you know it
And it's all on me. Isn't it.
It's all on me.
And all you everyone's that wish for me to not know about you
The following is going to be a bunch of words you don't have to read. I really don't feel like falling asleep, but I also don't feel like making much of an effort to try and make sense. So... this all is going to make much less sense than what you are probably used to. But I will do what I can to try and break it up to make it more readable for those that can't bring themselves to stop reading shit they've started reading.
maybe something will turn out
We'll see.
Ready?
Sets!
GO!!!
I am
To aim
This is what
To say disdain
Is a cheap rhyme
Start over
Because that was stupid
Her....
That's a start
Because you all like when I write about her
That's the impression I get
I know that she likes me writing about her
At least
That's what I tell myself
But nope. Not her. Not this time
This time is about you
Which could be me referring to her as in a direct way
Directly into her
Injection
toxic masculinity
Where I work
Two guys
Fuck those guys
One guy imparticular
In part icular
Testicular
Fortitude
Lack thereof
No dancing at the castration
And this brings me back to being published
Which I am not
No
Not ever
Mode out of water
My displeasure at all that you have
That I do not
That being you
Or her
Or her heat against me
Her lips around my cock
Looking up at me
Countenance
Cat candor creation
I wish I could covet
Truth is...
I do
And I want to let go
Doing so
Would be the fair thing to do
I know it
And you know it
And it's all on me. Isn't it.
It's all on me.
y=mx+b
___________
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- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
- 25,394
He pushed on her abdomen in such a way that caused her to feel as though she was going to shit. She was pretty certain that she wasn't going to, but the fear was still there. And that's what she loved. The sensation. The fear. And the understanding that if she actually did; as embarrassing as it would be, he wouldn't make a big deal out of it.
y=mx+b
___________
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
- 25,394
Burning brush
Contemplating the weird things I write
And once again wondering why
And what would happen
If I kept it all under wraps
It's not like my head would explode
Or that I would start scratching at an itch that wasn't there until I started bleeding.
Like liquid seeking out a level surface you all would find your hollows to fill the void
This is not a ploy for praise
It's more a pragmatic reflection
The End.
Contemplating the weird things I write
And once again wondering why
And what would happen
If I kept it all under wraps
It's not like my head would explode
Or that I would start scratching at an itch that wasn't there until I started bleeding.
Like liquid seeking out a level surface you all would find your hollows to fill the void
This is not a ploy for praise
It's more a pragmatic reflection
The End.
Moochienanu
Kintsugi
- Joined
- Mar 9, 2018
- Posts
- 7,561
y=mx+b
___________
- Joined
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- Posts
- 25,394
They had just finished fucking
It was a good fuck that left them both feeling forbiddenly dirty and they were laying lazily naked next to each other on their stomachs.
Propped up on their elbows he nuzzled his face into the side of her neck. The feel of him breathing her in sent an electric sensation down the center of her abdomen where it feathered out across her womb where, if she thought about it, she'd feel the fluttering tails of millions upon millions of sperm swimming up inside her making their way further into her body.
And she did think about it
She thought about it a lot
And she liked how it all made her feel so warm.
It was a good fuck that left them both feeling forbiddenly dirty and they were laying lazily naked next to each other on their stomachs.
Propped up on their elbows he nuzzled his face into the side of her neck. The feel of him breathing her in sent an electric sensation down the center of her abdomen where it feathered out across her womb where, if she thought about it, she'd feel the fluttering tails of millions upon millions of sperm swimming up inside her making their way further into her body.
And she did think about it
She thought about it a lot
And she liked how it all made her feel so warm.
y=mx+b
___________
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- Jul 1, 2003
- Posts
- 25,394
There were always these moments where he wanted to tell her that he didn't just love her, but that he was in love with her.
Seldom though had he had such an urge when they were together.
He didn't like the feeling.
He didn't trust that he could keep it to himself
Falling into these moments when they were apart was easy. More forgiving. He could always be brushed off as was probably being drunk, or being the nice kind of guy he thought she wanted him to be when she needed him to be it.
But being there. Right now. Naked; having just fucked and feeling the last of him that wasn't ejaculated inside of her, making its way awkwardly out of his flaccid penis and onto the sheets below, he felt all the more naked, exposed, and afraid.
He didn't like this combination of feelings. He didn't like the reality of studies that said how men are much quicker than women to fall in love. He hated it. He hated the thought and possible probability that she didn't share such feelings for him to such the degree that he did for her. He already saw it in his head of him saying those words to her, and watching her stare off into space wishing she had taken up smoking instead of fucking.
Seldom though had he had such an urge when they were together.
He didn't like the feeling.
He didn't trust that he could keep it to himself
Falling into these moments when they were apart was easy. More forgiving. He could always be brushed off as was probably being drunk, or being the nice kind of guy he thought she wanted him to be when she needed him to be it.
But being there. Right now. Naked; having just fucked and feeling the last of him that wasn't ejaculated inside of her, making its way awkwardly out of his flaccid penis and onto the sheets below, he felt all the more naked, exposed, and afraid.
He didn't like this combination of feelings. He didn't like the reality of studies that said how men are much quicker than women to fall in love. He hated it. He hated the thought and possible probability that she didn't share such feelings for him to such the degree that he did for her. He already saw it in his head of him saying those words to her, and watching her stare off into space wishing she had taken up smoking instead of fucking.
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y=mx+b
___________
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y=mx+b
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I was with my mom earlier today when we ran into an old back-in-the-day friend of hers.
When the friend's husband showed up she was all like "You remember... don't you? This is... , you know... she was married to..."
The guy drew a blank and the woman was like... "You know... He died in--what year did he die?" And my mom drew a blank and turned to me. " '82 ".
This sparked a memory in the guy and he told an all-too-brief story about how he was there when his wife brought my dad something... a drink, a towel, something inane and how greatful my dad was or something.
It was such a stupid little moment. The man remembered next to nothing about my dad but yet it was still so much more concrete than any memory my little five-year-old brain could hold onto and as he was telling that little story I found myself feeling as though he was telling it from behind security glass with my face pressed against it. Banging upon it.
It's so fucking weird that there is so much of something "out there." "Everywhere." That I have --and will never have-- any access to. A reality of something I was never a part of. And one I could never make myself a part of
And I can't help but to wonder
If this is why my mind works the way that it does
All caught up in some kind of self-perpetuating glitch of creating fictions and false narratives to pacify that what has been taken away.
When the friend's husband showed up she was all like "You remember... don't you? This is... , you know... she was married to..."
The guy drew a blank and the woman was like... "You know... He died in--what year did he die?" And my mom drew a blank and turned to me. " '82 ".
This sparked a memory in the guy and he told an all-too-brief story about how he was there when his wife brought my dad something... a drink, a towel, something inane and how greatful my dad was or something.
It was such a stupid little moment. The man remembered next to nothing about my dad but yet it was still so much more concrete than any memory my little five-year-old brain could hold onto and as he was telling that little story I found myself feeling as though he was telling it from behind security glass with my face pressed against it. Banging upon it.
It's so fucking weird that there is so much of something "out there." "Everywhere." That I have --and will never have-- any access to. A reality of something I was never a part of. And one I could never make myself a part of
And I can't help but to wonder
If this is why my mind works the way that it does
All caught up in some kind of self-perpetuating glitch of creating fictions and false narratives to pacify that what has been taken away.
Misshotndeep
Site Tumbleweed.
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- Aug 19, 2013
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Sad to say but that reminds me of my last sexual experience. I wish I could have said it but I was too afraid it would scare him off.
