kittyfireball

#this slut's going nuts

Toward the end of July, I really started to lose it. I was horny to the nth degree and pandemic frustration was steering me toward doing some very reckless shit.

After going into involuntary self-preservation mode, I seemed to have simultaneously eliminated my sex drive and lost my orgasm. It was worrisome but something of a relief as well. If I can't trust myself enough to not do stupid things in the name of lust, I might as well be a guy. Haha. Kidding!!

But seriously, subverting one's will may work in the short run, but it's like toxic waste. Eventually it comes bubbling to the surface and creates a big ole mess; at times, worse than the original gunk.

Next time: toxic clean-up, pandemic edition.

Steve went from the top spot in my hook-up ratings to a FAIL for our second encounter. It wasn't exactly anyone's fault, really. Just one of those things.

He got a room at a nice hotel and I met him there. I was looking forward to playing with him again as our first hook-up went so swimmingly. It started nicely with a drink and a bit of a smoke. He's very into satisfying his partner and tbh, it throws me for a bit of a loop because I'm a pleaser by nature and care more about 'their' pleasure and less about my own. I'm sure it all goes hand in hand with my Control issues. But since he was determined to get me off, I made sure to bring my magic wand vibrator that guarantees orgasms. I like to warm up with it first, then at just the right moment, tell the guy to put his fingers in me. When all is right with the world, this makes me cum in multiples.

Vibe warm up. Check. Finger fuck. Check. Multiple orgasms. Check. Now that I was all soft, wet, and amenable to just about anything, he suddenly spots a pinkish smear on the glaring white hotel sheet. His face blanches.

“Is that blood?” he asks.

I quickly check myself and I'm not actively bleeding. I assure him it's not my period because I'd just had it ten or so days prior. I know some people can't deal with menstrual blood. I'm kinda one of them. I make a joke.

“Ward, you were a little hard on the Beaver”.

And he was. He was doing the “attempted squirt” finger fuck that requires quite a vigorous thrusting.
He doesn't laugh; just sort of sits there.

“I can't stand the sight of blood,” he explains.

Uh huh.

“So that's it??”, I say.

“Yeah, sorry...”

I can tell he is sorry but I want dick! I offer to just blow him because I honestly do love sucking him, but he declines. Apparently, the boner has left the building. I'm trying to make sense of this unprecedented turn of events. I'm annoyed and disappointed. Horny and awkward. Not a fun combination. To sort of test him I hold out one hand and say,
“Look, I've got a hangnail. If I peel it off, the blood will start to well-up...”

He turns green, almost like in a damn Bugs Bunny cartoon. So I guess he's being truthful. Argh!

“I'll make it up to you next time,” he promises, obviously feeling shitty about it. Kitty don't care! We are standing in front of the bed and I can't help it. I place my hands on his chest and shove him so he falls backward on the bed. I growl in frustration. He keeps apologising but my ego has taken a beating and just wants to hide. Never mind that he got and paid for the hotel room. Never mind that I'd had multiple orgasms. I'm not happy. All because of a pinkish smear! But I try to be gracious, tell him it's okay, and hug him goodbye.

We've tried several times to get together since, without success. My inner kitty taunts me: 'maybe he's just not that into you.' Sigh. Maybe...

The last blow job I gave was in early February 2020. He was the one and only worthwhile match I had on the Hinge app in the four months for which I paid for premium membership. Hinge, for me, sucked big donkey balls. Lots of Likes, most of whom weren’t even remotely my type but not a whole lot of tempting choices. Of course, I tend to be shallow and use the Hookup Loophole to “date” out of my league. But that’s another story.

Although Hinge is supposedly more of a ‘relationship’ app and apparently I felt perhaps I was looking for more than my usual serial BJ adventures, it may have been more the fact that I just wasn’t feeling very sexual at that time. In any case, this Hinge match was very much my type AND he could host AND I was going to be clubbing not too far from his location so what the heck. I think I offered up only a blow job because I really didn’t feel like fucking. I only mention this stellar, all-encompassing episode of oral sex because I wish I’d known, then, that would be THE LAST TIME I WOULD TOUCH ANYTHING MALE FOR THE NEXT FIVE MONTHS.

Funny thing...as soon as the pandemic/lockdown/quarantine hit, my sex drive rapidly went from zero to sixty. I officially isolated myself from social situations on March 1. My job closed down and switched to remote-work on March 13 at which point I had way too much time on my hands. I could now wake up at noon and go to bed in the wee hours of the morning after reading smut, watching porn, and turning masturbation into an art form. Like everyone else single, I was going slowly out of my mind with horniness.

Around mid-April, a few of my regular BJ buddies hit me up but I was holding strong and meeting up was completely out of the question. In May, I began to hear from guys I’d hooked up with once or twice but with whom I hadn’t had any contact in years. Some I couldn’t quite remember. All along I’m getting Tinder matches and lemme tell ya, these guys were/are Thirsty. I don’t flatter myself to think all these dudes suddenly missed me. They missed IT. Toward the end of June, I was convinced that the pandemic had to be winding down. Things were starting to re-open; clubs seemed to think it wouldn’t be long before they too, would be back. As we all know, things instead got worse, and the numbers skyrocketed. July came, and my mind went. I could tell I was slipping.

Being the Queen of Loopholes, I decided that a strip-club-rules (I can touch you, you can’t touch me) BJ whereas he wears a mask throughout, would be a relatively safe sexual activity. Until my therapist kindly pointed out that the penis will have been touched by his hands before it went into my mouth. Well, rats. So I had to somehow come to terms with the fact that I really couldn’t get naughty until a vaccine was available. My slutty self didn’t like that one bit. She’s very rebellious and has a big problem with authority. Pandemic? Covid-19? Elderly parents? Oh, that’s Buzzkill-self’s prob.

I stopped answering my texts. I mean, I knew what they wanted and I knew I had to say No, which I have a problem doing under the best of circumstances. I had a couple of near-misses where I either pussied out at the last minute (called it off; I don’t flake) or made it so logistically challenging as to be virtually impossible to pull off.

But then he texted. Aaron. And I broke.

I didn’t hear from Aaron for 5 days. I send one super-ultra-casual text. Crickets. Five days of me torturing myself wondering what egregious sin I’d committed. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t a tenth of my online, scintillating persona. I’d stumbled into a patch of horrifically bad lighting. He must’ve known the moment he saw me whether or not he was interested. Even if he only wanted me for blow jobs, why bother with the hand-holding bullshit? Why kiss the wits out of me?

After 5 days of self-doubt, zero self-esteem, and the endless taunting of my inner critic, I get a text from him saying he’d been down with the flu and had been feeling like death. The moment of pure happiness I get when I see his message is downright nauseating. My sad, lopsided world tilts back on its axis and I can have a bit of peace from the nasty voices in my head. Over the course of the next week I send two more super-ultra-casual texts inquiring after his health; my third text is an exasperated one.

Me: feel free to continue to kiss me off, just do me a favor and let me know u didn't die from the flu. Just for my peace of mind.

Nothing. Nada. Niente.

Another week of denigrating every aspect of myself from head to toe, inside and out. The only part that remains in high confidence is my oral skills. I know those are en pointe without a doubt. I begin to spin a fantasy in my mind… I dangle the coveted blow job in front of him and he can’t refuse. This time when we meet there will be no hand holding, no goddamned kissing. I’ll work my magic on his cock and after I swallow all he has to give and he lies back to collect his wits, I’ll lean close and whisper, “Now you’re just like everyone else.”

“What do you mean”, he’ll ask.

“Despite all the hand holding and kissing, after all your claims of being a gentleman, you’re just the latest dick to get sucked off in my car.”

BOOM. And that’s how this Kitty rolls. Now he’s just one of the masses; nothing special here, ladies and gents.

That’s not exactly how it went down (as it were). I texted him:

me: mobile bj calling…

him: erect and trembling with excitement

He texts this 7 HOURS AFTER MY MESSAGE. Asshole.

me: u snooze u lose, butthead

And I make a happy discovery: I don’t have to actually blow him to bring him down a peg. His responding to my text already makes him no different than all the other guys panting after my blow jobs. I don’t get to rub his nose in it but hey, you can’t have everything. Yes, I’m angry. At him for treating me like a person instead of a cumslut. For getting my hopes up although I fought it every step of the way. For inadvertently tapping into the secret desires I’ve worked so hard to keep contained.

But I break my own rules (again) about texting first. I decide to give him one last chance to be a bj buddy. Perhaps I’ll get him addicted to my mouth. Play to your strengths, girl, play to your strengths...

Never let down your guard.

Don't feel.

Just...don't.

..wings of pastrami part 2

We continued our online flirtation. We never discussed that last text conversation. We kept it light and casual. This I understand. The back and forth dance of seduction, learning each other's predilections and quirks. He's a self-proclaimed romantic. A relationship guy. A guy who likes Disney movies, for God's sake. He refers to sex as 'making love' and talks about how much he wants to kiss me.

I don't like kissing, don't do it often, and suspect I'm not very good at it. It's interesting that I can suck, swallow or fuck a guy that I don't know, but kissing him makes me uncomfortable and kinda grosses me out. And yes, kissing is v