Monday, August 28, 2006

Life finds a way.

- I've started writing again. Not just the non-fiction but the erotic fiction too. It's been almost a year since I found myself unable to put pen to paper. It's a combination of life pulling me down to the point where I was too unhappy and unmotivated to find the energy to create a story out of letters and words.

I'm only writing very short snippets here and there and my writing needs some technical assistance. Regardless, I love the process of artistic creation. I spent most of my life being a musician, so while I have to switch gears for writing, my inner drive to conceive and produce something from my own mind is electrifying.

I had also let my own insecurities and fears about how I was coming off on the old blog take residence inside The Bastard's skull and run amok. Man, I'm so glad 2005 is behind me.

Fuck, I'm just happy to be writing again.

Following up on that piece of news, I'll be writing fiction here and there for the blog. Whenever the mood strikes me. Which'll probably be often.

- I made a lunch date with ExoticGirl for the end of the week. I will be helping her with her relationship issues. Oh, and SullenGirl is in the throes of relationship woe herself. I visited her for a couple hours today and helped her through some insecurities.

Whenever relationships end, we always look for the worst in ourself to blame. I had to make sure she didn't beat herself up too much. I'm fairly certain her former significant other just wants out and is using whatever excuse he can to make it easy for both of them.

As a fellow man, I know what's he's going through, but I wish relationships were easier, y'know?

So, SullenGirl and ExoticGirl both have me on their radar as Dr. Bastard, Ph.D in Psychology. Plus, I actually have to stick my nose in another relationship this week. More on that later.

Again, the irony of me helping others isn't lost on anyone involved. But what am I supposed to do, wallow in bitterness and angst? Fuck that. Moving on, is The Bastard.

- I am drinking a tall Captain and Coke.

No, really. That's it.

I love my life.

-- The Bastard.
Posted by The Bastard :: 9:36 PM :: 4 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Fiction - Feast

I love watching you bathe yourself while you shower. Your body glistens under the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling while the shadows crawl over your skin, leaving much to the imagination.

Your inner exhibitionist loves my quiet moans and fervent attention. You take your time, showing only bits and pieces through a flimsy shower curtain. I keep my hands clenched at my side as your fingers runs down your chest.

Oh, that chest.

I see your breasts clothed and unclothed all the time, but I never tire of your flesh. Whether covered by a simple t-shirt on a lazy Sunday afternoon, given ample exposure by a low-cut gown when we take in a night at The Met, or pushed up to my face by that black corset I love so much, I never get enough of your chest. Never.

I'm nota morning person, but I wake up before you so I can feel your abundant flesh press against my bare chest while you sleep. How often have you woken up to my tender lips sucking slowly on your nipples? How many times have you tried to push me away, only to find that your body is eagerly responding to my ministrations?

You don't push me away any more, do you?

All these thoughts cram through my head as your palm cups your breast in the dim light. I imagine, not see, the water droplets falling off your nipple, one-by-one. I stand quickly, and push the shower curtain to the side.

I walk into the shower and feel my black pants turn blacker from the water. I sink to my knees, look up to you and pray.

My mouth opens as you bend over and feed me your lust, your depravity, your chest... my need. My eyes close in rapture as your breast enters my mouth and I feast on you.

-- The Bastard

Posted by The Bastard :: 12:58 AM :: 3 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Isn't it ironic.

I've always prided myself on being surrounded by good people; I love my friends, they're great people. When I was going through my recent relationshiop woes and I needed a steady hand, heavy shoulder, or a metaphorical light to lead the way, my compadres came through for me.

I love my friends. They're one of the best parts of my life.

So I was caught off-guard last night when I realized that they've been leaning on me for, of all things, relationship advice. I almost laughed at them. I mean, of all people to ask for relationship assistance, I'm the one chosen?

Go figure.

"The Bastard is very easy to talk to," SullenGirl explains to ExoticGirl, as if I'm not standing there in front of them.

"I've picked up on that." ExoticGirl nods in agreement. She looks at me, her eyes drunkenly pleading for help. ExoticGirl is in some relationship trouble. It's about to come to a head and she needs my help.

Later on, we discuss getting together for coffee sometime before school starts up, and she's too busy to see me. We settle on a day next week, but before we part ways she mentions she has a "few bombs" for me.

I almost tell her that I know what the "bombs" are: She's secretly in love with one of my best friends, who is ALSO secretly in love with her and has been for over three years.

But what they want to hear is that it's okay to screw around while she's seeing someone else which, as anyone who's read this blog recently will know, isn't something I'm too keen on right now.

"Take the high road." I said to both of them last night. One day later, I'm wondering if they took my advice.

They are the two most independent people I know, and yet here I am, digging through relationship woes and helping people find their way.

I'm not bothered by helping out people, but I do wonder where it came from. Genetics? Behavior? Necessity?

I guess I don't need to figure it out. I should just be happy that I can do something for the people who got me through this summer.

Soon enough, I'd imagine, I'll be turning to them with questions like, "So how come when I stuck a vibrator up her ass, she got pissed at me even though I used my fingers down there the other night? " or "She won't bring home another girl with her, unless we promise to alternate between men and women, because she really likes being DP'd. Does that make any sense to you?"

Heh.

-- The Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 6:14 PM :: 0 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Comings and Goings

In the spirit of "what comes around, goes around", I got bitchslapped about 4 weeks ago. I had it coming, I guess. After 4 years of helping the Ex cheat on her boyfriends, I guess it was my turn, right?

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

--

I broke up with The Ex in January.

For over three years she and I had been on-again, off-again ad infinitum. Upon seeing me after an absence, my friends would ask very quickly "How's things with The Ex?"

The Bastard and The Ex are the stuff of legends, y'see. Long-distance relationship? Check. Other people been involved? Check. Long-term relationship? Check. Enough sparks to light a city on fire? Fucking Check.

We'd met years ago at the summer program. The sparks flew and we never were able to keep our hands to ourselves. Our hearts were shared and shattered more times than I can count.

But I broke up with her in January anyways. It wasn't working, I didn't want to move out-of-state, it didn't feel right, yada yada yada. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I didn't handle the break-up well. I did it by e-mail, and informed her that all further communication would take place via e-mail. I shut her out of my life and shut her down. Unfortunately, we still had to work together during the summer. So I kept it polite, but cool.

May rolled around, and I decided it was time to actually speak on the phone to her. And like always, the sparks flew again. She was seeing somebody else but that didn't stop us, oh no. We still found time to get away, and fuck around. I enabled her to cheat. I've never been proud of that feeling.

So the summer program rolled around and we were going at it again. Mentally, physically and sexually, our relationship was starting to heat up for the thousandth time.

And then I came back from my day off.
And then I got the word that two of the junior staff were fooling around.
And then I called the Ex down to the office to gossip about it.
And then The Ex confessed that it was HER that was fooling around with one of the staff members.
And then I lost my shit, went back to my house, and started drinking at 10:45 in the morning.

Deep down, I had always wondered if I could trust her. I always wondered if she would do to me, what I had helped her do to her other boyfriends. I'd always been "The Other Man". Now, I'd switched places.

And fuck it all, if it didn't hurt.

My friends came through for me, though. I made some calls - along the lines of "fucking help me, how the fuck do I get through the next three weeks??" - and each of them made me laugh, or smile or gave me a small slice of peace-of-mind pie.

The week after my conversation with The Ex was unpleasant, but we had to work together, and we found a way. More specifically, I was polite and cordial to her, but at the same I was also cold as a popsicle. I gave her as much information as she needed to do her job and no more.

It sucked for both of us, but the moment of freedom when she stormed out of the office at the very end still puts a smile on my face.

--

"You have to be a prick to the very end, don't you?" She snapped.

"A prick? No. I've been polite and calm, and non-confrontational. I mean, I've been waiting for this moment for..." I paused, and smiled. "What do you want?"

She stood there, fuming while smoke came out of her ears.

"What do you want from me?" I asked again. And again. And again.

Finally, she responded.

"Nothing!" She snarled.

"That is the best answer you ever could've given me." I laughed.

"Whatever," She cursed, and stormed out.

--

And then it was all over.

I could go into how I screamed at her, asking how she could do this to me after four years.

I could go into the 90 minutes she spent in my room one night, and I got her off not once, not twice, not thrice, but FOUR times.

I could go into how I told the guy she was screwing around with that I held him just as responsible, and informed him that she and him were "fucking killing me". His response? "I know." Asshole.

I could go into how I bought her a rose during the first week when she wasn't feeling well.

I could go into how I still have brief moments where I miss her.

But mostly, I'm just happy to be free of the whole situation. I've given my number out to three or four different women, the outcomes of which have yet to be determined. I've been smiling and happy, even though I'm temporarily unemployed.

At the end of the day, the program was more important this year than ever before. My number one goal was to make sure it ran smoothly, and by fuck it did. A couple people I work with, who knew about the whole situation, were impressed I was able to stay above the nonsense and work through it.

Fuck, I'm impressed with myself too. And that NEVER happens.

I'm done with her and I'm done with the program. And I couldn't be happier about either.

--

So my summer hiatus is done, and I'm back. More stories to come, I promise. Both the non-fiction, and the fiction, methinks.

Oh yes, it's time to write again.

-- The Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 9:22 PM :: 1 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Friday, June 16, 2006

Hide and Seek

At 3:45 am, my cell phone dinged. Expecting a late-night text from The Ex-, I was surprised to see a drunken reply for help from StudentGirl.

StudentGirl is a former student of mine , who has become a friend. No, not THAT kind of friend; The Bastard doesn't roll that way. Anyways, she's graduated college, and we chat a couple times a year. I know she'd been having problems with her on-again, off-again boyfriend of the last couple years, but I thought they'd worked through some of the hard relationship stuff.

I was wrong.

On the phone, she explained that she was sitting outside her bf's place, slightly drunk, and unsure as to whether to make the fifteen minute drive home. Not being a fan of the DUI, I advised her to go back inside. That's when she informed me that she and her boy had gotten into a wee scuffle.

She has relationship issues. She's afraid of getting hurt, too.

So I spent about thirty minutes getting her to realize that pushing people away isn't the right thing to do, and that you have to fight your own instincts when it comes to these things, and on, and on...

Oh, the IRONY. Here I was, half-conscious, counseling someone ELSE about their committment issues. While I struggle with the same thing every day about the Ex-.

The good news is that at the end of the phone call, I asked her what she was going to do.

She said she was going to call the boy, and see if she could go back inside.

Good girl.

Now, if it was only so easy for the rest of us.

-- The Bastard

Posted by The Bastard :: 12:59 PM :: 3 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Drops of lust

Something has gone amiss with GH's current girlfriend. She works fifty or sixty hours a week, but usually finds the time to come over late at night. Not so much coming, lately.

(And I mean that both ways.)

For several weeks, my inner voyeur was delighted by GH's relationship. Every night, they'd watch tv, then go to bed. A little while later, I'd be treated to the sound of her moans; GH was "dropping the hammer", as the kids say. More than once I'd be out in the living room with R, when a series of moans would start in the background. I'd look at R, R'd look at me. The mute button would get hit, and we'd lean back and laugh.

Well, I leaned back and laughed.

Moments later, GH would come out looking for a cigarette. Never having smoked, I don't do the post-coitus smoke. I do confess, however, to wanting a cigar, every now and then.

When I was in my room and I heard the two of them fucking with wild abandon, I often pondered whether it would be appropriate to, ah, enjoy the moment. Given that I know GH, and that his girlfriend is thin as a rail (The Bastard likes his women with some curves), it never felt right.

It didn't stop my heart from racing a little faster or my blood from pounding through my veins a bit more than normal. A grin would sweep across my face, as numerous sins were committed less than ten feet away. The surge of lust was powerful, but not enough to overwhelm me. And I enjoyed every minute of her piercing moans, cutting through the house.

For one brief moment, I felt as if I was standing up straight with my arms held upwards to the sky, as drops of lust rained down upon me. Caught in that moment, I was bathed in sin, embracing her imminent orgasm, almost as if it was my own.

-- The Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 12:26 AM :: 0 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Monday, June 05, 2006

Freedom's Release

Her lips wrapped around my shaft, hesitant but secure. Her blue eyes sang of lustful ideas unforetold. A lack of confidence? Or fear of rejection? Who knows... and as her mouth sank down onto me, I didn'treallycare.

Taut lips and a devilish tongue sent a chill up my spine, pushing my back off the chair. A good blowjob is so hard to find, I mused pantingly, but when it rolls around, one has no choice but to enjoy it, right?

Feminine orbs watched my reaction as fingers stroked; A small moan escaped my lips while my hips surged upwards.

I lay there for minutes, enjoying the sensation. Every once in a while, The Bastard likes not being in control. The Bastard likes not thinking about what He has to do next. And The Bastard likes forgetting about all the anxieties in his life.

Because The Bastard has too much pressure and not enough sex.

Her mouth moved faster, cutting off my soliloquy of stress. I watched in awe as her head plummeted and rose at her leisure. She looked up again, and I let out a half-cackle; she loves doing this to me. It's so nice to see someone enjoying their work.

I felt her mouth tighten and fingers grope the boys, as my tension began to boil. Deep inside, I clamped down, eager to enjoy for just a bit longer. Gasping at the opportunity, I reached into the overfilling recesses of The Bastard's mind, and poured out the anxiety and the worries, converting them into lust; a transference of agony.

Her tongue slithered around my shaft with an ease that can't be put into words. The worry I saw in her eyes was gone now. All she wanted to was to give.

And to receive.

That thought pushed my body forward. I needed the release. Now. Nownownow.

I moaned. "So close.. so close.."

Her fingers and lips increased the tempo. In a marble-covered room, I heard my moans bounce off the walls. The sucking noises coming from her mouth pushed me right up to the edge.

As I watched her head bob down, I caught a view of her curvaceous breasts. They bounced and jumped, naked before me. My mind spun into overdrive, as my hips pushed upwards and I exploded.

And then I saw stars. Each one flashed in front of me and -more importantly- away from me. They flew into the air, taking bits and pieces of my misery with them. Her lips didn't suck the life out of me, they sucked the pain and the sorrow and the bitterness and the anger.

And for a brief, fleeting moment...

I was free.

Floating as my hips jerked, peaceful while my knees cracked, and happily riding ecstasy to it's conclusion, I sank back into bed a lighter man; a man devoid of memories and duties and unhappy conversations forthcoming. A few of the stresses returned, but as I lie here late at night, I thank the lovely young lady who provided me with a brief respite, and a well-needed dose of, well, peace.

Thanks, princess.

-- The Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 1:56 AM :: 1 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Fingers and lust

Her seat was tilted back, breasts pushing upwards through a tight bra and a tighter tank top. My fingers roamed over her chest as we talked. God, she has great tits.

"Should we get a hotel?" I asked, my eyes meeting hers.

Green and hazel flared with lust as she paused.

"I don't know," She panted.

The car was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner. Two teenagers lay out in the sun only thirty feet away. The nearest vehicle was eight or nine parking spots down the path. A birthday party was winding down on the other side of the lawn.

We were alone, except for the rising sexual tension.

"It's different with you." She said, turning her head to look out the window. "It's so much more..."

"Intense?" I finished.

"Yeah." She sighed.

"With you..." She continued, "It's different. I can just, I don't know, give in. It's hot, and I feel safe, and there's all this power, and..."

Her voice trailed off, as my mind fixated on the comment about power. Through all the years of the on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again and now almost-on-again relationship between myself and my ex-girlffriend, the sex and the lust and have been incredible. Clothes have been ruined, sexy outfits have been purchased. New positions have been tried, old positions have been perfected. Fingers and tongues, lips and lips, they've all been used.

It's never been hotter with anyone else. Not for her, nor for me. And along the way, after four years, the tension has only gotten stronger. We've gone months at a time without talking or seeing each other, only to meet again. There's an awkwardness as we meet "again" for the first time. On each occasion, it only takes a few hours for the awkwardness to transform; Clothes are dangerously close to being ripped off, followed by a fucking frenzy that would put porn stars to shame.

Such was my Memorial Day weekend.

On Tuesday afternoon, after two days of almost-foreplay, of quick and forbidden gropes and kisses, our collective libidos were super-charged. If we'd had the money and the time to get a room, we would've done so. But we were both staying with family (and you know how that goes).

So when I heard her talk about power, she inadvertantly cranked the dial from 11 (on a scale from 1 to 10) to 25.

I almost jumped her right there and then.

BDSM is one of my secret passions and when she dropped that comment (without even knowing what BDSM is), I could've thrusted myself inside her so fast, she would've screamed.

And loved every minute of it.

Given we were in her car and there were people around, I was limited in my potential response. But I'm an imaginative bastard, and God knows I love her breasts. Just watching them heave up and down in the heat and lust... ah.

"Take off your panties," I ordered. Power and lust crackled in the air, while an inner debate raged in her mind: caught between need and propriety, want and decorum, she needed to make a decision.

But she didn't HAVE a choice. It was my decision, my choice... mine.

"Take off your panties," I repeated, more firmly.

The staring contest continued; she stood strong for a few seconds, then wavered, then gave in. She lifted her hips, reached under her skirt and pulled off her underwear. I laughed quietly to myself, as my fingers pushed her skirt up to her waist.

"Spread your legs," I ordered. There was no indecision this time. Her legs parted eagerly.

Moving my hand up her thighs, my fingers easily found her, and found her wet. As I massaged her moist pussy, she sighed and closed her eyes.

My finger slide inside her easily, as I felt her insides for the first time in over six months. I pulled my finger upwards, finding her clit, and pressing down against it.

Turning over my shoulder to make sure noone could see us, I kept moving my finger back and forth; inside her wetness, then pressing against her pleasure spot. Her hips pushed against me, as as her eyelids remained shut.

For ten minutes, I fingered her. For ten minutes, I watched around us. For ten minutes, she enjoyed our little reality break.

For ten minutes, we throbbed.

We've always turned each other on, yet due to the distance between us, have rarely had the time to release what gathered inside. For years, we've been careful to not let other people see what we're doing.

I wonder what it would be like for the two of us to be near each other, so we could spend time working through some of our, heh, tension. I wonder how much longer this will go on.

I don't know.

But in the meantime, I'll keep getting her wet, while she keeps getting me hard. That'll have to do for now.

--The Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 10:34 PM :: 1 comments

Post a Comment

-------------------------------------