Just Fuck Your Lover

Ladies and gents, the eternal question prevails: Am I falling for my lover?

You and I know that the answer is NO. Is simple: If you would've wanted something serious with him or her you would've open your mouth for something different that wouldn't involve just fellatio.

Let's make this shit personal. I fucked this dude, and from day one, I decided he would only fell in the category of lover. This contract also included the fact that I wouldn't be seen in public with him, nor will meet my friends or will join me on a social gathering of any kind or will I accept any invitations to dinner, hangout during the day, anywhere or go shopping for shit. Why? Well, he was not at all my type -phisically speaking- he was too immature for some things that mattered to me, he was too fucking enthusiastic about a cloud, an accent, the shape of a head, and the likes (a characteristic so annoyingly engrained on this demographic below 30) and frankly this last thing seemed like a waste of precious energy (yawn). It appeared he has no sense of control, selfworth, respect  whatsoever and his surroundings seemed to not include anyone but himself. He could pick a fight just for the fuck of it and he tended to gravitate between maximum euphoria, followed by moments of profound sobbing (perhaps If I enter those last words I may find a diagnosis on WebMd that very likely will result on something like: bipolar, drug addict, psycho, schizo... you catch my drift).


So, outside of the bedroom, no sir. Nada.

But it happened he was just hanging too much at my place oh, 'cause did I mention he also lived with his parents? (lmfao) so nights that will turn into days, he will stay with me, have breakfast with me, lunch with me, get drunk again and will linger for fuckin-ever. Honestly I didn't have the heart to kick him out, but when he talked too much or wanted me to resolve some of his inner sorrows I gladly would've opened the gates of hell. Please for the love of God, just fuck me, fuck me good and shut up. And please, don't overstay your welcome. I already told you, you are my lover.


So, being with this boy made me wonder if I really wanted a relationship or just to keep fucking around. Or If I am really just a terrible cynic that goes around taking bodies and having no mercy with those I see vulnerable. But after thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that it was not 'them' with whom I didn't want to pursue a fulfilling love life as a couple. It was him. Although my body fully enjoyed what and how we did it together,  the truth is that  I did not see myself with someone with those qualities. I didn't and still don't want to teach anyone anything, save his sorry ass from his demons or act as his mom.

Sugar, I didn't and do not wish to raise you, I hope you come to me taking it like a champ, assuming your feelings and fully understanding that this, we both make. So let´s leave role playing, only for sex.

To sum it all up, in case you have any doubts, the only place you should fall in, is on his or her face.

My Reasons to Fuck a Punk

Laura Linney once said to Richard Gere on Primal Fear  "This was a one night stand, that lasted six months" In this case the month mark has not been reached, but still, the point is exactly the same. I have been wondering why is it that I keep opening my door to this trickster, mischief-maker, borderline delinquent, anytime he wants.

I am claiming full responsibility for deciding I wanted to fuck him. I am claiming full responsibility for still keeping him so tight between my legs, and voluntarily deciding I didn't want to let go.
Here is the thing. When I look at him, I see a kid. I hear a teenager and I touch a boy.

I also deserve to be called a liar if I'd dare to say that I didn't taste a man and felt one. And let me tell you how a man taste like for me: it is combination between sugar cane, and night, and cigarretes, and alcohol, and all of that transformed in this delicious elixir that makes me wanna -not drink- but eat everything inside. And I felt him, when in his bedroom assertiveness  he tells me what to do and exactly, how he likes to fuck me. This is the man that can't contain himself when we are together and all the time wants to be inside of me. And... I want him back. That is probably the reason why we end up fucking an average of 9 times in less than 24 hours.

Yes, I count. I count because that shit, is crucial to me.

His endurance matches my appetite. Punks have 'calle' calle makes people gain a certain behavioral quality that makes them eat, fuck and live as if  everything was going to hell in a second.

In the stupor of sex, I have found his wisdom simply precious and I have reached the point where I understand the many tribulations of his soul, which I am almost sure, know by heart. I know how I sound, but examine your own life and tell me that more than once, you have also felt this type of intimacy. He has been condenmed by his lineage and suffers the pain of a privileged life without substance. This motherfucker is a devoted lover, only dedicated to  my orgasms and is a generous partner that also shares his feelings and talks about what no ones does 'cause people are too fucking afraid to admit that yes, you fell in love, if only for a minute. And so fucking what.

You and I have.

Punk has no past and no future. Particularly the latter.

Tinder Dating in Colombia Part 1

Alright. Buckle up.

I started using Tinder the day after I moved to my pad. That very same early mornin' I left my hand play the swiping game. I was bored and hungover. So, WTF.

Up until then, I have heard many horror stories about how escort-looking some girls were, and how short, motorcycle lovin' ('cause that is minus 30 pts if you must know), sun glasses wearing to small   for their faces, guys were.  Well, in my case yes, there were those dudes, a lot of local military folk (I am a big fan as you know, just not in some latitudes) bold dudes at the age of 36 and one that was like: 'hey I am happily married, but let's have fun.' (This dude automatically won 10 pts for honesty)  ... and let's call him Steve. Well, Steve looked handsome, had a good selection of pics, was tall, fit, and he was half Canadian and half  Panamanian.

I'll take that.


I said... jack-fuckin-pot.  Dude gives me a heart and BOOM: It's a match. Dude texts me, dude calls me, we arrange a date and like I said I was moving so I had lots of stuff hanging around and I am not the kind of person who has boxes and paintings laying around forever. So he offered to help me move. I said to myself you know, why not. I can use someone that uses the hammer, the drill etc. etc. FYI I can manage too, very well in fact, but I just didn't want to.

Steve gets home and shit, he is hot. He thought the same as I kinda heard that silent 'Wow' behind the 'Hi'.

He came in, I showed him around, he loved it. We came upstairs and first thing he did was to sit down in my bed and kinda bounced. I was like huh? and also said mentally 'Oh honey I have a rule, nobody gets or sits in my bed wearing street clothes.'  I said nothin' cause in this non context, words and actions can be misinterpreted EASILY. I know what you are all thinking: how can she invite a total stranger into her house, didn't she think he could've been a serial killer or a thief or a hacker (that's what  I thought) or a rapist or ALL of the above? To be quite frank I did think about it, but I thinking process went someting like this: I have a doorman, a friend is coming, my mom will arrive in a few hours.

So, I felt safe.

Within the first 10 m he said 'Boy you are very beautiful'. I said 'thank you' while I kept on sanding a table.
Listen, I am not a jerk but I do get some things about me.

My friend arrived, my mom arrived -this was not the first time I have made first dates with an audience present- and everyone seemed to be getting along pretty well. Everyone had a chance to talk to each other alone and it all went smoothly except that the dude was all hands and arms and everything in front of my mom and my friend, who knew by know that we just met using TINDER for fuck's sakes. I absolutely love touching people, but this one, dunno, I felt cornered, uneasy. Weird.

Later I found him making a very ellaborate coffee, chatting up my mom, doing the dishes cleaning the  kitchen and for a brief second I said, Do I smell bullshit or do I smell bullshit?

My friend left, my mom went to bed and he said, come sit here with me - I gotta say that I didn't have any chairs so the other option was the floor. He didn't approve of the way I was sitting on my hammock so he guided me on  'how to sit'. His way was open legs, mine and his and our crotches kind of locked. Pfff. (I know many tricks in the book, this one made me laugh) but being the cynic I am I was trying to be less of Erik and allowed him to show me his utter most feelings by you know, rubbing our bodies... and this seemed to make him feel right at 'home'. 

We shared life stories and at a moment he seemed pretty moved to the point of tears when I shared the story of the tragic death of my father. Hours into the conversation, he grabbed my legs, he kissed my feet (and he was not being shy about it) and I let him. Then, I stood up to check on my mom and when I was going upstairs he said, I guess I can't sleep over, right? In my head I went -What gave you the hint that you were going to sleep over? Was it my reaction everytime you put your hands on me and I moved away? Was the fact that after moving I forgot to buy soap so I washed only with water and I told you about it? Was the clear sign that I didn't shave my legs and you saw them? Was it the mistake I made of forgetting to wear deodorant and laughing while recounting the facts of the day with you? That had to be it, honey- I was deliciously dirty and sweaty so I could enjoy myself in the fact that I was a magnificent, flawless, divine queen, dame of pleasure, that was dying to share the finest of this human after a long couple of days of wrapping, unwrapping, stocking, organizing, sanding, painting.

Steve, said: Can I see you tomorrow? Believe or not I said yes.