Watching Porn

I like to look at porn. That might sound weird. I know it's usually a guy thing, but I like to look at it late at night when I'm up drinking or indulging in some smokey refreshment. Especially when I'm stoned. What can I say? Pot makes me horny.

But I hate porn that's fake, which most of it is. You know... where they get the fashion model wannabes and the cheesy music, and it's all scripted. I imagine that on some level, they probably are enjoying the sex once they get past the storyline-du-jour, but I can't get past the fakeness of it all. ("Oh no. My sink's backed up. What shall I do? Ooh! Here comes the plumber! But I'm flat broke. However will I pay him? Blah blah blah...)

The porn I like best is either totally amateur stuff, or so-called "reality porn," where guys go out with cameras and find girls to have sex with them. I've read that a lot of that is scripted, but if it is, they are getting way better actresses than the mainstream stuff because it doesn't usually seem fake at all.

I like watching real people have sex though. I admire them for having the guts to video themselves, and I wonder how many of them knew when they were doing it that the videos would end up online. I see a lot of girls masturbating on webcams, and I don't think they ever intended for it to be seen by anyone other than the guy they were chatting with. (Word of warning! That's why I don't put my picture online!) But recently I saw a video where a couple was fucking in front of a webcam, and they knew people were watching them. Again, I don't know if they wanted the whole world to see them or just a few select viewers, but it was really hot.

I also like watching porn because I see girls play out fantasies that I would LOVE to try but don't think I will ever get the chance to. I guess I live vicariously through them. Things like threesomes or anal (which one man tried to do to me once but it hurt like hell). I like the slutty clothes they wear and I wish they had the guts to walk down the street looking like that!

So yeah, I suppose I get a little jealous of some of the stuff I see when I watch porn online but it gets me hot, and it's a fun way to supplement my fantasies... usually late at night... when the world is sleeping... and I can rub myself in the dark anonymity of my bedroom, lit only by my flickering computer screen.

Depressturbation

I've been kind of depressed this past week, which is part of why I haven't been blogging. The weird thing is whenever I get this way, I seem to masturbate a lot more. Like, sometimes several times in one day. I donh't know if this is "normal" or not. I don't really even know if "normal" exists. But I think the reason I do it is it's comforting. And there's an endorphin release that seems to dull the depression.

I'm not sure why, but when I feel like this, I tend to fantasize about older guys when I masturbate. I think it all fits in with the depression, and wanting to be taken care of.

I have to admit, I have some older guy fantasies. I've never been with anyone more than a couple of years older than me, but sometimes I think it would be hot to be with a guy maybe in his 50s or so.

Psychologists would probably pick that apart and find some sort of "isue" or something that's "wrong" with me. But it's how I am. It's one of the things I fantasize about. I'm just not sure if it's a fantasy I will ever fulfil.

I should probably elaborate on that sometime.

Shy

I ended up going out last night with my friend -- I'll call her Anita. We went to a bar and had a few drinks. I was already kind of tipsy when we started.

So I don't know what my problem is, but when there's a possibility a guy might be flirting with me or hitting on me, I go into this really shy, nervous mode, which I think I tend to cover up by being aloof. So I give off this "I'm not interested" vibe that ultimately sends guys away toward girls who might be interested.

Part of it is I get tongue-tied. I don't know what to say, which is totally stupid because in any other situation, I'm generally comfortable. Maybe a little insecure or shy, yeah, but it's not like I can't talk.

I suck at small talk. It feels superficial. And the logical part of me gets it that, okay, maybe it is superficial, but it's necessary to start a conversation. But I just don't know how to do it.

So you probably know where this is going. Anita went to go to the bathroom and I stayed at the bar and this guy started talking to me. He was cute, and seemed nice. Kind of a little nerdy but not too much. He asked how my night was going, and all I could muster was, "It's going okay, thanks." He asked what I was drinking and I told him a rum and Coke. But I just sort of froze and didn't engage him in any way. So he ended up telling me to have a good evening and wandering off.

I wanted to tell Anita about it when she came back from the bathroom but I didn't. I waited until we left the bar because I knew if I told her in the bar, she would go talk to the guy and embarrass me.

I went home. I got into bed and masturbated, and I thought about having sex with the guy. I imagined what it would be like if I was bold enough to take him home, sneak him in so my roommate wouldn't know, quietly have sex with him and try to bump into him at the same bar again.

But instead, I got into bed alone last night and masturbated. I had an orgasm but it wasn't very fulfilling. It was one of those ones that just is sort of like getting it out of your system. The whole time I was fantasizing about this guy, there was also this little voice in the back of my head chastising me for being so socially inept.

Warmth

I had this fantasy about an hour ago that turned into a powerful orgasm. I fantasized about meeting a guy at a bar on a Friday afternoon -- a businessman who was in town for the weekend, someone a little older than me, like maybe mid to late 30s. It was happy hour, and after a few drinks, in my fantasy, we got flirty. He invited me back to his hotel room. We started making out and fooling around. He fingered me for a while and then I started to suck his cock.

He asked me if I would let him cum on my face, and I said yes. He asked me to get out of bed, on my hands and knees, so I did. He stood above me while I sucked him, and then as he got close to cumming, he pulled out of my mouth and jerked off. He groaned deeply as he came all over my face, and in my hair a little.

I laid in bed and masturbated a little while ago while I fantasized about this. I even let a little saliva run down my chin to have the sensation of warm liquid on my face. It wasn't quite the same as cum, but it turned me on.

In real life, I have had guys cum on my face twice, and I really like it. There's something comforting about the thick warm liquid running slowly across my chin and down on to my breasts. Something I have never done, but would love so much, is to first have a guy cum on my face, and then fuck me afterward while his cum was still on me. I don't know it this would work because I know most guys can't stay hard right away after they cum. It might take two guys.  ;-)

Mmmm.... It's nice to think about.

Have a nice weekend!

Sleeping Pill Surrender

Wow... well that last post was a big fucking mess now wasn't it? But I got my first comment! Yay! People are reading me!

So Thiery asked me to blog about Ambien when I'm not on Ambien, so here goes:

I've tried writing after taking Ambien before and the results are usually pretty hilarious and incoherent at times. It's meant to be a sleep drug, but I've read online that I'm not the only person to take it recreationally from time to time. It's called a "hypnotic" and one of the side effects is that you don't always remember what you did once you wake up. For that reason, you are supposed to go straight to bed once you take it, before your judgments get impaired, but I guess for me, that is part of the thrill.

Like I said in my first post on this blog, I feel like I have way too many inhibitions in the real world; yet while I acknowledge that, I don't seem to be able to break free from them. There is something though about the concept of not being in control, of surrendering myself to someone or something else, that excites me. Like I've never tried bondage or S&M but I fantasize about it.

So I guess taking an Ambien and having a couple beers is one small way in which I surrender a little control, or lose some of my inhibitions -- only I only do this when I am home alone. Honestly, Ambien gives me a nice little buzz before the sleep kicks in. I feel detached from my personality and free to at least fantasize about stuff I wouldn't do otherwise. I have other more drastic fantasies of stuff like being really drunk or high or maybe even on Ambien or something that would make me very tired -- not to the point of being passed out, but sort of just being to groggy or unconcerned to resist what a man was doing to me. Of course, for safety reasons, I would not every put myself in that situation in real life, unless it was with someone I knew really well and trusted. I have had this one kind of elaborate fantasy of taking some Ambien, having some really kinky sex or just giving myself up to someone in a way that I would not fully recall in the morning, but then watch a video of myself and what I did.

But I know that sounds a little bit fucked up, which is why I have never done it, and probably never will. I could never risk it with a stranger, and I don't think I'd ever be bold to ask a boyfriend to do that to be because -- yeah, I know -- it sounds a little psycho.

(Thanks for the comment and question, Thierry. Anyone else? I'll answer anything.)

Recreational Ambien

So I've had a long weekend. I went up to this writers retreat in Port Townsend with a couple of friends. I didn't want to go, but they dragged me with them -- probably afraid I'd strangle myself with my panties if they left me alone.

We went to a couple writers groups, but then we just wandered. Met a group of cool people from around the PNW... people I really wished had something to smoke, thought they didnt seem like the type,But we all slagged down a plentuful mix of home-grown cider and wine. Fortunately, Jess was sober enough to drive to the ferry. (Hey, if you are legally drink, sitting in the driver's seat, and the ferry crashes, can you be held responsible? Just a thought...)

Wow, am I making sense now? I can't tell. The thing with Ambien is that after you take it you are supposed to go straight to bed before you fall down. But there is something  incredible about feeling it -- staying awake, fighting the urge of the drug, and staying awake till this floaty, style where all problems are gone. The world just feels good -- albeit a little tired -- but in some places that can be a learning experience depending on who you are around... that you do not have to schedule breakfast at all, especially on a weekend. ZYou don't even have to schedule it. Just show up with food and dcoffee and the masses are satisfied,

So Once I know I have a few more readers, I will get into my sex styff more. It's what people I hear -- I realize and honestly I don't really give much of a fuck about that, But it's also what I want to say, just to catch their attention... and also because I would still like to kick up that chickeh,

But what this entire blog entry began as was me saying I was writng in a very Amer4can manner, and I am screamilnlyly aware of tha. But I love everone else for the stories they tell.

And on that note... I am going to go glow in the aftermath of the stems and whatever scraos I can find,,, while I envy you guys up the road with nore than i could ever use,

Then again, maybe I should take a walk down the road.,

Thisa is what ambien does to me when i force myself to stay awake after. it makes me into a totl roll-with-it gitl who... hahahaha... can you understand the first past of this sentence? Actually, what I think is that people , a lot of people, beocome horribly confused, They are the ones we must learn to understand and be connect3ed with.

Ugh! Ambient typing... is very fun but it makes sense to no others, so perhaps I shoukd stop. (But if you need a good buzz befoer bedm an Ambien and a beer or your favorite alcoholic beverage...Invite me!

Autumn Fantasies

Well I guess I haven't done a very good job of reinventing myself. I had this great idea to start this blog like five months ago... spent a night drinking wine and writing a LONG first entry. And then... nothing. And has anyone even read my first thing I wrote? I have no idea. No one who knows me even knows I have a blog. So much for the excitement of being anonymous, I guess.

I have to admit, I'm kind of down on myself these days in general. I feel mediocre. I feel like I don't do some of the things I wish I could do because I don't have the guts to. I hav these wild thoughts but my shyness gets in the way. When guys flirt with me, I feel insecure. And my therapist tells me I probably give off a vibe that I'm not interested, and she's probably right, but I can't help it.

I just started a new semester at school. Classes are stressing me out. Money is stressing me out.

Oh holy fuck. So this is an uplifting blog. Is anybody out there even reading this?

So back to the sexually charged theme I promised, or envisioned, or whatever.

I go through these kind of depressed moods every now and then. Especially this time of year when the winter rains are starting to return to Seattle. A lot of people think it rains all the time here. Actually, the summers are fucking beautiful. When I see the summer weather starting to go away, it puts me in a bad mood. Today, the forecast was for sun and 75 degrees but it didn't happen. And they say that's what's coming tomorrow. I'll believe it when I see it.

I get to this time of year and I go through these morose sorts of spells, and when I get this way, there are two things I tend to do to comfort myself. I either eat or I masturbate. And since one causes me to gain weight, and the other causes me, in theory, to lost it, I tend to go with the more physical activity... though if masturbation was really effective for weight loss, I think I would look anorexic right now. I've been doing it a lot lately. Last Sunday, I think either five or six times.

I have a lot of different fantasies when I masturbate. I guess it's the creative part of me. Sometimes I fantasize about things that could, in theory, really happen, like meeting a guy at a bar and going home with him. But sometimes I have more elaborate fantasies about things that I think would be amazing, but that I will probably never have the guts to do. Last weekend, I fantasized about being a stripper, though in reality, I don't think I could take my clothes off in a room full of strangers. I had another fantasy about fucking an older man -- like maybe early 50s -- in a motel room. Actually, I had two of those fantasies. In one, he picked me up at a bar and took me to his room, and he just looked kind of average. In the other, it was a really muscular guy who was rough with me. He did me doggy style, and slapped my ass until I screamed, and pulled my hair and made me watch myself in the hotel mirror while he fucked me. He came really loud -- which was totally unrealistic because in a motel room, other people would hear, but it was a fun fantasy.

This brings me to tonight. I'm drinking some gin and in a few minutes I am going to bed. And thinking about that last fantasy, I'm wanting another fantasy tonight where I give up control. Surrender myself. I might fantasize about a gang bang. Or a whole bunch of guys taking turns cumming on me.

But the fact remains... I'm sleeping alone tonight.

Reinventing

My name is Kami.

Actually, that’s not my real name. My real name is quite boring and generic. But for now, for here, you can call me Kami.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted an exotic name. Something different from everybody else. It seemed the girls who had unusual names had something special about them – an energy, a confidence, something that made them cool.

I wanted to be cool.

But growing up, I was never one of the cool girls. I was one of the shy girls, one of the ones who never got noticed. And part of me was okay with that. The shy part of me didn’t want to get noticed. The shy part of me almost didn’t want to exist at times. Yet at the same time, I was jealous of the popular girls. I wondered what it would be like to live in their reality instead of my own.

By the time I reached high school, I fantasized or reinventing myself. When I left for college, I thought, I would put on a whole new persona. Nobody would know where I came from. Nobody would know what parts of me were real, and what parts were contrived. I wondered sometimes, if I could put on a good act at first, would those contrived parts eventually become the real me? I wasn’t sure. I wanted to find out. But fantasies like that are easy to have, not always easy to execute.

In August, 2009, I left my home in Minneapolis and drove westward. I started college at the University of Washington, got an apartment with an acquaintance from back home, a girl I didn’t actually know too well, but well enough. I’ll call her Erica. Erica and I didn’t really get along. She was moody, and craved attention at times. She could be loud in public, and I didn’t like the looks it attracted. At home, she would crank her music louder than I wanted to hear when I was trying to study. She did less than her share of the cleaning. She was gone a lot though, which I liked. She hooked up with a guy the first week of classes, lasted about five weeks with him, and then had a steady rotation of boyfriends, or something like boyfriends. One night stands, on-call fuck buddies, guys she’d meet at parties, and twice… guys a few years older who she sweet-talked into buying her beer, who she then went home with and showed her appreciation to. I don’t think she made any promises before they bought her the beer. She’d talk to anyone. I envied her conversational skills. What I’ve always imagined, though I don’t know for sure, is that she would just start chatting with them after she got her beer and eventually, they’d invite her home.

To be honest, I envied more than just her conversational skills. I envied the frequency with which she was getting laid. People seem to equate shy with frigid. The truth is, I actually think I’m hornier than most girls. I have weekend days where I’ll get myself off four or five times. But for most of my freshman year, it was with my hands, or occasionally a hairbrush. I was too shy to go buy a vibrator. Sufficiently shy that I think most guys thought (and still think) I was being aloof. On the rare occasions when guys did hit on me, I tended to freeze up and get a bit tongue tied. Not sure what to say, I would act disinterested. It was less embarrassing than gushing and looking nervous or awkward.

My first sexual experience happened when I was 15. I was a foreign exchange student in a northern European country. A boy approached me at a party and started chatting with me. I wasn’t a very experienced drinker yet. I had just started drinking a couple of months earlier with my new friends at parties.

So this boy – his name was Christian; he was two years older than me – invited me to go take a walk with him. It was pretty dark out, but I trusted him. I had seen him around school. We went into some woods where a nearly full moon was shining down through the trees, which were beginning to lose their leaves.

On the way there, Christian asked me if I liked to smoke pot. I confessed that I never had. He asked me if I wanted to try.

I’m not sure what came over me, but I told him yes. He rolled a joint and we shared it. About 15 minutes later, a wave of bliss washed through me. And I thought it couldn’t get any better, but then he put his arms around me, started kissing my ear and my neck, telling me he thought I was beautiful. He put his tongue in my mouth and ran his fingers through my hair. I had to crane my neck up, and almost stand on my tiptoes to reach him. He was a lot taller than me.

Most people are. I’m five-foot-two. I’m a little on the pudgy side, to be honest – usually around 140 or 145 pounds. I’ve got straight, shoulder-length, chestnut-colored hair and hazel eyes. I don’t wear a lot of make-up . I dress casually – a jeans and sweatshirt kind of girl.

So anyway, Christian and I were making out, and I was feeling amazing and floaty, and very, very wet. I worried that I might be soaking through my jeans, I was so wet, but I think it was just pot-induced paranoia that caused my worry.

The next thing I knew, Christian’s hand was under my sweater. Then, my bra was off, dirty on the ground.

It was mid-October, too cold to take our clothes off. I was trembling, not sure if it was the cold, or nervousness, or excitement. It was probably a combination. But my nipple – the left one – grew hard in Christian’s hand as he gave it a little pinch. I could feel his cock, through his jeans and mine, pressed against my hip. And then, he was leaning over, raising up my rose-colored sweater on one side, licking my nipple, sucking it, and then bringing his hand over topinch the other one.

We were in a pretty secluded spot, but I couldn’t make much noise. I wanted to moan, the way I had done once or twice back in America, masturbating when my parents and little sister were out shopping. But I couldn’t be loud in these woods. We were just a few hundred feet from the party we had strayed from, barely sheltered from the view of a nearby path where people would walk by every now and then. I had to be quiet.

My head was spinning with pot and adrenaline and by now, my panties were thoroughly soaked. My heart was pounding – out of fear more than anything. I was not ready for this to go any further. I barely knew this guy – had just seen him around school and stuff. We had never even talked before tonight.

Well, eventually, Christian’s lips left my breast and moved back up to my mouth. When he finally did what I knew was coming, and went for my crotch with his hand, I moved it away, upward to my waist. He tried two more times, and I didn’t want to stop him completely. Kissing him and holding him and feeling his fingers thread through my hair was blissful. And the way he had touched and sucked on my breasts had felt different and better than I had ever imagined it would. I wanted him to keep going. I just didn’t want him to go any further.

So he got the point – sort of. He stopped going for my crotch. Instead, he went for my hand, guiding it between his legs to the bulge in his jeans. I pulled away, but he pulled my hand back. When I pulled away a second time, he whispered, “Oh Kami, please, you are so beautiful.” (Only he called me by my real name, of course.)

I wanted him to know, and I didn’t want him to know, that I had never done anything like this before. I had barely even kissed a guy before. But I was embarrassed to say how inexperienced I was. Not knowing a way out of this predicament, I did what he wanted. I rubbed him through his jeans until he undid his zipper and guided me beneath the elastic of his boxer shorts. His cock was warm and hard and veiny in my hand. I squeezed it a little, until he pulled his pants down just beneath his butt cheeks, and showed me how to stroke it.

I did as he showed me. He kept whispering, “Come on, Kami. Faster.” But also, he was saying things like, “Oh yes,” and “You’re so beautiful,” and calling me sweetheart in his foreign accent. His English was excellent, but like all of my friends in this new place, he spoke with an accent that made him seem more exciting and exotic.

When he put his hands on my shoulders, and started to press down on them, I didn’t get what he wanted at first. But then, almost as if I was gliding, watching someone other than myself in a movie, I got down on my knees. Kneeling before him, I licked his head and then his shaft, eventually taking him in my mouth.

In my mouth, he felt bigger than I imagined. My jaw felt strained as I tried to get my lips around him. And I will admit, I wsa feeling horribly nervous, terrified of being so amateurish in my endeavor that he would figure out I was a newbie.

But clearly, he was enjoying this.

His breathing was fast and hard now. His smooth words and charming accent were replaced by quiet grunts. And then it happened. His penis spasmed and filled my mouth with warm, viscous cum.

When we got back to the party, my host sister, Jannike, said she had been looking for me. I told her I had gone for a walk with Christian. She acted like she didn’t know what we had been doing, but her eyebrows told me otherwise. I didn’t want to talk about it though. Not to her. I knew she wasn’t a virgin but I wasn’t ready to share this experience with anyone. I needed to process it by myself first.

I stayed up until 3:30 a.m. that night, writing in my diary. I have always loved to write – short stories, poetry, letters to friends or myself – and more recently, now that I’m in colege, journalism. So I wrote until I could no longer stay awake.

I thought about Christian all day Saturday, and again on Sunday. I couldn’t eat, I was so riled from the experience. Partly ashamed, partly thrilled, I replayed the experience over and over in my mind, like a movie. By Sunday night, I had masturbated four times, struggling to stay quiet when I came so my host family would not hear.

I didn’t feel ready, but I wanted more. I wanted to suck Christian again. I wanted him to finger me while he kissed my neck. I wanted him to go down on me. I wondered what it would be like to 69 him. Would we lay on our sides or would one of us be on top?

But when Monday came, and I wondered how it would be to see him in sober daylight, he was not around. I watched for him in the halls at school but he was elusive. The same thing happened Tuesday. Finally on Wednesday, I spotted him, smoking a cigarette with three of his guy friends. I smiled and said hi. He shrugged, indifferently.

“I’ll see you later?” I said, realizing I wasn’t welcome in his group of males.

“Okay,” he muttered.

On Thursday morning, I saw him alone, walking to school. I asked how he was doing. He said he was fine. I asked if he wanted to get together that afternoon or another.

“I’m very busy,” he said, and his words – no, not his words, his evasive demeanor, cut through me like a meat cleaver. School that day sucked. I cried myself to sleep that night feeling used and snubbed, with no outlet for my raging hormones.

It would be months before I got with another boy. It happened the following May near the end of my year abroad. We dated for six weeks, fucked after two weeks, and then I moved back to America where I resumed my previous life as not-Kami, the quasi-invisible girl.

So what’s the point? Why am I spilling my guts like this now, anonymously, to total strangers on the Internet? Because nearly seven more years have passed and I am still trying to reinvent myself. And writing is still my outlet.

I have lots of sexual fantasies – some I would someday like to try, others that are just fun to think about. And I have personal fantasies of a non-sexual nature – fantasies about different personalities I would like to wear.

Rare are the moments when we have an opportunity to instantly become someone different. Those moments only come during big transitions, when we move away from everyone who knows us – away from their expectations of who we are, and our (or at least my) tendency to shape ourselves around those expectations.

I had a few of these opportunities – when I moved abroad for a year in high school, when I moved from a suburb of Minneapolis to Seattle. I missed those opportunities, but when the next one comes, I want to be ready for it.

So, I don’t know, maybe this blog is like a practice run. Maybe this is me getting to know my alter-ego, who is more daring, more outgoing, more open, and fearless, and willing to try new things when her mind entertains new fantasies.

I envision myself writing about sex a lot on this blog, though I am not sure in what capacity – my experiences so far, the experiences I dream of having, maybe even crazier scenes, stuff I wouldn’t ever do but that I fantasize about, like being an exotic dancer or going to an orgy.

I don’t think most of my blog entires will be this long. I’m a junior at the U of Washington and I work part-time, so my time to write in this blog is limited. But I am feeling a need to be different from how I am now – and a mental troll who holds me back from doing that. So I guess maybe this blog, if I can keep writing, is my first, shy, anonymous step in that direction – though I’m not exactly sure how yet.

I’m not trying to use this blog to meet guys. (Or girls.) You hear too many stories about psychos on the Internet who seemed perfectly nice in their e-mails, so I don’t think I would ever meet someone offline. I'm really just here to dip a toe in the water of a different personality, and to write about some of the things I don't talk about without the veil of anonymity.

Anyway, it’s late and work is early tomorrow, so that’s all for now. But thanks for reading.

Peace,
Kami xoxo