my home away from myspace

more smut? I think yes...

erl8@duke.edu — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 06:34:54 GMT

Three nights

Three nights in a row, three nights spent downing glasses of whiskey and watching bad tv.

I want you.

In the back of my mind I know it’s a bad idea, driving over to your apartment when I’m this drunk. I purposely don’t look at the clock in the dash. I don’t want to know what time it is. Maybe if I don’t know, some part of me can believe this isn’t happening, that I’m not pulling into your parking lot, that I’m not clutching at the railing as the stairs lurch under me, that I’m not pounding on your door in the middle of the night

“Ryan, wha-? Do you have any idea what time it is?!”

Oh.

For a minute I just stand there dumbly, dazzled by the light and the sight of you in a t-shirt and short sleeping shorts. Then my consciousness sinks lower than my waist and I push my way inside.

“I want you.”

You bite your lip. “I don’t think-”

I press my fingers against your mouth – sweet red lips, what was I thinking? Oh yeah – “You make me crazy. You tease me, every day. I can’t get you out of my head! Your voice…your body…I want you, so badly. I want you to want me as much as I want you. I want you to beg me to fuck you. I’m going to make you beg me.”

I spin you around and press you against the wall. You struggle against me, but I subdue you easily, forcing my hips into yours and taking advantage of the gasp that falls from your lips at the feel of my hard cock to conquer your mouth as well, my hands busily working under your shirt.

You’re not wearing a bra.

Now, were I quite in possession of myself at the moment it would be obvious that no one wears a bra to bed. However, I’m so far gone that every action of yours seems purposely designed to tease me.

“Do you want me too, baby? Do you lie in bed at night, touching yourself, wishing it were me instead? Do you imagine what I would feel like on top of you, inside you? Is it my name on your lips when you cum?”

“Ryan, I-“
“Baby…shut up.”

I pull your shirt up over your head, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand as I lazily undo my tie, wrapping it around your wrists a few times before securing it in a knot. I want you to feel my power. For the first time tonight I look into your eyes, and I think I would have come to my senses and stopped if it weren’t for the cautious lust I see there. You know what you do to me, and though you may not have imagined it this way, you want me.

Who knows? Maybe this is exactly how you imagined it.

It feels like a wave comes over me again, the pure, base, animalistic need to posses driving me. I sink my teeth in your neck, marking you as mine, and I feel you exhale, just a little bit.

I feel your hips jerk, just a little bit.

Picking you up, I carry you over to the bed, turning you over on your stomach and pulling your shorts and panties off. I run my hand down and over your pussy, growling as I feel how wet you are. You moan and press into my hand.

I caress the inside of your thighs. “Beg me. Beg me to fuck you.”

You hesitate and I bring my other hand down on your ass. The resounding smack! in the silence of the room, the slight reddening of your ass cheek…it’s so fucking hot I can’t stand it. I unzip my jeans, pulling my cock out, teasing you with the tip…I lean down so my mouth is right next to your ear and grab your breast roughly.

“Beg me.”

I thrust my cock fully into you but don’t move.

“Beg me to fuck you.”

You twist around and give me the sweetest kiss I’ve ever felt

“Ryan, please…please fuck me.”

aaaah! real life!

erl8@duke.edu — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 05:50:43 GMT

when your life starts sounding like a bukka allen song (you don't know who he is, trust me) you know it's time to go into hibernation for awhile. anyone want to come play video games with me...eh...maybe I just need a hug. >.< If my family is any indication, I'm going to be clinically insane by the time I'm 30.

I need, in no particular order:

a mad world of warcraft session

cuddling

a massage

to be held while I rant about how much the world hates me

to get drunk and make bad decisions

j roc's response to my smut story

erl8@duke.edu — Sat, 07 Apr 2007 22:08:45 GMT

so lacey wrote a response to my erotica. and now I'm theiving it and posting it to livejournal for all of you horny kids to enjoy :) (and why don't I live in buffalo again....?)

her response

I can't believe I spent two hours getting ready for this. My date, in hys infinite wisdom, brought me to a sports bar for what was supposed to be a date. This is not a date, I think, stirring my drink, hys friends showed up, how ironic. They were talking about football. Something about innings or yard lines or fouls. I'll give you a foul, strike two buddy. And as I sat in the booth, frothing with idiotic banter that is not intelligible to me, a butch walks to the bar. Hys cigarettes are rolled into hys sleeve and hy carries that kind of alluring nonchalant attitude akin to James Dean. As hy sat, hys eyes caught mine. I was transfixed momentarily but our gaze was broken when the barkeep handed you your drink. I returned to dully stirring my drink.

A week later, I find myself sitting in the same seat, swirling the same poorly mixed drink and again, listening to the same ridiculous banter about football. This is supposed to be a romantic date! I seethe. I turn to hym and glaringly pose the question, "Did you or did not tell me that tonight was going to be just about us?" Hy responds, "Babe, we're in the middle of a game here." I stand up to leave, outraged, and hy pulls me back, in soft tones, "Don't go, hun, I need you here. You're my good luck charm." I resituate myself but refuse to back down from the conversation. "You told me that tonight was for us to spend time together. This was not supposed to be boys' night out. And, for the record- this is not my idea of a romantic restaurant!" My date turned to hys friends, snickering, and with a hand to hys face I heard hym mutter "Must be that time of the month, guys." Strike three, asshole. I stood up, gathering the last of my pride, and counter "You should know- you bought the last box of tampons. I expect you to get your shit out of my apartment before I get home tonight. You can stay with your new boyfriends." Hy tried to pull me towards hym again, tried to pull me down and I waltzed directly away and towards the bar, my heels clicking distinctly with each step.

I reach the bar and set my things down, calling the bartender, "Alabama slammer, please." He set the drink down before me and I draw it to my lips, realizing you are beside me. Still filled with displaced rage, I faced you. "What is it about football?!" I demanded somewhat rhetorically, assuming you would know- they all know. You mumble some response, but with the furry pounding in my ears I didn't actually hear you. I carried on, "What the hell is it with people in Buffalo?" I finally catch your soft answer, "...Hockey, myself." Hockey is my favorite sport. I relaxed and exhaled; washed more anger down with liquor- it made it easier to swallow. I felt guilty immediately for behaving so vilely towards you and felt an apology fall from between my lipstick stained lips. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laying this on you. It's not football, really. I just hate that I'm getting less attention than a bunch of sweaty men running around on TV, grabbing each other's balls, you know?" You nodded, calmly, and something in your green eyes told me to continue. I explained, in great detail, and probably to your boredom, the problems with attempting to find an elusive, perfect butch. You listened, taking it all in, letting me meander through all of the stories I had to share about fake butches, androgynous dykes and mishaps with femmes.

Last call came and my soon to be ex had left. You picked up your cigarettes, Marlboro red, which brought a smile to my face. A real butch, I think. I hope. I feign a slightly more intoxicated appearance, hoping that you would offer to drive me home so that I could both enjoy you for longer and avoid leering taxi drivers and cab fare. You oblige. And as we drive, I pray you ask for my number, which you do, but not without promising to call the next day to check up on me.

Just as you promised, you called. I was setting my hair and doing my makeup as we spoke. We were on the phone for so long that I suggested we get coffee. We sat at the coffee house so long we grew hungry and we later found ourselves spending the entire day together. You reveal your interest in computers and while at the local greasy spoon you sketch a little anime caricature of me; you tolerate my somewhat neurotic behaviors, poking fun at how neatly I fold my food wrappers before disposing of them. It's never been this easy to talk to someone. I turned to you first when my ex and I broke up finally. I was a relief to find myself in your arms, your gentle touch removing my tears. I lost the hope that you were interested in me at all; you were always so stoic. I wished you would have simply put your lips to mine.

I arranged a night out, but I told Nikki, Christina and Cyn not to show up. They conspired with me at one last ditch attempt to stir something out of you. You wore your best button up and a tie- enough to send me over the edge with desire for you. I wore a little summery dress whose neckline swept across my bust and showcased my figure; a vintage inspiration I designed myself. I implored you to dance with me, but you claimed you needed to finish your drink and that maybe you'd come over. I felt your eyes on me and smiled to myself, knowing that you were watching. I danced alone momentarily, swaying my hips to the beat of the song, until a younger androdyke came up to me, placing her hands on my hips. She was a terrible dancer, but watching the mirrored wall, I saw the jealousy in your face as you slammed your glass against the bar and strutted directly to the DJ booth. I wasn't sure what you were up to, but I knew it was going to be good.

The DJ fades the song playing out and the new on begins. I watch the dance floor clear, except for me, the androdyke and you. You trained your eyes on mine, cut in on the androdyke and took my hand in yours, placing the other on my waist. You began leading me in a salsa dance. I was bemused and shocked; you were a skilled dancer. I kept my eyes on yours, knowing everyone in the room was looking on. I was daring you to kiss me.

As the song ended, you spun me out and stepped behind me placing our layered hands upon my neck and your free hand ran the length of my thigh. I felt my breath catch in my throat; I wanted to be yours, I wanted you to take me. I felt your rigid passion pressed into my lower back. You stepped away and turned me to face you. Your lips collided with mine and I wanted nothing more than to finish the kiss. But you pulled away and left the club. I stood there dumbfounded momentarily; I was dismayed, but I wasn't going to let you go. I found you on the stairs to the club, a cigarette to your lips. I rip it away, leashing my fingers around your neck and completed what you started. The kiss was exhilaratingly perfect. I retracted slowly, my fingers still toying with the hair at the back of your neck. I whisper, "Your place or mine?" into your lips, which mine are almost touching. You took me by the hand and we half-ran to your car; you opened the passenger's side door for me.

* * *

I teased you while you drove; my fingers in your hair, on your thigh, running up and down the crotch of your jeans. I kissed, bit and sucked on your neck, listening for your hungry growl and watching the passion mount behind your eyes. I took your right hand in mine, holding it at the wrist and extended your longest finger. My serpentine tongue lapped at the crest of your finger, circling around its prey and down all the way to your knuckle. You watched, attempting to resist and focus on the drive; I looked up into your languished gaze and held it until you looked back to the road.

At your door, you fumbled with the key and dropped it. I wanted to be sure I had sufficently attained your attention so I reached my hands underneath your dress shirt and a-shirt and I ran my fingers down your back, lightly pressing my nails into your flesh. Your key penetrated the lock and you pulled me inside, plastering me to the door with a ferocious kiss. I felt your hands on my bare thighs and felt as though I could cream right there. You slid your hands to the backs of my thighs and raised me off the ground, my legs twisting around your torso as you carried me to the bedroom. I loosened your tie and unbuttoned some of your shirt buttons. You grew impatient, set me on the bed and tore through them rapidly. You were about to take off your tie, but I stopped you, saying "No. leave it." You shrugged our shirt off and I watched the material graze your now nude shoulders; you pulled your a-shirt and sports bra over your head with one hand.

Your eyes were upon me like a wolf's. You said, "You're overdressed." I smiled coyly, turned my back towards you and raised my hair exposing both my neck and my zipper. You pull it slowly, kissing each freshly exposed inch of my back. How do you know that this is my favorite? I could scarcely breathe properly; I was pining for you to take me. I stepped out of the dress and turned to face you, smiling. "Now who is over dressed?" I ask. You smile and shake your head at me as I walk towards you in my matching bra and panties. I kept my eyes in line with yours while I unzipped your jeans and pulled your boxers down with them. I bite my lower lip, my eyes still searching yours, and put my hand on your butch cock. I could see it in your eye, the bed in the background. I quickly knelt before you, running my tongue down the core of your body as I fell. Looking up, I encompass the crown of your cock with my tongue, running it over, around and beneath. I leisurely ingested your cock to its base; there was a sudden shift and you were thrusting your pelvis towards me, fucking my mouth. I watched your eyes roll back and knew I had pleased you. You wrapped my hair into your hand, directing me further by your actions, and let out a low growl. You jerked uncontrollably and I felt your body relax; you were panting into my neck as I ran my nails across your back, kissing your neck.

You pulled away and I'm sure you can see my pleasure and my lust in my eyes. Yours grow fierce; you tense and lift me to the bed. I smile and tangle your tie in my fingers, reeling you in and award us both with a satisfying kiss. I release you from your tie and toss it on the floor. Your fingers grope my bra as your mouth leaves a hot, glistening path from my ear to my collar bone; I arch my back and push my pelvis into you as your teeth sink in at the junction of my shoulder and neck. You toss my bra aside, your mouth returned to that spot while your hands were molded to my breasts; you rolled my nipples roughly causing me to gasp and sigh into your ear. Your hand slides between my skin and panties and through my sodden slit. You pull my panties down and off, casting them aside.

You found your vindication for my forays earlier in the evening by taunting me with the tip of your cock, skimming it slightly until I whimpered "please." You pierce me to my core and we both moan at the sensation. You stagnate momentarily and I can't take it. I rush my hips upward and you fuck me deep and hard, burying yourself in my body. I'm rocking into you with your every stroke, my eyes rolling backwards and fluttering between closed and open. I am overwhelmed with the sight of your body, radiant and straining, your muscles contracted and tight. I can feel the tension mounting under your skin as I claw your back in my own surrender. I orgasm relentlessly, my eyes fastened on yours and my mouth open, unable to breathe or create a sound. My legs pressed to your body and my back bridged, tipping my head back. You cum, my name falling from your mouth.
You subside by me, drawing a blanket over us and holding me against your body, your breath still falling heavy upon my neck. We slumber, spooning peacefully and easy smile upon my lips.

oh my god erotica...

erl8@duke.edu — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 21:53:18 GMT

The first time I see you, you’re with someone else. You’re sitting at a table in a sports bar, stirring your drink and looking bored as your date expounds upon the highs and lows of the latest football match with hys friends. My eyes meet yours for a brief moment, but the bartender brings me my drink and when I turn back, you’ve looked away.
The second time I see you is a week later, at the same bar. I don’t want to say I’ve come looking for you, but this is no ‘of all the gin joints in all the world.’ I’m hoping against hope you’ll be there. You are.
The butch you’re with is the same as last time so I assume you two are serious. You’re fighting in low voices; I can’t hear from where I am but it doesn’t look pretty. You stand up and hy tries to put a hand around your waist with a patronizing smile. You shrug it off, grab your purse and manage to stomp to the bar in stilettos. I’m impressed. You sit on the stool to my left, placing your purse on the bar and calling to the bartender for an Alabama slammer. Suddenly, you turn to face me, your blue eyes on fire. “What is it about butches and football?” You demand. “Uh, I don’t know. I don’t even like football.” Yeah, right. “I’m more into…” What the hell is it people in Buffalo like? “Hockey, myself.” Your face softens as you bring your drink to your lips. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laying this on you. It’s not football, really. I just hate that I’m getting less attention than a bunch of sweaty men running around on tv grabbing each other’s balls, you know?” I nod in the affirmative, and apparently that’s enough of an invitation, because you go on to explain to me, between drinks, the trials and tribulations of finding ‘just the right butch.’ Not that I mind; you are surprisingly witty and insightful, and I have had many less pleasant evenings.
At last call I pick up my pack of cigarettes – Marlboro reds, could I get any more stereotypical? – and look to the corner booth. The butch you were with is gone. A shadow passes over my face. No matter how bad the fight, hy should at least have taken the time to make sure you got home safely. The Alabama slammers have taken their toll and in a last-minute bit of selfishness I offer to drive you home rather than call a cab. It’s a sign of how drunk you are that you agree.
By the end of that night I’ve gotten your phone number and promised to call you the next day to make sure you’re alright.

* * *

That phone call turns into coffee, which turns into lunch and movies and a day at the zoo and a tour of the art museum. You like vintage clothing and black and white movies and drag performances and dancing and I’m thinking that I’ve never met someone I could talk to so easily, so quickly. You even come crying to me when you finally break it off with the butch from the bar and my head is spinning from your perfume even as I hold you and wipe your tears away. Still I never give you any indication that I’m interested. It’s always too soon after your last relationship, too late after a movie, too many people when we’re out with friends. The truth is, I’m scared.
One night we’re at alone at a club. We were supposed to go with one or two of our friends, but when they canceled at the last minute, we decided to go anyway. Now I think it may have been a conspiracy to get us together, but I didn’t see that at the time. I’m in my best button-up and favorite tie, nursing a rum and coke at the bar. You try to get me to dance with you but I demur, saying I’ll come over when I’ve finished my drink. You shrug your shoulders slightly and turn to walk to the dance floor. My eyes follow the sway of your hips hungrily. It’s definitely been too long since I’ve been laid. I have almost decided to bury my self-pity, down my drink and join you on the dance floor when a younger, androgynous type comes up behind you and places her hands on your hips. A shock of jealousy runs through me. I walk quickly over to the dj booth and a few hushed words and folded bills are exchanged. When I look back she is still trying, clumsily, to dance with you.
The first few bars of the song – my song – sound across the club and most of the dancers leave the floor. I step between you and the wannabe Butch, my eyes intense on yours as I reach out to take your right hand with my left, placing my other hand on your waist and leading you in the steps of a salsa.
I don’t remember much about the dance itself, but I do remember you. Your lips quirked in a half smile. The swivel of your hips. The challenge in your eyes. The color of your fingernail polish – jungle red.
I know this song well, so when I feel the end I spin you out; catching you while you are faced away from me, stepping behind you, placing our still-connected hands on your throat while my other hand reaches down to caress your thigh. In the silence of the club I step away, turning you back around and catching your lips in a kiss that both shatters and centers my world.
Finally my brain catches up to my body and I pull away in shock. I feel I have taken advantage of you somehow, waltzed in trying to be the knight in fucking shining armor when for all I knew you could have been interested in that andro dyke…I feel I have become the butch I never wanted to be. I leave the club quickly, pulling out a cigarette, my hand shaking as I try to light it.
I hear the distinctive sound of heels behind me and turn around, half-expecting a slap. Instead you pull the cigarette from my lips and drop it on the ground before reaching your hands behind my neck and finishing the kiss I started inside.
Slowly you pull away, your fingers playing with the short hair at the back of my neck. Your lips are barely off mine when you whisper, “Your place or mine?”
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten in my car faster.

* * *

I’m lucky I don’t kill us on the drive to my apartment. Your fingers are constantly in my hair, on my thigh, running up and down the crotch of my jeans, and your mouth on my neck is driving me crazy, kissing, biting and sucking until I’m tempted to stop the car and take you right there and to hell with romance. Luckily I don’t live that far away, although I almost drop the key to my door when you slip your hands underneath my black undershirt and run your nails down my back. I am motivated by the thought that, once inside, I can return some of this torture, and that’s enough to give me the concentration to put the key in the lock and turn it the right way.
Inside, I turn immediately to pin you to the door with a rough kiss, my hands caressing your thighs underneath your dress. I feel more than hear your moan. Unthinkingly I pick you up and carry you to my bedroom, placing you gently on the bed as your fingers begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. It takes too much time so I step away, furiously pulling at the buttons. I begin to take off my tie when you stop me; “No, leave it.” So I slip it out of my collar and shrug my shirt off, following it with my undershirt and sports bra. I begin to think that there’s something wrong with you still being fully dressed and say as much. You smile and stand up, lifting your hair so I can unzip your dress, which I do as slowly as I can, kissing each new patch of skin until I finally have to drop the dress and you step out of it. You quirk your lips in a smile, “Now who’s overdressed?” I smile and shake my head as you pad over to me in only your bra and panties, unbuckling my belt, unzipping my jeans and pulling my boxers down with them. You bite your lower lip and I realize you must have known I was packing since I pulled you against me in the club. I don’t go in for shiny, brightly colored cocks; my dick is dull and black like the butt of a military rifle, dangerous and all business – a butch cock. I want nothing more than to throw you on the bed and fuck you, but when you drop to your knees in front of me I feel like I could cum right there. You slowly lick the head of my cock, running the tip of your tongue over, around and beneath. When you take me fully into your mouth my hips jerk and I am fucking your mouth, my eyes rolling back even though I desperately want to watch and hoping my suddenly-weak knees don’t give out on me. Desperate for something to ground me I thread my hands into your hair, growling my approval low in my throat and pulling you harder into me.
When I do cum there are stars behind my eyes and my hips jerk uncontrollably as I finally collapse against you, panting. You run your nails up and down my back, kissing my neck. Finally I pull away to face you and there is amusement behind the lust in your eyes, as if you were saying ‘Some big, tough butch you are, brought to your knees by a little femme.’ I gather my remaining strength to meet your challenge, picking you up and lying you on the bed. You smile and wrap one hand around my tie, pulling me towards you for a kiss before you finally undo it, placing it on the floor. My hands are busy with your bra as my mouth traces a hot, wet line from your ear to your collarbone, pausing to nip at the pulse point where your shoulder meets your neck. I toss your bra in the general direction of the floor and my mouth returns to that one spot, kissing and biting while my hands cover your breasts, rolling your nipples roughly. Your slight gasp is music to my ears and I reach down with one hand to run my hand underneath your panties and through your wetness. My senses are overwhelmed with you – I am drunk on your taste, the feel of your skin, your moans in the still air of my room. I need to be inside you now. With a grunt I push myself off of you, raising your ass with one hand while I pull your panties down with the other. They join your bra and my tie on the floor.
I tease you with the tip of my cock, sliding in and out slightly until your whimpered “please” ends it completely. I enter you fully and we both moan at the feeling. I am impatiently still, letting you get used to me, but you roll your hips upward and I am lost. I fuck you deep and hard, trying to reach the very core of you and bury myself in your body. My entire body is straining and glistening with sweat as I pound my cock into your pussy, biting any part of your body I can get my mouth on; your neck, your breasts. The muscles of my arms and back are corded and tight with exertion. When you cum you keep your eyes on mine and I’ve never felt anything more powerful. I feel your orgasm throughout my body, into my soul and I am tipped over the edge with you, whimpering your name.
I collapse beside you, drawing a blanket over us and cuddling you close to me. It’s the best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time.

My Life Soundtrack

erl8@duke.edu — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 21:41:14 GMT

*Your Life: The Soundtrack*
Opening credits:	While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles
Waking up:	Mr. Custer - Larry Verne
Average day:	Don't Bother None - Cowboy Bebop Soundtrack
First date:	The Longest Time - Billy Joel
Falling in love:	I Think I Love You - Partridge Family
Love scene:	Closer - Nine Inch Nails
Fight scene:	Another One Bites The Dust - Queen
Breaking up:	Sometimes It Hurts - Stabbing Westward
Getting back together:	Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye - Neal McCoy
Secret love:	No One Needs To Know - Shania Twain
Life's okay:	Ask DNA - Cowboy Bebop Soundtrack
Mental breakdown:	Girl Anachronism - Dresden Dolls
Driving:	Ignition(remix) - R. Kelly
Learning a lesson:	I Wish I Didn't Know Now - Toby Keith
Deep thought:	Glass Onion - The Beatles
Flashback:	My Back Pages - Bob Dylan
Partying:	Ridin' Dirty - Chamillionaire
Happy dance:	Hampster Dance
Regreting:	I Should Have Been A Cowboy - Toby Keith
Long night alone:	The Pills I Took - Hank Williams III
Death scene:	Julia - Cowboy Bebop Soundtrack
Closing credits:	Highwayman - Willie Nelson
Take this survey \| Find more surveys Bzoink - The Original Survey Site