Diary Of A Sex Fiend

by Abby Lee

  Karl has the most beautiful penis. He keeps the area so clean that I can still recall how sweet his cock and balls smell and taste as I write this.

  It was only when I sucked him off that I understood how few blokes seem to wash properly, or frequently, and how if they had paid as much attention to their genitalia as Karl did, and kept it all so neat and trim, then perhaps the blow jobs might have been more enjoyable for me.

  With Karl lying on my bed and his cock and balls all shaved and clean, I decided to lick him. He tasted good. So I licked some more, this time lightly flicking over the head. Karl moaned a little.

  OK, going well so far. I licked from the tip to the base. Karl shifted his hips slightly, so his balls were under my tongue. So I licked them. Karl’s breathing got faster. I opened my mouth and drew his balls into it. Karl gave an approving sound, so I sucked them a little. He moved again so that his balls were above my nose. I sensed Karl wanted me to go a bit further, and so far, things were going OK.

  I wasn’t on the verge of puking; Karl’s breathing was heavy and his cock was rock hard. All good then. I licked the underside of his testicles, making him shiver. Then I moved down and nuzzled my nose against them. He groaned. I nibbled the base of his cock and licked the space between his balls and his arse and he bucked his hips, gyrating so hard that he was spasming against me.

  So I decided to alternate between sucking, licking and nibbling the head of his cock, sliding as much of it into my mouth as possible, gripping it with my hands, lashing it with my tongue and swirling my tongue around the underside of his cock, balls and perineum.

  And I was rewarded in more ways than one.

  Firstly, Karl was going absolutely crazy: thrusting his hips in the air, groaning loudly.

  Secondly, I was soaking wet.

  I didn’t know if it was turning Karl on that had got me horny, or if it was just having something so delicious happening in my mouth that aroused me, but I was desperate to fuck him senseless.

  Karl read my mind. He grabbed me and pulled me up over him, easing me onto his cock. We rode each other for a few minutes, then climaxed together. Lovely.

  So when Karl contacted me today to tell me he will finally be in town again soon, I got rather excited. I’m in dire need of another good hard shag right now, but I’m also looking forward to a good row. Not about politics though; this time it’ll be over who gets to suck the other first.

  I can’t wait.

  Wednesday 21st September

  I am a hypocrite. A charlatan. A fraud.

  I have made a mockery of everything I wrote about not getting caught looking at someone’s cleavage. I got caught.

  It was all going so well. Charlie and I had been working together for the last few days on a small project and we were getting quite friendly. Not overtly flirtatious, but there was still a hint of sex in the air – a suggestion; and while we’re not indulging it right now, there’s a distinct possibility that we’ll explore it more fully in the near future.

  Essentially, I was hoping that a shag would be on the cards.

  When he walked in this morning wearing a v-necked t-shirt I couldn’t stop myself looking at his cleavage. I’m not talking about man-breasts – extra flesh in the male mammary department is not something that appeals to me. I am talking about ‘man-cleavage’, the hair on the chest that shows above his collar or through a gap in his clothes.

  Just as the sight of a woman’s breasts pressed together makes me want to plunge my hands in, so a hint of chest hair over a t-shirt neck, or revealed by an undone button, looks like an open invitation to run my fingers through the fuzzy mass.

  Charlie had gorgeous cleavage, his chest hair rising right up out of his t-shirt, and tickling the underside of his neck, pushing against his collar like a soft furry lining.

  It was driving me crazy. All I could do was wonder what he would look like with no clothes on, just a glimpse of it was a delightful pointer to what lay beneath. Every time he leaned forward the cotton hung loosely down and I got a view of his chest, and that pelt of glorious hair. It was mesmerising. I couldn’t help but stare.

  At some point he bent over towards me, and I found myself with a clear view of his nipples. I was filled with an incredible urge to reach out and touch them, and caress them through the fur. Just seeing this previously hidden gorgeousness made me want him; didn’t he see what he was doing to me?

  Clearly he did, because when I looked up at his face, Charlie was staring at me: he had caught me ogling his cleavage. Nothing would change the fact that he knew I had been staring at his chest; not even a quick flick of the eyes to his face, the ceiling, the floor. He knew, and I knew that he knew.

  I felt myself going red, and all I could do was grin at him stupidly. To my relief, he grinned back. Somehow, we then ended up having a serious discussion and thankfully the moment seemed to pass with no further embarrassment.

  Later on I caught him glancing at my boobs, which, ironically, was actually a relief to me, since I knew I’d been a bit out of order gazing so intently at him. I deserved some of my own medicine. Especially since I’m sure he caught me actually drooling.

  Monday 26th September

  As luck would have it, I was reminded of Karl again today – but not in a way I would have liked.

  My dad had decided to download some software that sorts and displays every picture on your computer into nice neat little folders; very helpful.

  What’s not helpful is when the software finds an erotic photo of me which Karl took years ago and which has since lain dormant and long forgotten in the depths of the hard drive. And then the software blows it up in all its full-colour 17-inch glory on the screen before my father’s eyes.

  He called me into the room. ‘Abby, I think you should see this.’ He motioned towards the screen.

  There I was, half naked, dressed only in stockings and a thong, facing the wall. My arse proudly displayed for all to see, my long brown hair flowing down my back – a dead give-away. It was pretty clear who the semi-clad model in the picture was.

  I had a sudden flashback to the night in question. Karl ripping my clothes off, seeing my lingerie and begging me to let him capture the moment on camera. Me hiding my face out of shot, him snapping until the film ran out. Karl then removing my thong and eating my pussy for half an hour and finally fucking me hard on the kitchen floor. God, it was a good shag.

  Back in the present day, however, my dad was looking at a photo of my bare arse. Oh shit. Fuck. I couldn’t deny it. That butt was mine. ‘Erm. Oops. God, I didn’t even know that was on there. Er … ha ha?’

  He carried on facing the screen. ‘What’s that doing on my computer? Who took it?’

  I remembered Karl emailing it to me years ago when I didn’t have a computer – I can’t believe I downloaded it onto my dad’s machine. As Dad waited for a response I racked my brain and tried to come up with the most valid and feasible answer I could think of.

  Nothing sprang to mind. ‘A mate took it. I forgot he sent it to me. Thank God it’s just my arse, eh?’ I tried to laugh it off.

  Then my mother walked into the room. Oh great. Both my parents are looking at a picture of me wearing stockings and a thong, sticking my butt out sexily. Fabulous. I couldn’t wish for a better moment.

  ‘Why have you got a pornographic picture of yourself on this computer?’ my mum asked, getting straight to the point.

  I got defensive, ‘It’s not pornographic, it’s my arse! Just a bum. See! It’s harmless, a bit of fun. It’s not like you can see my face!’

  My mum looked at me, her own face going crimson.

  ‘I hope you’re not using it on one of those sites to … you know … get men,’ my dad stuttered.

  ‘Nope, I’m not,’ I grinned at my mum, ‘at least … not any more.’

  My mum grinned back, and for a moment I’m sure she beamed at me, with what seemed like a little pride. Here was her daughter, brought up to respect her own sexuality and be proud of he
r desires and wants, being her own woman and keeping up the good work she’d fought and struggled for in the Sixties. When she smiled at me I felt she understood me; it was a brief but powerful moment between us.

  My dad, however, was po-faced and silent. Then he stood up and started to walk out, my mum following closely behind. ‘Perhaps you might want to get rid of it?’ he said, as they left the room.

  I immediately sat down and deleted the photo, then searched through his entire computer to see if there were any other remnants I might have left behind. Thank God there were none. At least, I couldn’t find any pictures of erect cocks; maybe I was more careful in those days than I recall. So the damage limitation was minor: my shame survived to live another day.

  So my parents know a little too much about me now, more than I wanted them to. It’s not that they are at all prudish or old-fashioned, or even disapprove of me having a sexually active lifestyle – the opposite in fact. But having the evidence thrust in their faces leaves me, and I am sure them too, feeling uncomfortable.

  But it’s reminded me just how good in bed Karl is and I’m looking forward to meeting him on Friday – and finally getting another good seeing to.

  Friday 30th September

  It wasn’t until I was sitting on Karl’s face that I began to cry.

  Up until then I thought I was alright, but my sensitivity was heightened by the powerful orgasm he’d induced with his tongue and my brain finally kicked into gear. I was overcome by all the emotion I had been holding back.

  Karl and I had a lot to catch up on. Our lives now are as disparate as the distance between us. I couldn’t wait to see him, and, of course, rip his clothes off and fuck him all night. What better way to get Blog Boy out of my head, I thought, than to de-fuck myself of him, with someone else?

  But when, after much vodka, Karl gently pressed his mouth to mine and kissed me deeply it felt wrong somehow, though I just put it down to my drunkenness and ignored it, pulling him close so I could feel his hardness against me. I concentrated on the delicious throbbing sensation between my legs.

  After pulling off my underwear and kissing me all over, Karl lowered himself down my body, his tongue lightly dabbing and flicking while his fingers gently caressed me. I watched him for a moment, and something slowly began to dawn on me.

  I didn’t want to be with him.

  Not because he wasn’t turning me on – he was – but because he was not the person I wanted to turn me on. I wanted it to be Blog Boy.

  I thought that by now I would have been able to accept that Blog Boy didn’t want anything serious with me. I thought I was doing OK. But now it struck me that perhaps I wasn’t coping as well as I previously thought; for the first time in my life, I was having sex with someone and imagining I was with somebody else. As Karl slipped his fingers inside me, I thought of how much Blog Boy turned me on; as my orgasm hit, I recalled his face smiling at me, and it made me climax even harder.

  Then I looked down at Karl and felt guilty.

  I pushed him off me, and threw him onto his back. At least if I gave him some pleasure, all would be well, I thought. And having had sex with him many times over the years, I am familiar with his preferences: I immediately lowered my mouth to his perineum and slid both my hands around his shaft before sucking his cock deeply.

  He responded well and ground his hips into my face within moments, but soon it became apparent that something was wrong. Or, more specifically, something was wrong with me. I wasn’t enjoying giving Karl a blow job. I was trying to pleasure him, but it wasn’t his cock that I wanted in my mouth, it was Blog Boy’s.

  I looked up at Karl and I knew that it was pointless to continue. It was feeling like a chore, not a pleasure, and I know he was picking up that vibe from me. His penis was getting softer by the minute which was totally out of character.

  Karl pulled me up over him and begged me to do his favourite thing: sit on his face. Not really my preference, but at that point, two orgasms in, I felt obliged to do something he would enjoy. So I crouched over him and lowered myself onto his waiting, eager tongue.

  With each lick he gave me, I felt sadder. With each nibble he offered, I felt guiltier. As his tongue lapped away enthusiastically and I felt the waves of pleasure emanating from my body, I was filled with self-hatred. How could I just use him like that? Was I really such a sex fiend that I could allow myself to be physically pleasured by someone even though I didn’t want to be with them? With these thoughts I felt my horniness dissipate, and I frantically concentrated on the sensations between my legs, knowing that I was nearing climax and I so badly needed the release – if only to let go of the emotional tension building up inside of me.

  I closed my eyes and gripped the bed frame, and as my orgasm approached, a thought suddenly entered my head: Blog Boy didn’t want me, and no matter how much I liked him, nothing would come of it. With my body shaking, I saw his face in my mind, felt the tears stream down my cheeks, and I gritted my teeth to bear both the intensity of the climax and the intensity of my emotions.

  After a few minutes, when my spasms subsided, Karl cuddled up to me, and placed his hard cock in my hand. I looked at him and at his cock, and knew I couldn’t do it. I pulled my hand away. ‘I’m sorry; I’m not really with it tonight.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘This guy … my head is a bit all over the place …’

  ‘A recent break-up?’

  ‘Not really: we didn’t even go out together. I am just a stupid twat.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not requited.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. That’s tough.’

  ‘Stupid, more like.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, these things happen.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I was fully aware from the start that he didn’t want to get involved, so I have no excuse for feeling crap.’

  ‘It happens to the best of us.’

  ‘I guess. Anyway, I did all this’ – I gestured at our mutual nakedness – ‘to realise just how much I liked him. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t; you know that. It’s no big deal, relax.’

  ‘Sorry all the same; I thought I was fine up until now.’

  ‘It’s OK. So you on speaking terms?’

  ‘Not really – the last time we spoke was when we slept together, and that was more than a month ago. I guess he’s been trying to avoid me. He’s away travelling now. I doubt he’ll contact me.’

  ‘Us men can be a bit crap sometimes.’

  ‘Well, it’s my own fault, always picking ones who are unattainable. Anyway … onward and upward and all that.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Someone else will come along.’

  ‘Yup; let’s hope.’

  And with that Karl switched out the light and spooned me, wrapping his arms around my waist and sliding his thighs underneath mine. He kissed my back and neck gently and then drifted off to sleep.

  I know his holding me was Karl’s way of being affectionate and he probably thought it was what I wanted and he was right, I did want to be held – just not by him. Instead it reminded me of what I really wanted – who I really wanted – and that Blog Boy didn’t want that with me.

  As soon as Karl fell asleep, I moved out of his embrace. I lay there for hours, unable to sleep, the constant hum of traffic and Karl’s rhythmic snoring filling the room with white noise, adding to the loudness of the thoughts in my own head. I knew it was irrational to think it, but in my highly emotional and drunken state, I began to wonder that perhaps if I was prettier, or less of a sex fiend, or less neurotic, maybe then Blog Boy would want to be with me.

  And I lay there and thought about why I was single, why the men I fall for don’t seem to fall for me, and why I was having meaningless sex with someone I didn’t care about, when two months ago I had been having sex with someone I did.

  I knew I had to get out of there and colle
ct my thoughts. I wanted to be on my own, not curled up with this man. When the dawn broke and the first rays of light streamed into the room, I quietly got out of bed, put on my clothes and made my way to the door.

  I turned as I reached it, and looked back. Karl was still asleep. Even though my impulse was to leave immediately, I felt he deserved more than that. After all, we’ve been fuck-buddies for many years and I value and respect him.

  So I woke him up and apologised, explaining that I needed to be on my own. Thankfully he was sympathetic, and kissed me on the forehead before wishing me well and sending me on my way.

  I left the flat, walked through the estate, jumped onto the tube with the early morning commuters, and, as I found a place to sit, felt tears silently rolling down my cheeks, and my make-up smearing under my sunglasses.

  As I wept on the journey home today, it struck me just how empty casual sex can feel – how difficult it can be when you want more, or have feelings for someone else. And it made me realise that sometimes even orgasms induced by another can feel lonely.

  The Girl’s Guide to Why Men Should Shave Their Genitals

  1 It can make a cock look bigger

  2 It makes the area appear neater and well groomed

  3 Women are more likely to get stuck in if it looks like a bloke takes care of his genitals

  4 Removing the hair means there’s less sweat in the area

  5 The cock and balls will smell fresher

  6 The cock and balls will taste fresher