Changes in Notredame

He called me last night.
He did something about that text I sent him.

He was really... strict.
..If that's the word to use?

There was no chance for me to be cutesy.
I had to be what he wanted me to be.
I had to say what he wanted me to say.
It was scary, but, I liked it.
My lips trembled everytime his voice went sharp.

"Take your knickers off, now."
"Get in bed."
"Just answer me straight. Is it a yes or no?"

I had no choice but to answer him.
He made me describe what I'd like us to do...
...he knows it's hard for me to do that.
They're the most personal thoughts I have.
I'm at my most vulnerable when I tell him my fantasies..
..and last night?
The words wouldn't even come out...
...He clocked on... and he took over.

He became soft, and his voice took me to that magic place.
His words lulling me into a sense of security.
His soft voice nudging me to go further, that it was ok.
He came.

...and my Mother and sister stood outside my door, chatting.
I had to grit my teeth to keep any noise I made from coming out of my mouth.
I came harshly.
Amazingly, neither Mother nor sister said anything.
I'm praying to God it was because I didn't make any noise, and not because they're embarassed.

He spoke to me in the same hushed tones that I've been missing these past weeks.
and told me to go to sleep.

Million dollar question : What are we now?

Fishing.

Tue Sep 18, 2007 12:26 pm

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I called Quasi last night.
He was in the middle of watching a Catherine Zeta Jones picture...
Yes, it turned me on.

I asked him what he was doing, he said that I wouldn't like to know.
He was struggling to keep his voice normal,
I heard him gasp a few times, he sounded like he was content. pleasured. warm.
I left him to it.

I woke up at 5am, my panties wet.
I sent him a fishing text.
Why?
I don't know.

To make me cringe even more, he didn't even do what i had asked in the text.

Unwanted wantonness?
I suspect so.

My Quasimodo...

wasn't ever mine. LoL.

I called him the other night.
I couldn't stop myself anymore.
..and i was so dissappointed.
He was so un-interested; it felt like he didn't care.

His voice even seemed different.

Rage burned inside me, and I needed to get off the phone.
Maybe I was too rude whilst saying bye.

I dreamt about him last night... I think.
How my hand sat.. just right.. in his hand.
How he made me giggle everytime he tugged at my bottom lip.
The way he held my body close to his.

I don't really believe in Perfect.
..and anyways, if it did exist, it would be a weird thing.
My perfect, may not be your perfect.
But... That day.
The day I spent with him, was something that I would call Perfect.

Rose coloured spectacles?
I'm guessing so.

I wanted him to pop my cherry.
I thought he'd stick around, do the caring thing.
I might act like a hoe wannabe, but really, I'm a soppy pathetic little girl at heart.
I want to be looked after.
I thought he would.

Thank Goodness I didn't get that far with him.
He's farting around with (an)other girl(s)...

I'd still love to spend a night with him.
His and my sexualism were on the right frequency.
Nothing spoken, nothing questioned, nothing answered.
Just the vibes.
From day one.

A night alone with him would result in many orgasmic experiences.
I want him to hold my hand again.
I'm not asking for much, am I?

Help...

I've realised I've made it clear to most that I'm not a practising Muslim, and I doubt very much that I am actually a follower of the faith.
(This doesn't mean I'm an atheist or a God hater...
Quite the contrary, I have a fierce belief in God...
I just don't know how to reach out to Him yet.)

Last night, as I held my hands up to pray at the table with the family (they don't know yet), the following prayer was recited
"Allah hummaghfir lana, waa li waalidayna.
Rabbir ham huma kama rabbayaani sagheera."
Now, I've been reciting this prayer over and over many times in the past few years.
It's a prayer for parents.

The thing is, I don't actually know what the prayer means...
So, I feel weird reciting a Muslim prayer.
I'd rather say the translation, which wouldn't make me feel so weird.
I mean, why recite a Muslim prayer, if you're claiming that you don't feel like one?
Weird, no?

So, that's why I'm asking anyone to help translate this for me.
I'd still very much like to pray for my parents, especially when they piss me off.
Which is more often, than not.

(It sounds weird that I'm asking for a translation of THAT prayer, and I can't just say what's in my heart.
But, I like chanting stuff, over and over again.
And, if everytime I feel like praying for my parents I have to say, "Please God, grant my parents a place in Heaven. and don't give them too much hardship in this world or the next. oh and please keep them happy. oh and ... etc etc"
Then it loses the effect.)

Blog Name...

I just realised, this blog had turned out so different to what I originally set out to do.
This was just meant to be a private diary, that I could chat about anything without being scared of being judged, of any repercussions... etc etc...
Just a place to reflect and to write...
A place of my own...

Yea, it still might be all of that, but it's turned into more of a Sex Blog, don't you think?
Maybe it's because I only read those sorts of blogs?

I'm thinking I should blog a bit more about other aspects of my life...
except, my hornyism is quite a big thing...
Well, it has certainly been for the past demi-year, I think.

Hopefully, with university starting around the corner and job hunting about to start, I should have more things to blog about.
Rainbow in a Colourless World?
I still pretty much think that...

Ramadhan...

It's that time of year again.
I'll be doing things differently, though.

I'm not going to fast, pray etc etc.

However, I will still do my Prayer Diary.

Just because I'm having problems with religion, doesn't mean my faith in God isn't there.

Prayer for Today:
I pray that those who are worshipping you, by fasting or praying are rewarded for their efforts.
I pray that the Madeline case gets solved soon. It's not fair that I only mention Maddie, so, I hope all the lost children ou there are safe, and have somewhere to sleep.
I hope that those who are unwell are able to make a speedy recovery, and my condolences for those who have lost someone close to them...
Amin.

Realisation

The little one decided to do a runner today.
Left us all in a foul mood.

Today, we've realised why we're the siblings and not parents.
He was disciplined.
Properly.
For the first time.
Usually we take him away from the parents and tell him off.
The most we'll do is slap his arm or something.

Today, Father took matters into his own hands.
Little one had it coming all Summer.
It must take a lot to hit a child you love.
I remember Father once telling Little one, that he kept him closer to his heart than the blood that runs through it.

I've had to escape, because:
a) I know I'll cry.
b) I'll want to hug him and say it's ok.
c) I'll undo everything that the Parents are doing.

Hopefully, after today he won't walk out the door anymore.
He's done it too often.
Today was the worst.
The whole family, including Father, had to look for him.
He beat up the Little Sister.
He shouted at me all the way home.
Little one is, officially, the brat I never wanted him to be.

Maybe he needs more alone time with the Parents?
...and we need to take a step back from him?

I never want to feel how I did when I couldn't find him.
I would've, unashamed, cried openly in public, if I didn't find him any sooner.

KbW

I finally met him last night.
...and I'm not ashamed to say that I basically threw myself at him.
Not like that did anything, I'm sure he didn't even look at me.
I spent the entire evening making sure I either got rid of the impefections, or hid them.
I even made an effort with my outfit.
Red and White polka dot dress.
Black and White polka dot underwear.
Red cardi, dual clustered necklace.
Smooth legs.
White vintage heels.

I think I looked the sex.
..and he only touched me twice!
Once, when he laughed about something, the other when he slyly slid his hand near my arse.
...yet, I was all over him.
Touching him every chance I got.
How slag-faced am I?
My bottom must have glowed red.
...no, not because of Tom.

He made me laugh, so much.
...He also has nice arms.
*Oh, gawsh, how disgustingly girly girly am I? - I'm blushing and giggling whilst writing this*

I have to admit, I gave him mixed signals.
It's ok for me to touch him and stuff, but if he mentions anything, I become really quiet and tell him to shut up.
I even moved his hand away.
What a twat!
I honestly have issues, and don't know what I want.

On the tube ride back to Victoria, I was thinking about me sitting on his hand.
*ahem*
...I had some sort of sensation run through me for a nano-second.
It felt... amazing!
Like, the feeling of knowing that you're nearly there and you are going to come this time...
Nice to know that I can feel that without even having to move a muscle.
Thank you bin-Walid.

Secret Desires

Ties that Bind...

As with so many others, her guard dropped as her arousal increased. He found that exciting her was the most effective way to learn more about her. Not about the mundanities of her life - what she drove, where she shopped, who she drank with after work. Such matters were of little, if any, interest to him. He wanted to know about her. The secret her. The sensual her. The sexual her. The desires that she harboured, both realised and nascent. The experiences that had pleased her most. The fantasies she hardly dared to vocalize.
In the midst of one phone call, she makes a flippant, insolent remark to him.
"I ought to put you over my knee," he growls.
There's the briefest pause at the other end of the line. "And just what would you do with me, if you were to have me over your knee?"
"That's easy. I'd pull up your skirt, yank your panties down to mid-thigh, and give your bare arse an almighty slap with the palm of my hand."
"Would you?" Again, the slight pause. "How hard would you spank me?"
There's something new in her voice, something he hasn't encountered before. Something quivering and expectant. He sits forward fractionally in his leather chair, senses questing like a predator's.
"Hard enough to leave the red imprint of my hand across those creamy cheeks of yours. Hard enough to make your skin tingle and burn."
"Really?"
"For sure."
"Promise?" There's a weakness in her voice now, and a need. A fervent need.
He smiles. Another secret revealed.
They talk, for days, weeks, months, stoking their mutual lusts ever higher. The schedules of their everyday lives conspire to limit the expression of their desires to emails and IM windows and stolen telephone calls. The elongation of time frustrates him, infuriates him. Ultimately, his fevered libido can no longer be satisfied by fantasies of vanilla couplings with her. He can't prevent himself from thinking of all the debauched ways he wants to excite and satisfy her flesh, from conjuring a catalogue of corruption. And when he finally reveals his plans to her, he finds that she's a more-than-willing accomplice to his decadence.
One day, he calls her in the afternoon, as he's pulling into the driveway after a day at the office. He knows that his own house will be empty when he steps inside, but he's taking a chance on calling her at such a time. Disconcertingly, that knowledge excites him too.
"Hello?"
"It's me. Can you talk?"
"Yes. For a while, anyway."
He turns the key in the front door and pushes it open. The parcel is waiting obediently for him on the oak floor. His eyes gleam.
"There's a parcel for me," he tells her.
"What is it? A present to yourself?"
"Very much so."
By now, she knows instantly what the tension in his voice means. She can hear the crackling of the package being opened. "Tell me about it."
"It's made of black leather, soft and supple to the touch. There's a collar, about two inches deep, maybe a fraction more. It fastens around your neck, and it's secured in place with a small padlock. There's an adjustable strap, a foot or more in length, running down from the back of the collar along the line of your spine. At the end of the strap are two wrist cuffs, positioned one atop the other. They're fastened into place with small padlocks as well." He pauses, calculatingly. "Anyone wearing it would be quite, quite helpless."
"Oh." The word sounds small and lost. "Is this something you've bought for your wife to wear?"
"No. It's something I bought for you to wear."
"It is? Really? Honestly?"
He ignores the pleading questions. "First, I'm going to undress you. Very slowly, very deliberately. Then I'm going to place you on your knees in the centre of the bed, blindfold you, draw the collar into place around your neck, and snap the lock shut. And then I'm going to do the same with both of your wrists."
"Oh, God."
"You can just kneel there and listen to the sound of me undressing. And then you'll feel my warm hands on your arse, a palm cupping each cheek, gently moving them apart, opening your cleft to my gaze, to my lips, to my tongue. I'm going to lick you from your clitoris to your rosebud, over and over and over, until you're squealing and writhing. I'll have a vibrator with me, one that I bought a fortnight ago, thinking of you. It's smooth and slender, and I'm going to oil it until it's glistening and then slowly slide it inside your arse and switch it on. And while it's buzzing and throbbing inside you, I'm going to flicker my tongue across your clit until you're literally dripping onto the bed sheet."
"Oh fuck."
"And then I'm going to spank you for being such a wanton slut. A fresh hard slap of my palm against your arse for every groan of pleasure, and another for each drop of your nectar that splashes onto the cotton sheet. I'm going to count aloud every single drop I see, and your arse is going to sting and burn each time you hear me speak."
"Oh fuck, yes! Yes! Please!"
"And then I'm going to fuck you. My pace, my desire. You're not going to be able to stop me. You're not going to be able to influence me. You're just going to be used by me. I'm going to fuck you for my own satisfaction. My cock deep inside your cunt, and the vibrator deep inside your ass. If you should whine, if you dissent, I'll take the vibrator from your ass and use another one, a thicker one, one that's at least as thick as my cock. And I'll fuck you like that until I'm satisfied." He waits. "Do you understand me?"
"Oh yes. Oh yes."
"You'll do as I say? As I want?"
"I will. You know that I will. I'll do anything." A brief silence. "Anything."
"Then all you have to do is provide me with a date…."

Reminds me of Quasimodo.
Reading this turned me on, so bad.
I need a good seeing to.

Taste...

They say everyone tastes different.
You taste of what you eat.

I don't eat cheese.

I need to sort out my diet, before I let any cunnilingus happen.
Although, I did like the after-taste.

Who knew I'd be so turned on, that I'd bring my moist fingers to my lips?
If only there was a guy there, too.

Hmmm. Talking about it is making my panties wet.
...but, my room is incredibly messy, due to a tidy/clean out.
Plus, being a full time mum, you can't have your door shut for longer than two seconds.
I can't have any night time phone play times either.

All of this = one frustrated gal.
Oh well, I'm meeting Bin-Walid on Tuesday.
If I'm not that shy, hopefully he can help me.
Maybe he could taste me too.

Rambling.

Ramadhan's in a week.
I still have no plan.
Damn.

I went shopping the other day.
I've gone up a dress size.
I needed to exchange all the tops I bought.
My shoes came today. They still don't fit nicely.
Can you say toe cleavage?
Atleast they don't fly off when I walk.
Need to try them on outside.

I had bastard of a nephew and neices stay round last week.
I don't understand how my cousin didn't raise them up to have respect for other peoples' feelings and belongings.
I had to buy new shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste and an ironing board.
We had to get builders in to fill in the massive whole in the wall.
What cows.

Mum's off to Germany.
She fought with the Father the night before her flight.
She slapped his hand, and told us to call him pig, instead of Dad.
Hmmm. Nice(!)
My older sister and I are back to being full-time Mums.
She comes back tomorrow.
I have work.

I spoke to Quasimodo.
He asked me if I missed talking to him at night.
I've deleted most of my posts off his Facebook.
Gawd, I want to suck his face off.

Jivan is lovely.
He's helping me with my CV.
He also gave me advice about my esteem and confusion.
...I want to see a picture of him. I'm intrigued.
He really makes my panties wet.

I think I've decided, once uni starts, I'm going to join a yoga class....and start skipping.

I love cocky guys.
...even Rajni.

I need to buy more underwear.
La Senza are crap.
The colour runs.
My beautiful yellow bra has gone a dull snotty colour.
I want a caramel coloured set, and a white set.

Bin-Walid's baby is due soon.
I should meet him before, really.
Yea, I want this to be as guilt-less as possible.
Which is hard, because he's a married man and is a sweetheart.
Provisional date: Tuesday 11th September.
Location: St. Pauls.
Victoria line to Oxford Circus, Central to St. Pauls... Just in case I forgot.
For lunch? Coffee? Damn.
An hour? Is that long enough for me to forget about my insecurities?
I need to buy baby clothes before then.
I think it's a boy.
I hope we meet for dinner.
I want to snog his face off.
..I also want a tube ride with him. See if he'll do what he said he might.

I don't know anyone on my course yet.
Scary.

I need to write my letter of resignation.
Scary!
..but I need to do it.
I hate my work place.

Salman Khan keeps texting me.
It's nice, and he's funny and makes me want to piss myself laughing.
..BUT, he works with Mother.
I know I almost fancy him, because he's so charismatic and so cocky and confident... but, I shouldn't be so chummy with him.
Especially, after what happened after I came back form his house.
Mother doesn't appreciate.
If he wasn't Muslim, I'd love to go for drinks with him.
Maybe dance with him.
..Even though he's 40 odd.

Oh. My. Gawsh.
I like older men.
...Well, I've always known that, about 98% of the guys I've liked were over 3 years older than me.
But, I liker older older guys.
Over 9 years older.
Quasi, Jivan, Salman...?