May 242010

My main chat partner during the boring work days  he’s not really been around much lately. Pressures and stress from work and home coupled with just being too busy have ended with him uninterested/unavailable to talk much and frankly I think he’s depressed. It absolutely kills me that I can’t help him. I have advice, but he won’t take it yet. I care about him a lot and I hate seeing him this way. I also miss him and see the friendship fading a little in some ways.

So yes…I was finding myself lonely and bored and thought what the hell. I’ll go hunting for a hook-up (or, used to) therefore why can’t I hunt for a penpal, a chat buddy? And so, I did. In true Lilly fashion I was very forthcoming on what I wanted and didn’t want. I told a little about myself and asked for the same in return. After all, what fun is a penpal if they’re incapable of composing a proper paragraph?

Did I find what I was looking for? I found some idiots who didn’t read, of course. I found some that just didn’t appeal to me. I found a few that seemed promising at first and then…meh. I found a couple that held my interest. Nice to talk to, we had some things in common…

But then they fell to the wayside as I somehow found myself in limbo….waiting on the friend to respond. For he’s the one I prefer to talk to, even over the “new friendship energy” of others. By the time I realized that our conversation had fizzled out an hour ago and he wasn’t going to respond to me, I was pretty down in the dumps and no longer felt like answering the emails of my new penpals. Then my trips started. Washington state, and then a trip a few states away for side work, home for 3 weeks and then gone again for a weekend of work, and just now back home. With all the traveling, the prep for travel and recovery from travel and the site design jobs I have, I lost contact with the few that had some potential.

I guess I’ll keep trying. It’s not like I’m looking for a replacement. I just don’t want to rely on him so much, I guess. I don’t want to have to keep reminding myself that it’s not rejection, it’s truly not me, it really is him.



Nov 272009

She always was able to lose herself in a good book. Her vivid imagination painted the scene, conjured up the voices, simulated the emotions. It was a blessing and yet sometimes a curse. As was usual when reading an erotica book, she was able to imagine herself in the scenarios being described. Her most recent acquisition of erotica was no different and she couldn’t deny the throbbing in her cunt. That night, her mind instinctively included Him in these thoughts; but the moment she consciously realized what her mind was doing, she shook it off and kept on reading.

“Must not do that anymore”, she said to herself.

But oh, the pull of her mind, it was too much to deny. She surrendered and let her imagination run free. Just one more time.

As her orgasm built she could practically feel His hand on her throat, his lips at her temple, could almost hear the filthy words he would have uttered at one point. It had been a long, slow climb with an expected grand finish.

The orgasm, however, surprised her.

It was not her cunt releasing fluids and climaxing with pleasure. No, there was wetness but it was not in the right place. As her weak and confusing clitoral orgasm diffused, the tears pouring from her eyes suddenly came into focus.

Instead of the built up sexual pleasure releasing, the blocked heartache released. She let the tears do their thing, she let herself be lost in the emotions and the purging. The  painful, heavy lump in her throat had to be dissolved. She silently wept in the darkened bedroom; tears for the lies she had told herself, tears for the fantasies that would never see the light of reality, tears for the loss of him, tears for what she wasn’t able to give him. Bitter anger for never managing to be “more” than the ghosts of his past; self-defeat for not managing to be enough of……anything, really. So much wrong, not enough right.

When the tears stopped of their own accord, she acknowledged to herself: “That was the last time”.

The last time her fantasies would include him.

The last time she would long for him.

The last time she would cry over him.

She put his shoes away; in a box, in the closet, underneath a stack of junk. Chin up, deep breath…..walk away.

Aug 092009

At the beginning of my sophomore year of college I worked for the school paper doing photography. Since I was the only one of the photographers with good darkroom experience, it was my domain. My escape. My quiet corner of darkness. I knew what I was doing in there, the chemicals didn’t bother me and I could be there for hours. Also at this time I was enjoying a brief period of the singleton life and having fun. Perhaps a little too much fun.

I actually had access to two different darkrooms on opposite ends of the campus. One in a standard classroom building, the other in the student union near the office for the paper. I had keys to these places but my access was limited to the hours of the buildings.

My darkroom didn’t have furniture really, nothing to sit on except for one classroom style chair. I never had time to sit when I was printing, anyways. My boytoy of the time accompanied me one night to the office and darkroom inside the student union building; I had wanted to quickly develop and print a few photos taken that evening. In the eerie darkness of the red room, he started teasing me while the third and final print was in the developer tray. One minute of kissing my neck. He stopped while I moved to the stop bath tray. 20 seconds of pinching my nipples. Fixer tray next, there he spent about 2 minutes kissing me. Finally, the wash, where he spent 4 minutes letting his hands roam and tease under my clothing. During all of this I couldn’t do anything – my hands had chemicals on them, and I couldn’t let the photo paper just sit there in tranquil liquids. As I hung the photo up to dry, he stripped down to nakedness. As I washed my hands thoroughly, he stripped me from the waist down. After my hands were dry I threw off my remaining clothes as quickly as I could because he was waiting for me. Sitting on the chair, condom already on, waiting for me to climb onto his lap and impale myself on his cock.

We no sooner started fucking before I remembered the time; a glance at his watch showed that it was 12:50 – the security guard would be around soon to check that this hallway and these offices were empty. Fine except for one thing – the light outside my darkroom door, visible if you peered into the glass door of the office. The light that clearly indicated that the darkroom was in use. The only way to shut off that light was to shut off my red safety light. I locked the door for good measure and slowly inched my way back to him. While it is visually appealing to see your naked partner’s body and face during sex, there is also something to be said for relying on quiet vocal cues and touching.

Shortly before 1am we heard the guard enter the outer office. Our hearts pounding, we ceased all movement and listened. Or rather, we tried to cease all movement. I started rocking on his lap, just barely. A marginal amount of stimulation, more tantric than anything else. We heard the guard walk to the door of the darkroom; his hands on my hips led me to increase my movements to be a little bit faster and a little bit deeper as the guard tried to turn the handle to darkroom. I held my breath, hoping the guard wouldn’t feel the need to use his keys and open the door. He didn’t. The sound of footsteps grew more distant until we heard the sound of the office door closing. Suddenly he roughly grasped my hips and started pistoning his hips, fucking me as hard and as fast as possible. The huge risk of getting caught tipped us both over the edge, fast.

Did I mention that when the Union closed, I had to be gone as well? You could get in pretty big trouble with campus security otherwise, plus the doors were locked. You couldn’t even get out without setting off the alarm.

We had 5 hours before the Union would be open again. In those 5 hours we fucked everywhere. We started off in the dark office; on the floor, on some editor’s desk. To be cute we each sat naked on the photocopier and copied our asses. Mine showed a portion of my pussy, just the slit but it was obvious what you were seeing (we had other things on our minds that night and ended up forgetting about these – they were found the next day. No, I never owned up to it). At some point we got dressed to leave the office area and hung out in one of the common areas where there were couches and chairs. We ended up fucking there, too. Always slightly paranoid with one ear listening for the sounds of a night guard. Around 4am we were laying on the floor behind a pool table, shadows covering us completely. We were tired but couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. His fingers in my cunt, my hand wrapped around his cock, and a guard walking the hallway just 15 feet away with no wall to separate us. We slowed but we didn’t stop; neither did the guard.

At dawn we got dressed and plotted our escape so that the guard wouldn’t know we had been there all night. We got out safely and headed to the nearest dorm room where we slept the day away, tired and sore.