Saturday, July 7, 2018

Heatwave

Hey guys! Long time, no see!

Yeah... I've been a bit quiet, haven't I? I've had my hands full, y'all! Of cock!
I'm  having a quiet Friday night, though. It's a holiday weekend for those of us in the states... well, it was a holiday a couple days ago, but a lot of people are on vacation. Did you know that the Fourth of July is my least favorite holiday of them all?

I despise it. Mostly because I don't like loud bangy noises that mimic bombs. I think that's tacky and uncalled for in this day and age. Boys with their toys, amirite?

Also, yeah... I'm not so very patriotic these days.
Truth is I never have been. I value being human over being American. I cringe at the creepy Pledge of Allegiance. I often find myself ducking into the bathroom just before the National Anthem plays just so I don't have to stand for something I find pretty distasteful.

It would be different if this was a great country... and yeah, I was a bit more patriotic during the Obama years but now we've got the giant orange turd - pussy-grabber, daughter-luster, wife-cheater, just all around asshole in chief. And his grotesque sycophants who I find even more repulsive.

They man could literally rape a puppy on Fox News and his bootlickers would find a reason to justify it.

But enough about my dislike of the Fourth of July and utter hatred of the monster.
It's hot, isn't it? We're having a bit of a heatwave.

And when I built my house, I neglected to install AC. Does anyone have AC in their Second Life homes? Mine is all glass, and I know there's a metaphor in there about people living in glass houses and all, but I love it.

So, no air conditioning and a quiet Second Life night where all my fellas are either occupied or out of town... or sleeping, I suppose, at this time of night... nothing to do but climb aboard my pegacorn float and try to cool down.
Speaking of pegacorns, did I mention that I saw Taylor Swift last weekend??

If you know me at all, you know I fucking love Taylor Swift with a white-hot passion. I want to be her bestest friend, have sleepovers with her, do each other's makeup, eat junk food, dance around like we're 22, talk about boys and practice French kissing.

I would eat that pussy so good. Lick her from front to back and front again. Get my face right in that juicy little pussy and make her cream all over my tongue. I bet her cum has glitter in it. Her tits? Those nice little breasts she has with those yummy little nipples... god... I could spend hours sucking and kissing and biting them. And then I want to scissor with her... rub out pussies together, our clits all swollen and aching and just grind on each other until we pass out.
blinks

Where was I? Oh, yeah... I saw her last weekend. I'm not usually a concert goer, especially not a stadium concert goer when it's like 100 degrees, but I was given the opportunity at the last minute to chaperone a group of teenage girls. And no, I did not mention any of the above to them.

I just danced my ass off and sang and even shed a tear or six because I'm a big dork.

And then I went home, alone, and masturbated like the sex fiend I am... lol!
That's it for the big excitement in my real life.

In Second Life, though... I've had a string of fucking amazing luck hooking up with some of the most sensual, kinky, handsome dirty men in Second Life.

knocks on wood

I don't want to spoil this run of fun.

Where are the pictures, you ask? Hidden in folders to never be seen by anyone other than me and them. Why? Er... different reasons.

Some are partnered, and yes, they're also swingers but have rules about public photographs, and I totally respect that even though I've got some fucking hot pictures I'd love to share.

Some I'm just not ready to go public with yet, for various reasons, the least of which is that I'm sort of in a "it's nobody else's business" kind of place.
Too hot... must get in the water...
I'm having a really good time, though. A REALLY good time. Orgasms out the wazoo... lol. 

So yay me!

There's nothing serious there with any of them. I'm a bit gun shy about getting gushy and lovey-dovey with anyone after my last clusterfuck of a relationship. 

Does it get lonely sometimes? Yep. But I'm also not getting my heart damaged, so that's cool. 

Fucking hell, it's hot. Even the water isn't cooling me off. Quite the opposite, in fact.

See, when it gets hot like this, I bitch and complain about the heat... but I fucking love it. The heat and the humidity just go right to my crotch and make me want to fuck like I'm a jungle beast in heat.

So even though my skin is flushed, and I can't find a comfortable position even in this nice cool water, I'm aroused as all hell.

No surprise there, right?
I find myself kneeling in the cool sand with the water sloshing around me... the salt filled sea breeze awakening every one of my senses... I can smell it, feel it, hear the waves lapping against the shore.

So easy to just push my wet panties to the side and touch myself. The wetness I feel isn't only from the sea water. It brushes against my clit just as my fingers do.

Goosebumps on my skin, even in this oppressive heat. Nipples peaked and swollen... aching.
It doesn't take long... it rarely takes me long to reach that point. My toes curling in the sand, my fingers dipping inside my tight pussy, rubbing that spot that makes me spurt... my palm pressed to my clit rubbing tight little circles on that swollen little nub.

I think about my lovers, these men that make me melt for them. The ways they touch me, taste me... the ways they fuck me, and I cum.
I cum so hard, from so deep inside... the heat spreads through my entire body, making me arch and shudder and spurt. I love the creaminess of it... love the taste of it when I bring my fingers to my lips and taste myself.

I collapse into the shallow water, my face just barely above the calm... thighs spread wide, exposed, open... an offering to the night.
Stretching, momentarily sated but knowing the heat is just barely held at bay... I need more. I always need more. Crave more. The men, my lovers... their thick, heavy cocks.

Just floating on the waves, the little quakes still rocking in my pussy... drifting on the bliss of it all.
Stripping my sodden clothing and tossing it in a wet heap onto the sand... free now. Wet, shaking slightly... but oh-so relaxed. Tracing my body with my fingertips...

Ecstasy... never far from reach.
The world would be a much nicer place, I believe, if we all had more orgasms. It doesn't matter if they're shared with lovers, or alone. My hands know my body better than anyone, and I bet yours do, too. Know your body, that is.

Go ahead... reach down there and touch whatever you find. A cock? A pussy? No matter... just touch. Grip, rub, stroke, finger... let it carry you away. Do it for me, and perhaps next time we'll do it together.

Let yourself cum... do it for me.
And then whisper in my ear... tell me how you touched yourself, how it felt... tell me the thoughts in your head, and about the mess you made. Tell me about how you felt after you came. Tell me how much you want to cum with me next time. Share with me. Cum with me. Cum for me.

Monday, June 4, 2018

The Eating of the Crow

One of the very best things about having my own blog is being able to speak my mind without having anyone there to temper my words.

One of the very worst things about having my own blog is being able to speak my mind without having anyone there to temper my words.
Fresh Catch
I stand by all the things I said in my post yesterday, but I failed to look beyond my anger and see other sides of what is a many-faceted problem that needs more discussion than I could handle in elebenty bajillion posts.

I left out some things, and glossed over some others.

Let me say this first of all:

Falsely accusing someone of rape is just as vile as raping someone.

Both of these actions destroy lives, and I'm just pretty much generally against destroying anyone's life.

I shouldn't have gendered my post. Men are victims, too. Current statistics say it's as many as 1 in 6 men have been sexually harassed, abused, assaulted or raped. It's also an incredibly UNDER reported crime, just as rape against women is.

And none of that takes into account the abuse that the trans community receives.

So, no, it's not just women. And all of it is abhorrent.

Secondly, I didn't give nearly enough thought or words to those falsely accused. It happens, and it's probably happening more and more now that the "me, too" movement has taken off and people like Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein are paying for their crimes.

When I was saying it wasn't a witch hunt, what I meant and didn't articulate at all, was that when it's he says vs. she says and she says and she says and she says a dozen times over, there's a pretty damn good chance the accusations are true.
I much prefer steak.
When it's he says vs she says, with no other accusers or witnesses or proof, what should we do? Who is to be believed?

I don't know. I really don't.

When trying to compare the viciousness of the crimes in my head, it's difficult for me. Rapist? Lock them away forever. False accusers? Yeah, lock them away, too.

There are unquestionably different degrees of sexual harassment, assault and rape, though. There's the 18 year old dating the 17 year old that gets locked up for statutory rape and ends up having to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life. His life is ruined, and I think, hope, that we can all agree that is wrong. There are violent rapists who deserve to burn not just in the pits of hell, but in a pit of our own making here on earth because fuck them and fuck showing them mercy.

Are there different degrees to those who make false accusations? This isn't nearly as clear to me because I can only see someone who would do that to another person as pure unfiltered evil. Not only are they destroying an innocent man's life (and I'm using genders here because I've never heard a case of a man falsely accusing women but I'm sure it's happened), but they are also destroying the credibility of women people who are real victims. They are making it much more difficult for those real victims to come forward.

It's worth talking about, isn't it? Calm, rational discussion rather than my angry blog post from last night? I should have spoken to those women privately, one on one. I have had a conversation with one of them today who read my post, the one who made the witch hunt comment. We're both on the same side. I made unwarranted assumptions regarding the basis of her comment.

I was wrong.

Simple as that, given context, I was absolutely wrong.
Maybe a nice salad?
Turns out that she has a friend who was falsely accused and lost everything - job, wife, reputation, everything, and you can't get that back. The accuser finally admitted she made it all up. This gentleman was accused and convicted without the benefit of a trial. The clock couldn't be turned back, the damage couldn't be undone.

That is terrifying. It's absolutely terrifying that that can happen. I have no idea what the woman's reasoning was, but does it really matter? She absolutely destroyed him with lies.

This can't happen, for all our sake. For the men who are ruined and for the people who are true victims of sexual crimes that are afraid to speak out.

Our justice system is fucked. We do not hand out punishments that fit the crimes, from murderers who get a slap on the wrist to some dumb kid smoking a joint in his car that ends up in prison for three years and a felony on his record forever. Ethan Couch. Alice Marie Johnson. Countless others that the justice system utterly fucked the fuck up on.

So what do we do?

We keep talking. We keep being civil to each other. Oh, and just as important, if not more important, is listening. We have to hear each other.

And for the record, I'm guilty, too. In my younger, drunker, stupider years, I know I grabbed a few asses in bars absolutely without consent. It never once entered my mind that what I was doing was wrong. We're conditioned to believe that men enjoy it.

With the benefit of age, I know now that what I did was wrong. Absolutely wrong. Being young, drunk and female is no excuse. I've had the opportunity to apologize to one of the men because he was, and has remained, a friend over the last quarter of a century. The others... I barely remember them, didn't know them, so let this be a blanket apology to ALL men who've been on the flip side of the coin and had some sloppy drunk chick paw on them in a bar.
Eh, what the hell... I'll go all in.
And that's why we have to keep having these conversations. Yes, parents need to teach their boys about consent and all that it entails, but they also need to be teaching their girls as well. Consent - giving it and receiving it. It needs to be a gender-fluid discussion. Men, women, and every possible identity in between.

I'm still learning, folks, and I hope you are as well. I made a mistake based on assumptions. Hell, I've clearly made lots of mistakes based on assumptions. Crow is something I've learned to swallow. It's never pleasant, but is always necessary.

But no matter what, let's keep having the conversation, okay?

A word of warning, though... I'm probably not done with this topic. I didn't even touch on the sloppy drunken bad sex that happens in college where women wake up with regrets and decide they were raped. Campus rape is a real problem, but so are bad decisions and binge drinking. If a drunk woman is incapable of giving consent, a drunk man is equally incapable. Put those two together and it's a recipe for disaster.

99.5% of the people I've encountered in my 48 years have been wonderful, thoughtful, caring, kind people. The true evil ones, thankfully, have been few and far between. I believe most people are basically good, if misguided... and I include myself in that sometimes.

You'd think I'd have learned by now that sometimes words come from people's mouths without the intent to cause harm, considering I do it myself so often. Let my mistakes be a lesson... and remind me when I spew things without thought, that there are multiple sides to every story. I'm not unreasonable... just passionate.

Perhaps too passionate at times. 🌝


Sunday, June 3, 2018

Slut Shaming & Victim Blaming

I haven't done one of these posts for a while. Lately it's all been about sex and Second Life and I haven't touched so much on real world topics.

But I need to get this off my chest.
Last weekend I was in a club, dancing, having a good time when the topic of conversation took a turn. The DJ made a joke about something, I think maybe the claims against Morgan Freeman but I'm not sure. I was only half paying attention.

But then one of the women chimed in about how sick she is of the Me, Too movement. And then another chimed in, agreeing with her, and then another.
I had to leave before I got in a very heated argument with them. It wasn't the time or place, but...

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, LADIES?

No. Just fucking no.

I'm (mostly) sexually submissive, yes. I do think men and women are different, yes.

I'm also a fucking feminist and have been around the block several fucking times. Maybe they're just young and haven't been in that position before. Guess what? I have. Many fucking times growing up. Once I hit puberty and got tits, a lot of men decided they were, literally, up for grabs.
I mean, I understand WHY they wanted to grab them, but...
I came of age in the 80s. My body matured young... when I was 12, I could easily pass for 18. That got me in some situations beyond my control, but let's look beyond that.

I was 16 when I got my first job. I was working part time after school in a store owned by a friend of my dad's. This friend, my boss, used to come up behind me when I was standing at the counter and grind against me. When we'd close the store at night, he'd say things like "why don't you come home with me and we'll take a bath together?" I'd laugh awkwardly, as a 16 year old does, and jump in my car to get away from something that I knew was wrong... but didn't really understand what and why.

These things weren't talked about then. Date rape was something that was just beginning to be a thing. Oh, and, yes, I did have a date with a guy I'd had a crush on for years that took me parking, put the keys down his pants and tried to shove his entire fist in my pussy. Did I say no? Well, I moved his hand quite a few times when his fingers were creeping towards me and tried to keep my thighs clamped shut. But I was shy. And I was alone with him out in the woods. And I didn't fucking know what I was supposed to do, so I eventually stopped fighting it and took it.
Is that consent? No, it really fucking isn't. He didn't manage to get his fist inside me... hell, I hadn't even had a dick inside me at that point, but he certainly left some damage. I didn't realize how much until I got home and realized my panties were soaked in blood.

(Karma's a bitch... a couple years later his miserable ass got drunk and thought it'd be funny to play Russian roulette. He lost and I got the chance to spit on his grave.)

Was that the last time? To that extent, yes, but there have been dozens and dozens of times over the years where men have grabbed my ass in a bar, or a date kept getting handsy even after I'd swatted his hands away over and over. Dozens of times when men didn't take no for an answer until I had to say something along the lines of "Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Was I raped? No... but as you can see from the two stories above, I was certainly sexually assaulted.

Did you know I lived and worked in Hollywood during the years Harvey Weinstein was at the top of his game? I did. I was old enough by then to not take shit from men, but I knew a lot of young actresses trying to get a fair shot at having a career.
I could tell stories and I could name names, and they would be names you know. These women didn't keep quiet about it then... they told their friends, their agents, whoever was around. We'd get together and have drinks and the stories would come out. "Oh my god... he did that same thing to me!" was something I'd often hear. I could tell you some shit. Some names wouldn't shock you, but I bet I know a couple that would.

These women who are coming forward now with their accusations about men in Hollywood aren't lying, folks. They've been coming forward forever but it wasn't until Ronan Farrow, a man, wrote an expose that anyone listened. That anyone fucking cared. I'm thankful to Ronan, but god damn... why did it take until a man wrote about it for anyone to take it seriously and do something?
Any woman who says she's never been in that type of situation with a man is either lying, or grew up incredibly sheltered. You feel powerless. Confused. Angry. Hopeless.

And it's not even a case of thinking no one would believe you if you told your story... it's that no one cared. Everyone in Hollywood knows it's happening and everyone for decades has just turned their heads and looked the other way. The women all knew that if they went to the police, it would be their word against his. His powerful lawyers against the barely-passed-the-bar ambulance chaser that's all they can afford. They were all told by women older and wiser to keep their mouths shut if they wanted a career in Hollywood. Their agents, publicists, managers... all told them to hush their pretty little mouths.

And now they aren't, and these imbecilic men are being held accountable for their reprehensible, inexcusable actions, finally. Fucking finally.

And that shit is going to trickle down. From Hollywood, to Washington, to your neighborhood store. Men are going to learn that, no, they don't have the right to any woman's body. We aren't just "things" that men can use as they see fit.
And then I hear these women... women... making excuses for these men. Blaming the victims. "They knew what they were getting into."

Oh for fuck's sake! Haven't we moved beyond that? The whole "she was asking for it", "she shouldn't have dressed that way" bullshit? Just when I think we're making some damn progress, I realize there are still women... not men, no, they were wisely keeping their mouths shut... but women who are perpetuating this fallacy that a victim is in any way responsible for what happened to her, and it fucking infuriates me.

These are actual quotes from women:

"to be honest I getting a bit sick of the "me too" crap... Most knew exactly what they got into before it happened.. but now they all jumping... best sentence "I coundnt do anything against it while I was a nobody, but now im mighty!" just lol.. she just got to this exactly bcuz of IT"

"ffs...guys are afraid to get on an elevator alone with a woman or tell  her she looks good much less flirt!!! omg they'll get sue for that!  zup wit dis chit?"

"but its a bad topic for a party ^^ lets drop it *smiles* lets be happy that we arent millionaire "bitches" who need publicity ^^"

"while that's true, I'm seeing a "witch-hunt" develop. Where people just need to point an accusing finger and someone looses all their work and gets sentenced without a fair trial"

What in every hell is wrong with these women?
Regarding quote number one, no, they really fucking couldn't do anything about it when they were nobodies. These men have dozens of lawyers at their disposal and on retainer. These women at the time could barely afford food and/or rent. She got powerful because she was sexually assaulted and that's supposed to be okay? No, it fucking isn't. In order to pursue the career path they'd chosen, that they had every single fucking right to pursue, they had to put up with being treated less than human, like fucking fleshlights. Fuck every single thing about that.

The second quote, that's just ridiculous fucking hyperbole unworthy of comment beyond that... except for maybe learn some basic grammar and spelling.
Third, these "millionaire bitches" don't need the publicity. What they need is for men to stop acting like horse's asses, and to stop holding their careers for ransom to be paid by being a limp rag doll that they can paw and hump and drool all over.

Fourth, it's not a fucking witch hunt. When woman after woman after woman comes forward with the same damn story, when a fucking pattern develops, it's not a god damn witch hunt. These men  have teams of lawyers, publicists, agents, and private investigators that they use to destroy these women. To absolutely obliterate them. Blacklist them. Ruin their reputations. They spend millions on this shit.

No young actress in Hollywood has those millions to blow to go against these men. That's why it's so important that they come forward with their stories so they can band together and use the truth to take down these men.

Is every accuser telling the truth? Certainly not, and I strongly believe thay anyone who makes false accusations should pay a harsh price because every time a woman lies, it makes it harder for another woman to be believed.
Outtakes... Flamingo photo-bomb
I'm just sick to death of it, y'all. 

Enough is enough. Ladies, stop embarrassing me with your backwards 1950s repressed Stepford wife bullshit.

I'm pretty fucking pissed at myself over it, too. No, maybe it wasn't the right time or place for me to school them but I really should have anyway. I have immense respect for the gentleman who owns the club; he was AFK and unaware of the discussion happening. I didn't want to want to make a scene so I... I just left. How should I have best handled it? Maybe a conference chat between the four of us? Individual IMs to each one? Educated them in local? You see, there is still a stigma about speaking up. I didn't want to be that harpy.

But these are serious issues that have been facing women since cavemen dragged their women around by the hair. It gets better little by little. Two steps forward, one step back. I feel like we're on the cusp of breakthrough, though... even with the pussy-grabber in chief sitting in the Oval Office.

Anyway, ladies... yeah, don't do what those other women did and blame the victim. If it ends up not being true, like in the Duke case, yeah, throw her to the damn wolves... but for every liar, there are hundreds, if not thousands, that are telling the truth.

And more importantly, no woman ever deserves to be assaulted or raped. It doesn't matter that she went alone to his hotel room (a suite in these cases) for a business meeting, it doesn't matter what she's wearing, it doesn't matter what her chosen occupation is (even prostitutes).

The only person to blame is the person doing the assaulting, the raping... the pussy-grabbing and tit-mauling, groping, drooling oafs that can't fucking control themselves in the presence of women.

Blame the rapist, not the raped. It's not that hard.

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Sex Machine Ready to Reload*

*bonus points if you can name that song... without cheating!

Well, hi there!

It's been a minute, hasn't it?

Look, we all knew what was going to happen, didn't we? No use dissecting the inevitable, though I am a bit surprised it ended on a rather... well, honestly, it was pretty blah as far as breakups go. No screaming, fighting, shouting, cursing or tears. I suppose it's fitting that it ended with a fizzle after the fireworks that precipitated our beginning.
Anyhoo... that's that.

And this is this. What is this? Well, on a good day I have trouble keeping my libido reined in, and on a bad day (and this wasn't a bad day... just a boring one...) I'm going to orgasm whether I'm alone or in a group of twenty.

I found this fun little HUD on the MP and had to give it a go. I like it because it has a nice long play sequence so I don't have to push any buttons... other than the one between my legs in real life. I suppose I'm just vain enough to own up to the fact that I can get myself off watching myself get off in Second Life.

Yes, ladies and jellybeans, I turn myself on.
I had a week off SL after the breakup, and not by choice. You see, my graphics card is on its way out after hanging in there for about five years. I've been keeping my computer on at all times because when I shut it off, the graphics card has a nasty little habit of not wanting to crank back up.

And then Windows did it's auto update bullshit and I came home from work to a dead computer. Nothing I did would get it to boot, and I tried every fucking thing I could think of including taking the entire damn thing apart and putting it back together again.
Flexible!
Why didn't I just run out and get a new graphics card? Oh, I'm poor as fuck! Well, cash poor, anyway. I'm a do-gooder out in the real world and there isn't big money to be made raising money for a smallish charity. I decided years ago, though, that I'd rather make nothing and be happy in my career giving something back to the world than slaving away in a miserable corporate job that sucked the life out of me, and society.

So yeah, cash poor and had to wait for payday. Computer was dead for a full week... and then Monday morning while I was in the shower, the power went out for a few seconds for whatever reasons cause those little glitches. I shrugged it off, went to work, came home and flipped my computer on out of habit... and the fucking thing booted right the hell up.
THAT made Beth Macbain a very, very happy woman.

Oh, I'm still replacing the card. It is way overdue, but at least now it's not an emergency. You see, when I get out of a relationship, I tend to go into heat.

Okay, yeah, I'm pretty much always in heat, but it's amplified, and I need to fuck all the men. And I couldn't! And it was tragic! Tragic!

So I've spent the few days I've been back online getting laid. Except tonight because Second Life was d-e-a-d.
OH!

And the best thing... while I was offline, a very, very beloved old friend reached out to me to keep me entertained.

Beloved old friend isn't quite accurate, though. Friend, lover... and former partner. My darling Mr. Mounier. We've never quite lost contact with each other... and he seems to always know when I need him to reach out to me.

I realized that he's the person I've known longest in SL. It's been years and years and years now. I knew him before I knew Hugh, though we didn't get together until after Hugh. Too soon after Hugh, actually, and that's ultimately why it didn't work for us.
But now? Who knows? I know I love him to the moon and back, and I know he loves me unconditionally. He is the one person who has always, always been there for me, no matter what, no matter when, no matter where.

And he makes me laugh. He probably... no, definitely... knows me better than anyone. He knows the dirtiest of my dirty little secrets, even the ones I don't post about here. 

He lifts me up and has never once asked me to change for him... aside from wanting me to have bigger boobs. I showed him the real life ones, though, and he was good with that... grins
In a world where it's not wise to trust anyone, I trust my Neo implicitly. He knows he has no reason to lie to me, nor I to him. We've already seen it all and know each other too well to pretend we're anything other than what we are.

What does that mean in SL? No idea yet. He's been gone from SL for quite a while for the most part. I would like him to come back but I understand how hard that is when you've been gone for a long time.
I'd like him to come back and be my partner in all the ways that matter. He knows that I'll never be monogamous, and I know he won't, either. But we also share the same fondness for playing together and sharing, and that makes a world of difference. 

So, yeah, that's still a TBD. But that's okay, because it's us. 
There are others as well. Shy, introverted-in-public Beth has found her voice in the last couple of weeks and told a few of my sex-crushes in Second Life that I wanted them. One told me to "get in line"... hahahahaha. Anyone who knows me knows that patience isn't really a strong suit of mine so he dropped off the list. I'm very particular about who I fuck and it's a short list so... that one probably isn't going to happen.

I'm very fucking excited about the prospect of a couple others, though. Especially one who shall not be named at this time. I know, have known since I first saw him, that he was the kind of man who could bring me to my knees with his confidence and his cock and I can't wait until our calendars align and we can get filthy. 

So that's where we are now in the Story of Beth... one chapter ends and another begins, as it should. 

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Open For Business

No, no, no... I'm not going to start selling myself.

I'm just checking in and letting the Second Life world know that I'm still here, and still... open.

I've talked before about how we all go through, er, spurts of activity in Second Life. Sometimes the real world draw is more than the SL draw and we don't log in for a while. I've been having more and more of those moments, it seems.
And that's certainly not a bad thing. The real world should take precedence and it's great when it's because things are good. And things have been pretty good. I think, until today, it's been a week or so since I actually bothered to log on.

But I still need my fix.

My fix of sex. Hot, steamy, wicked, wet Second Life sex.
It's a thing we crave, isn't it? The real world is great, even real world sex is great... but there is just something about a good, nasty Second Life virtual mind-fuck that brings us back again and again, isn't there?

I love the intimacy of sex in SL. The way we can be our more reptilian selves without all the real world social stigma, etc. We can let go in a way we just can't in the real world.

We can be raw. And filthy.
Right now what I'm craving is multiple partners... not necessarily all at the same time, mind you.

And also not necessarily not at the same time, either.

What I'm lusting for right now is simple and decadent no-strings-attached fucking with a variety of beautiful souls... and, yeah, beautiful avatars, too. I'm visual. I want the most handsome men, the most gorgeous women, the most beautiful transgendered people.

I want to fuck all of you... and be fucked by all of you. I want to lie on a bed and be ravished by any and all. I want to be sticky with it... sweaty and covered and filled with cum.

I want to make you explode with me... just shatter... orgasm after orgasm until we can't breathe, can't stand... until our bodies are trembling and spent.
I want to share, and be shared. Pass me from man to man... woman to woman. Gender is far less important than desire and lust.

I want to trace every inch, every crevice of your body with my tongue. Use me, and I'll use you. Cover me in bruises and hand prints and bite marks. Leave me gasping for breath in a pool of wetness.
C'mon... let's be animals together. Raw and primal and visceral. Let's ignore all the social niceties and just do what we're meant to do... fuck.

Let's get inside each other's heads and find those triggers that set us off... that launch us into the stratosphere of ecstasy. I want you inside me... I need to be inside of you.

Claw marks... teeth marks... seed and juices... wet, throbbing... veins pulsing... fucking. Just fucking. Hard. Deep. So deep it hurts so fucking good it obliterates us.
What is holding you back? I'm waiting and wanting and so primed my skin is tingling... electric.

I know I'm not the only one who craves this... who aches for it deep within their soul. The kind of fucking we humans were made for.

Just say yes. Just. Say. Yes.
And yes, this is me reaching out to you... waiting for you. Get in touch with me. Let's make it happen. You can find all the ways to contact me up above on my contact tab. Skype. Email. Reach out to me in Second Life.

You want to fuck. I want to fuck. Let's make it happen. Once, at least. Let's just be dirty. Let's use each other for what we need. 

Let's fuck.

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