The View From My Knees

I’ll admit it, I’m a MySpace junkie. Have you visited my MySpace Profile? It’s so much fun to correspond with readers, leave comments, add friends, and see when everyone is online. But I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I have another profile. Like many sex bloggers, I’ve chosen to keep my real identity a secret. At least for now. Maybe I’ll “come out” one of these days, who knows? In the meantime, I have my personal MySpace account where I show my face and display my real name. Through this profile I’ve met many wonderful, exciting, interesting friends and playmates. I’ve also been approached by many – MANY – losers. You know the ones. These are the guys that say “u” and “r” instead of “you” and “are.” They’re the ones that type ALL IN CAPITAL LETTERS AND USE LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS (!!!!!!) BUT NO OTHER PUNCTUATION SO THAT THEIR EMAIL TURNS INTO ONE LONG SENTENCE THAT NEVER SEEMS TO END. Usually I just delete these messages. Sometimes, when I’m feeling devious, I reply with some snotty remark and fuck with them a little.

Unlike many MySpace users, I have less than 30 people in my Friend List and I’ve been using MySpace for a year and a half. I’m very picky about the people I respond to. Of course, I throw out the losers. But even the nice ones have to do something to catch my eye. They need to be unique. They need to be interesting. They need to have something more to say than “Hello, how are you?” I limit my friend list to people I have met offline, or people I plan to eventually meet offline. Real friends. My motto : real life is lived offline.

But the other day I read a news story that got me thinking. A woman dated 150 people in one year. How did she do it? She went out with anyone who asked her. Why did she do it? I think you’d have to read her book to be sure, but it sounds like she was just lonely and tired of being single. Her story fascinated me. Can you imagine going out with everyone that asked you?

Now, I am neither lonely nor single, but something about her story piqued my interest. I started to wonder: What if I responded to everyone that messaged me on MySpace, and even went out with them? What kind of people would I meet? Would the “losers” still be losers in real life? Would the crass idiots be as bold in person? Would the boring nice ones have anything more to say once we’ve met? After discussing the possibilities with a few friends, I decided to find out.

I am now conducting a bit of a social experiment that I will call “The Month of Yes.” For an entire month I’m going to respond to everyone (in my area) that writes to me on my personal MySpace profile. And if they ask me out, I’ll go. Don’t get nervous, I plan to do this safely. Public places, friends on call (sometimes even by my side), and that sort of thing. I see this as an opportunity to make friends that I wouldn’t normally make. An opportunity to get into the heads of the people that don’t quite understand how to conduct themselves online. A chance to get the shy ones to come out of their shells a little.

And, you can bet, I’ll document it all right here for my devoted readers. Wish me luck!

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This may seem inappropriate, but I have a huge crush on my masseuse. I had my second session with her the other day, and by the time I left I was loose and relaxed, and my panties were wet (at least, they would have been had I been wearing any).

It’s not just her magical healing touch that turns me on. She’s absolutely adorable. Picture a friendly, sweet-as-honey Sarah Michelle Gellar from season 1 of Buffy – when she still had that look of innocence and you could imagine her eating a burger and fries every once in a while. That’s my masseuse. Now, take that tasty package and stick me in a dark room with her, only a sheet covering my naked body as her well-oiled, skilled hands work the kinks from my tired muscles. As I lie on my stomach, staring down at her delicate, well-manicured toes, I can’t help but fantasize about what it would be like to feel her touch in a more intimate way. Each time her hand brushes the side of my breasts, I wish that her touch would linger a little bit longer. The victim of a tragically busy (self-imposed) schedule, I find that the only time I am completely relaxed is while I am on her table. Even without my attraction to her, that relaxation is quite arousing.

Whether or not he or she is trained and licensed, a massage from a lover can be the ultimate aphrodisiac. It was this idea that led to my request that the Lucky Bastard give me a short massage after my workout on Saturday. I couldn’t wait to feel his hands on my body as I stripped out of my workout gear and turned on some soft music. I lit a stick of incense, closed the curtains to shut out the afternoon sun, and placed a bottle of massage oil on the bedside table. Finally, I lay face down on the bed and called him over.

Expecting only to be rubbing my neck and shoulders, he was pleasantly surprised to find me completely naked. He straddled me on the bed and began working on my aching muscles. His tender yet firm touch felt fantastic, and I couldn’t help moaning each time he reached a particularly tender muscle. That delicate combination of pleasure and pain was exhilarating. “Oh god, that feels so good,” I told him.

As the tension left my body, I began to focus on the arousal that his touch inspired. His oiled hands slithered along my naked body, sensually touching every crevice and curve.

“Would you do my front now?” I asked him. He agreed and I turned over.

He seemed to understand where this was headed. “Should I take my clothes off for this part?”

“Yes,” I told him.

After undressing, he straddled my body once again and spread oil on my skin. Then he began rubbing my breasts. I could feel myself getting wet. His hands worked their way along my stomach and down to the front of my thighs. As he rubbed the inside of my thighs, he occasionally brushed the lips of my pussy. Each time his fingers passed my clit, I closed my eyes and wished he would slide them inside of me. But he kept massaging and rubbing, teasing me. And then, finally, he did it. “Mmm,” I moaned softly. I hadn’t realized just how aroused I had become until his fingers were inside of me. I couldn’t remember the last time a fingering had felt this good. Occasionally, I had to push his hand away to keep from coming. After several minutes, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to feel his cock inside of me. I stood up and bent over the bed. My ass was high in the air, waiting for him to take me from behind. When he entered me, I gasped. It felt so good that I knew I couldn’t last long, so I savored every thrust. “That feels so good,” I moaned. “Oh fuck, yes,” I cried out.

He continued thrusting, slowly and deliberately. He reached around and gently rubbed my clit. At one point, he pulled his cock out and teased me, then slowly slid it back in. Soon, I couldn’t hold back. “I’m gonna come, baby,” I moaned, and then my orgasm overtook me. Just as I finished, he began to come, too. I loved the feeling of his cock throbbing inside of me as he shot his warm load.

Exhausted, we both crawled up onto the bed. With our arms around each other and our sticky, sweaty bodies pressed together, we fell asleep for a luxurious post-coital afternoon nap. No, my professional massages never turned out anything like this. But wouldn’t it be great if they did? Maybe one of these days…

It was really late and I was a bit tired and giddy when I recorded this one. So I babble a lot and am just generally silly. Enjoy!

The View From My Knees Podcast #3
Running time: 21:38

Links from this week’s show:

• Go vote for my blog at Fleshh.com!
• Last week’s orgasm was from the movie Amelie
• Tristan Taormino’s House of Ass
• Tristan was interviewed on In Bed with Susie Bright.
• Check out this new book of erotic photography, Femmes
• Check out this article If you want her (or him) to swallow… which I discovered on Sugasm.com.
• In this month’s issue of Exotic Underground I discovered the fabulous art of Jessica Dougherty. Check out her stuff at JessicasPinups.com.

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