The Return

I was screaming and shouting words but it was probably gibberish, nothing else mattered, I needed that cum. I felt it before he registered it. The guy blew his load in me, then continued to bury his cock to the root, and he shot again, and then again. His whole body went rigid and he hissed something like, "Shit!" But at that moment I had gone over the edge, my body locking up and shaking, going hot all over, every muscle tight, and when it all released I screamed and screamed, and it felt like I wasn't exploding, I was the explosion. I was having a fucking out of body experience, or so it seemed, because my body had blown apart into dust and I was expanding and collapsing at the same time. I flew up high and saw Jesus, and we high-fived (j/k, but it was like that).

Next thing I knew I was on my back, my head thrown back, panting like I'd run all the way from Timbuktu as fast as I could, and my body as exhausted as it would have been if I did. I had all kinds of cramps in more places than I could count, and I felt like I was on fire, inside and out. I couldn't move, I just didn't have the strength, not to even bend my knee or move my foot over a little. Couldn't breathe, exhausted, cramping with pain, weak. And laughing. I was laughing. I couldn't stop laughing, and I realized how close those two points are. You know when you're helpless and being tickled and you can't make it stop, but you beg because if it goes on you'll lose all control and pee? That last instant where you are about to die because if that tickle keeps going you'll just collapse in on yourself and explode at the same time? That tickle that is white-hot painful because it feels so damn good? Yeah, well now imagine all of that deep in your pussy, where your soul is, and - orgasm. But with an orgasm you don't want him or her to stop. You do, really, but you don't at the same time, and if you're brave enough, tough enough to take it, the reward is beyond anything imaginable.

I'm convinced that's where the soul is, by the way. Men and women, it's deep inside, where the womb is, and it's connected to your pussy and your clit and your asshole. Okay, for guys there isn't an organ, I don't think, but when your dick and your balls get scared or hurt, where do they go for comfort? Yeah, they try to climb up inside you and get close to your soul, where it's safe. Women get fucked right up by their soul, so we're good with that, but guys have to either take it up the ass, or they need to try to crawl up into a girl to get close to her's.

I can even remember, when I was younger (let's say just eighteen, shall we?) and I was close, I would actually say, "Stop, I'm going to cum." How fucked up is that? Then again, maybe my head would have exploded if I'd said, "More, faster, harder, I'm going to cum," and they'd listened. But hey, we're stupid when we're young (eighteen).

I was dying, and I loved it. I started rasping out thank you's to the guy, and he leaned over and started apologizing, saying that he didn't mean to cum in me, but he lost control. Dipshit. I'm a cum-whore. I love cum, boys or girls, to eat, drink, lick, suck, rub in, on, and over. I'll even admit that I scooped and sucked it off my fingers, rubbed it on my lips, and even on my nipples, that night. I'm not a condom kind of girl, and while I'm not happy with some of the consequences, I'm a grown up and take full responsibility for myself. But, kids, always use a condom (unless you're with me).

Okay, so the fucking was over and I took a hot shower and cleaned up, feeling better every second. Hell, I felt like I could have gotten dressed and then opened the window and flown home. I got dressed and then sat Indian-style on the bed and asked questions, the way I used to so I'd get the details right in my journal. I've included the details above where they were pertinent, except for two. One is no big deal, but it seemed important that you know that it wasn't until I'd gotten dressed and about to leave, his name was Russell.

The other thing isn't so important, though my therapist says it is. She's been trying to convince me for a long time that I was abused as a child, but I know I wasn't. She says I have a Daddy fixation, and of course I know I do. My world ended when my Daddy died. But my Daddy never touched me except as his daughter, and I never touched him. That stuff may be okay for others, but not for me and Daddy. I even let her do that hypnotic regression shit, three times, and she can't find the repressed memories. That's because they don't fucking exist. I loved my Daddy as a daughter, and he was the best Daddy I could have ever prayed for.

What my therapist wants me to point out, and I disagree, is that it was important that what I was screaming when I had my first real orgasm in almost five years was, "Fuck me, Daddy," over and over again.

Okay, I'm done for now. Actually, I'm kind of wiped. This has been quite an experience. I might not post anything for a while, or I might. I've got a life, but I love writing this stuff down, and I've learned the only way I can do that without losing it is to put it all out here where was can all share it.

Love to you all,

Teri