Post #300

Blog started at: 187lb's
Weight today: 125.2 (faaaaattttyyyy from binge, yesterday)
Time I've had the blog: 1 year, 1 month, 10 days (I think?)
Posts to date: 300, apparently.

Hoorah.
I write way too much.




Lusty McLusterson--Awesome McCocksome--SmellGood Fragarson--aka, G (the guy I wrote the "OMFG I NEED TO MAKE PASSIONATE NOMFUL SEXINGS WITH HIS FLESH!" entry about) told me today that I should have given him my number sooner, because he thinks we should have hung out last night smoking Hookah. I, for one, am in complete agreement with this observation.
I'm a little surprised. A little confused.
I pondered the thought that perhaps--perhaps!--he likes me as much as I like him.
Maybe, just maybe, the interest is returned....

It confused me.
I actually had to sit back.
Consider this prospect.
Could it be?
Could it really be?





Damn it. I'm into him.

I can deny it all I like, and trust me, I'm denying it pretty hard. But the fact still remains that I, the lover of the pink taco, the efficianado of breasts, likes something that is sorely lacking in both. Now, granted, I have played around with the idea before, and have even gone on dates with people who lack both. But I've never lusted. His sister is a lesbian, which put a whole kink in the situation (what if I wind up wanting to latch onto his sister??), but today, sitting there and talking to him, I realized that even knowing I could have him with boobs if I aimed for the sister...I wanted him just as he was.
Which was strange.
There's always something I want to change people.

I don't with him.
He has big ears. He has strong features. He has an oddly shaped head. And I adore it. He has a body that's a little out of proportion, and a voice that's deep as sin, and somehow, he wears all of it perfectly well. He seems insecure, and a little wounded. A good man who's currently got a bit of bad influence, and sitting here at my other job, I can still smell his cologne on me just from sitting across the desk from him. Typically, when there's a chance a guy likes me back, I stop liking them, and get bored. I like men only as long as I can chase them, but once i have them, I'm on to the next. Women, I like, so long as I can own them. Once they fight back...
...well, that just makes it all the more fun, doesn't it?
Hoorah possessive qualities.

But with him, I didn't want to run away or be bored when I realized I might be able to have him.
I wanted to pursue him more.
I wanted to take his hands--large and fucking strong (he can squeeze together 300lb's worth of resistance with one hand)--and kiss over his palms and all the callouses. I wanted to rub the back of his neck, or wrap my arms around him from behind while he sat, and see him look at me with the affection that just irritates me coming from others. Part of me felt the urge to kick the display on the desk aside and demand, "Why are we still playing this? We both know where this is going. Let's just say fuck it and act like we're meant to."




It's an odd feeling.
Like I can see the outcome of events if things go well, and I know that I want it to be there. I can screw it up still. But I want to jump through the introductions and straight to the good part. Straight to where I don't have to hold back if I want to straddle his hips and bite his Adam's Apple and hear his deep voice rumble out in a helpless, breathless, needy, pleading moan. Straight to where he doesn't have to worry about grabbing me leaving bruises, because fuck, I like the idea that he's strong enough to bruise me. That he could throw me, toss me, man handle me, and fuck me within an inch of my life if he so chose to.
He was complaining his last ex hated the marks he left, and he never meant to do it--she was anemic, and he forgets his own strength sometimes.
I was shocked at how hungry the idea of that made me. I wanted to tell him that if he gave them to me, I wouldn't be angry, or even hide them--on the contrary, I'd demand he left them where everyone could see. Fingerprints around my wrists, bites on my shoulders, grip marks on my arms...the very thought of being physically marked and claimed makes something primitive in me shiver with delight.

I like instincts. I like baseless, senseless, vicious lust and hunger. I like what we become when we forget about principles or expectations and just follow what we think would feel good.




He's a good guy, too.
I see it in him.
I don't know why. He hasn't done anything exceptional. But things he says makes me think it. But more than that, it's instinct. I'm around him, and I watch him, and just how he acts is considerate. He moves in a way that doesn't speak of arrogance that's naturally born, but something that's learned. He speaks in a way of someone who's been damaged, and could be dangerous, but could also be good. Someone who is, at the core, a good person. And I think...I think perhaps the reason I'm so intrigued by him...
...I feel like I could be proud of him.
Like I could truly, truly respect him.
Like there could be more than lust.
Like there could be true affection.
Appreciation.
Respect.

He wouldn't walk behind me, but beside me, and I would do the same.
I like to hear him talk.
To listen to him.

It doesn't damage shit that his voice is just straight up god damned sexy.
Hot damn.






Annnnd post 300 is about a boy.






Also
MADNESS?
THIS
IS
SPAAARTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!