Who let the dogs out on youtube
He just took me from behind, the pig. I wasn't expecting it and it hurt like hell. I was 19 or 20, he was 36 and a run down writer. Journalist from Hamburg, that impressed the little girl. About the champagne too. The one with the convertible, the old one, too. That goes with the meal too. Anyway, the one with the scar. In addition, charm galore. But I wasn't stupid. I knew what he wanted, but I wasn't sure what I wanted. A guy whose shirt collar was always a little greasy? Someone who, when he was drunk, always talked about Beirut in the 80s? About how strange it was to always have to look at buying bread in the morning to see how the front line had shifted overnight, and whether the really bad militias were now checking the side of the street with the baker or the others. From the bullet holes, from the annoyed groaning when you had to go back to the basement of the hotel, but there was a bar run by a crazy Northern Irishman who always laughed and said you should spend a night in Belfast be that this is child shit. About the tattered bodies that cannot be imagined. He had seen them so often. Also in Iran a few years earlier when he was young and thought he could write the story of his life there, but the mullahs wouldn't let him and threw him out. The only thing he saw were the many men dangling from trees.
He was a real godsend at the moment. I had just been abandoned because I was bitchy. I couldn't see all these wide aisle guys putting their fingers on the sheet metal of their cars as if they were touching a woman's buttocks. And who actually only wanted to fuck so that they could tell in the shower on Monday evening after soccer that they had three fingers in their friend's cunt last Saturday, who was so horny and drunk that she swallowed it all in the end. Licked everything nice and clean, I heard someone say who didn't know I could hear it, and he grinned like after winning the lottery. They pissed me off, the boys, the hooligans, with the wide tires, but also those who suddenly grew old, who suddenly got excited about studying, studying law or business administration. Hey, I can be proud of that, it occurs to me. Never been in bed with a business graduate. Only with brokers, lawyers and other madmen. And an architect. Back then there were only boys with bad taste in music and baggy trousers. S. was different and he tore me out of my threatening mustiness. It was great to sit with him in the hotel bar and listen to his stories. It was great to hear his soft, bearish voices. It was great to have his slightly rough hands on my leg. He was a good lover and he made me happy with his happiness for moments. Sometimes he would cry after sex and then he would always say that he had never been so happy. Then he fell asleep and I was still there, with a pounding heart, with towers of thoughts that I could not remove, trapped between his legs, which held me and undecided between the desire to leave now or to wait again. I knew it couldn't go well in the long run, and I was afraid that he would suddenly say things like "Marry me". I had heard of the men in their mid / late 30s. Those were those who could never make the right decision, never for the right woman, never for children and who suddenly had to make up for everything. Children, wife, tree, house, marriage, dog, death. That was, I knew that much at the time, definitely not my number, because I wanted to go to London to have a lot of drinks in clubs and to meet distinguished English people. It went well for a couple of months. Sometimes very well, sometimes not at all. At some point he was drunk at the bar and told this story again about the young girl who was shot by a sniper in front of his eyes, maybe ten feet away, and then lay there and groaned, and he wanted to help her, but his Lebanese colleague held him back because it was a trap, because the sniper only wanted one more and the woman was the bait. His eyes were so empty, completely empty, cold coal, without emotion, and I thought, no, that doesn't work, I can't, I don't want to be the whetstone he's working on.
I must have sent S. away three times and he kept coming back. Every time more doggy to the outside, but around his eyes there was such an annoyed trait, a harshness, a lack of understanding, as I little girl could do to him, the well-traveled, who has seen everything. That didn't fit in his mind. He probably thought that on the one hand I wanted to test his decision, on the other hand wanted to have the hard way. Feel the whole man who takes what he wants when he is safe, but the woman is still standing around stupid. He must have seen too many of these films. Anyway, he started scolding me in bed. Cunt. Sow. Slut. These things. I found that extremely strange, but maybe it would have made me a little bit horny if it hadn't been for this flash in his eyes that had something to do with power and with the fact that he could get rid of his injury. I told him "stop it" and he ended up crying again. With happiness, he said. After each breakup, he did something different in bed, and I felt like a boxing match where respect was the order of the day. But not about mine, he didn't care, just his.
Penetrating my butt was one size too many. He could at least have asked beforehand and I shot out of bed like, well impaled. Not that he shouldn't have done it. I was interested in how it would feel, but not that way. Not as a proof of power. It was disrespectful. I rubbed one for him. I yelled at him to end his stupid game, but since he couldn't, I would now do it for good. Wanker! Wanker! Wanker! Get lost. I yelled at him like a fury for 10 minutes and he was lying in bed looking at me motionless as his erection collapsed. Go back to Beirut, I told him, go and lick the blood, you need that, not a woman with a child. I only got a few more half-hearted calls from him after the night. Most of them were accepted by my roommate at the time.
I only found out years later that he wasn't with the star when I met someone who was with the star, and he laughed when I fished the name out of my mind. He mumbled something about "suitors" and laughed even more when I mentioned Beirut. It's never been more south than Munich. The story with him fell apart more and more as I continued to drill and ordered gin at high frequency. Nothing Iran, nothing Beirut, nothing at all. As far as the colleague could remember, S. was known for overshooting his expenses and delivering late. Little stories, heart-painful fate things like "Woman loses all children in an accident" and things like that. 30 lines. Nothing. Nobody knew where he got the money for his way of life, but nobody was interested, Hamburg was probably no different then than it is today. As long as you have a car like that, as long as you can pay for your drinks and eat well, everything will be in order for as long as you can. He also didn't know what had become of S. Halt disappeared.
It was a long time ago, but it still hurt when I heard the story through that stupid coincidence. I felt somehow sorry for him then. How much effort must have gone into making up these stories, how afraid of being discovered. How many thoughts at night, alone, whether the lies. And suddenly I realized that he had never cried because of me, but because of his lies. He had never cried with happiness, but with fear and shame and maybe also because of the knowledge that he would never have pure innocent happiness because he would screw it up again and again with his lies from the beginning. Not that I wasn't lied to afterwards. Something like that is part of general sport. But never more so consistently, never more so creative, never more so desperate as S.
ran. do you want to do?
and sometimes it just doesn't work
The text is too long for me. Oh I'm wrong here, dat isja one year old here everything. Totally defeated.
claudia has a sheepdog ... [..]
[...] because it was totally resinified [...]
something like that.
It's a shame, because I came across the blog a few years too late!
Very cool stories! :)
As the previous speaker wrote "Stupid ran": D
he still had to take the calls
What can you do. You don't do anything. It's no fun doing something either, because it's for the cat anyway. Just like writing some comments.
Oh yes. The roommate was happy to take my phone calls. The only thing that happened in his life back then.
I once had something for 3 months with a student who hitchhiked me, although she actually lived in Scheessel and I in bothel. In any case, when I was 17 I always hung out with her, that her roommate was her ex-boyfriend and, quite annoyed with me, I only noticed very late in my enthusiasm, but I didn't care at the time. I think it would be different today.
@ dr. nemo
That reminds me a little of the great film "Acid House" ... only in a less pronounced form. Have a look at it, maybe you draw parallels !?
It's wonderful that the guy thought it all up:
much more fascinating than if he had really experienced it ...
that moves the perspective straight ...
In the end, the story becomes a bit maudlin and soapy. The girl admired the man, his courage, experience, strength and therefore sought closeness to him. This activated her imagination to become stronger herself. After most of it turned out to be a whisper in the end, anything but pity would have been an appropriate response, a good deal of anger for example. The soapy and soapy comes from the fact that "being led around by the nose" is an offense for the girl that she does not want to admit to herself or even to others. Before she castrates him, the assfucker, she prefers to fall into social feelings. Very commendable!
Anal intercourse is overrated anyway.
one does not feel that one would rather have a stomachache.
A matter of taste, I dare say. My friend always expressed your opinion before she tried it for the first time. I haven't heard from her since.
It takes me damn shit so long to understand the story that the woman means by "from behind": "in the ass". I read the whole story just to find out why someone who fucks "from behind" is a bastard in their eyes - after all, I like it from behind, even if not in the ass, but Madam probably expresses herself awkwardly so that you can Thing reads to the end - or what? Almost like her "suitor" from the other star - I think.
This is probably due to different coinage. It was clear to me from the start. So I don't think that the ne guerrilla literary tactic was to increase the tension. Please define your use of "suitor", its meaning and implication in connection with the story / author! Is something out of place here - I think.
he just took me from behind ...... beautiful
Unfortunately, I came across this blog eleven years late. It's a shame because these erotic stories are exactly what I'm looking for .... :-(
And what now? Went under the badly fucked bread spiders? Or even among the unbuckled? Lost? Lost? Forgot your blog password and locked yourself out? Got married? Purified? Or just fed up?
I guess Look full of every product of the extremely ingenious gene pool of the genus Homo Sapiens (haha) that I ran along, to be analyzed, judged and commented on.
that makes sense. What are you laughing at?
I find it difficult to see the Sapiens (clever or wise) in the designation of our species as anything other than the product of an extremely black humor. Especially if it is also used twice.
so ominous, your laughter, but it is understandable, I think anything other than laughter is out of the question here.
The Gosseratz is a real joker.
Someone / and every woman who does not turn off the comment function in their blog is probably not so tired of these comments on the one hand as on the other hand cool on comments, why else would woman want to post bird stories with the comment function switched on? Only asking for approval? That would be like unwanted sex from behind (for the reader, I mean now!)
Yes, I am very Lusdian. Hahaha ... damn it, it just can't be conveyed authentically through this medium.
Hmm, I guess I got the emphasis wrong. It was on "EVERYONE ran along uh surfed product". Of course you can also blablabla with options on a private blog.
Hmm, did you remember the sorcerer's apprentice? Like "I can't get rid of the ghosts I called" or something like that? Never done things that you thought were particularly stupid shit in retrospect?
By and large, however, I am referring to this comment
Which was pretty much the last thing the lady heard from her, couldn't you infer a certain weariness?
Finally, there are also some comments here like unwanted sex from behind (the sentence fragment seems to be really hard to deal with).
can also be switched off afterwards.
The point is more likely that the comments were not as desired / expected.
criticism has to be accepted first.
Maybe a shift, an internal one? Then maybe the feelings were real.
All in all, a well-rounded story! Such experiences are what make life worth living.
I want to briefly say something about how I found your (or your?) Blog .... I just zapped through the Pro7 teletext (yes, I know how poor) and this blog is pointed out on the main page !? Do you have a contract with them?
birth - school - work - death
i feel something
If you don't want to, you have to say it now!
Art is conscious creativity. Creativity is addition.
Happiness is a salad diet and a book by Dr Atkins.
but how are you going? Is there anything else? Where is she?
Is it the case that one can only have pure happiness without lying?
That was probably under the influence of "Operation Dinner out", if this film had already existed back then.
But a remarkable story and also a cool number: Lebanon, Beirut, civil war. What a guy ;-)
Last update: 2/28/20 10:57 AM
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