Cowboy Momo

Femme lesbian for femme

[cowboymomo]

please tell me when you think of me while you touch yourself

I wish there was a socially acceptable way for women to tell other women that they thought about them when they touched themselves.

I want to know all the details.

Who did it?

How many times did she do it?

Did something I did trigger her to do it, or is it more of a routine thing?

What EXACTLY AND IN GREAT DETAIL was she thinking about while she did it?

What did it feel like?

Is she interested in trying it with me for real?

It’s not fair that women have touched themselves while thinking of me, but I will never get to know ANY of these juicy details.

[cowboymomo]

Conversely, I wish there was a socially acceptable way for ME to tell other women I masturbated about THEM.

There’s this one girl in particular, tall pale goth Morticia Addams type and she’s into swords and armor.

She posted a bikini pic, and ever since then, she’s been my go to. Daily.

I want her to know that her thirst trap worked on me, and now I think about licking down the black butterfly between her boobs multiple times a week.

And don’t get me started about the spiderweb around her belly button.

[cowboymomo]

please tell me when you think of me while you touch yourself

I wish there was a socially acceptable way for women to tell other women that they thought about them when they touched themselves.

I want to know all the details.

Who did it?

How many times did she do it?

Did something I did trigger her to do it, or is it more of a routine thing?

What EXACTLY AND IN GREAT DETAIL was she thinking about while she did it?

What did it feel like?

Is she interested in trying it with me for real?

It’s not fair that women have touched themselves while thinking of me, but I will never get to know ANY of these juicy details.

[cowboymomo]

Gender is a social construct and that’s why I don’t like men very much lol

In theory, I’m open to romance with any gender. In practice, I tend to rarely be attracted to any men I know in real life. Sometimes, especially when I’m ovulating, I fantasize about men and pay attention to them in porn, but it’s very rare that I meet a man a feel interested him enough to even want to get to know him better on a platonic level, much less a romantic or sexual level.

That being said, my attraction to women isn’t simple, either. I tend to be much more interested in women from an innocent curiousity standpoint. For example, I often want to know more about certain women or be their friend. However, it’s still not very common for me to be super attracted to that many women that I know in real life. I can find a woman attractive without actually being attracted to her.

Maybe I’m just misunderstanding what attraction is, though. To me, it seems like most of my friends see a pretty woman they like, and immediately want to kiss her, touch her, flirt with her, etc. For me, it takes a lot of observation time for me to even feel like I want to flirt, much less go any further. So maybe I just need more time to warm up, and really my initial stages of attraction is that interest I feel to know more about someone or the urge to really be a pretty woman’s friend. So overall, I would say that my attraction to men and even just masculinity in general tends to be naturally less than my attraction to women and femininity. Because I’m VERY interested in women and femininity, and I couldn’t care less about men and masculinity. However, while watching porn recently, I’ve been focusing on letting go of my labels of gender, and just seeing if the image arouses me. And yes, men do physically arouse me sometimes, although maybe to a lesser extent than the women. But more often than I would expect considering I do not fucking care at all about men most of the time. So I’m kind of realizing that a large part of what I dislike about men is simply the way they’re socialized.

Like although it’s true that men and women are a lot more similar than the red pillers would have you believe, and although it IS true that gender is mostly a social construct, it’s still a social construct, and that changes how a person is treated, which in turn changes what a person thinks and believes, and how they behave.

A cis hetero man has no clue what it feels like to be a woman walking down the street of a city alone. When the street is deserted at night, it feels terrifying, like I’m one shadowy ally away from rape or murder. That’s how it feels if you’re alone, if it’s you and only one man, then that’s terrifying in a different way. It feels like maybe he’s just a normal dude, but let’s just assume he’s a real threat to your safety just in case. And your heart rate and stress and all the negative side effects affect your body just the same as it he WAS a murderer or a rapist even if he was the nicest guy on earth. Stress doesn’t know the difference between real or imagined danger.

If it’s a GROUP of men at night, times that feeling of stress and terror and anxiety by 7 per man basically. But even if it’s a group of men during daylight, that’s an issue, too. Something about being in groups makes men feel like they can say anything to you. Sometimes it even gives them the urge to actually say something to you, because they’re trying to show off or joke around with their friends. Q

There’s the stereotype of construction workers catcalling ladies who walk by their work site, and that stereotype is actually super accurate a lot of the time. MOST of the time I walk by a bunch of construction workers, I get uncomfortably stared at by most of them. Most of the time I walk down any fucking street I get uncomfortably stared at by men, but when it’s an entire GROUP of men all staring at you TOGETHER at the same time, that’s a totally different feeling. It’s wayyy more awkward, way more uncomfortable, way more humiliating even. Kind of makes you feel like a piece of meat.

And staring is the least of what they do. Often there’s catcalling. Sometimes it’s as harmless as some “hey mamas” and some snickering. But other times it’s worse. More inappropriate. More humiliating. You get the gist. I’ll admit, I’m good looking, but I’m no Marilyn Monroe. I’ve got a nice body, and when I’m all done up, I’ve certainly got some sex appeal, but it doesn’t actually matter that much what I’m wearing or how good I look.

When I worked retail, there’d be days I came into the job late, hungover, dressed poorly, hair dirty and messy, no makeup, sick, honestly just truly disgusting and gremlin looking. I still got attention from men. In fact, a particularly disgusting look of mine got enough attention from one man that he came up to the register, and insisted I let him be my sugar daddy, and did not give up until I called security. These are just some examples of what it feels like to be watched every single day every single place you go no matter how you look. Not watched because I’m loved or understood or appreciated, watched because I’m something they want to fuck. Not someone, but something. And that’s just ONE aspect of how being a woman is different from being a man. And I didn’t even fully explain it. There’s countless more. How your social worth is tied mostly to your level of physical attractiveness from men, which is dictated by capitalist corporations who exist to shove ideas that you’re not good enough down your throat so that you’ll continue buying their 74 fucking dollar serum. How mistreatment from men is most often blamed on women for dressing too “slutty” instead of holding the men accountable for how they treat women. The difference between how even grown men treat you after you hit puberty, which often happens in the tweens or very early teenage years (I was fucking 11). That’s just 3 I could name off the top of my head.

I don’t think even the most feminist, well meaning man could ever possibly understand what it means to be a woman without having transitioned, been a woman, walked in our shoes and literally experienced what we experience every fucking day. You can read books and watch movies and listen to your female friends, and pls do all of that. But it’s still a lot different from actually living it.

And that’s not just a man thing, that applies to women to, after all, gender is a social construct. I don’t think women can understand women issues until they experience them. For example, when I was in high school, I lived in a small conservative town, and did not often go into public without my family outside of school. I was not very often catcalled or gawked at during this time.

In high school, I truly thought I knew what it meant to be objectified, but really, I didn’t. I hadn’t experienced it enough to fully know what it feels like, what it does to a person.

I hadn’t yet walked the 15 minute walk down the street from my apartment to my job in a busy city alone to know what it feels like to have been stared at by 10 different men in that time and catcalled by 2. Every fucking time. It’s enough to drive you crazy, make you feel like you’re never alone or anonymous or safe or respected. I couldn’t leave the house without being gawked out. But I wasn’t even living in a house, I was living in a tiny, studio apartment. No rest, ever.

Even if you’ve read this entire post thoroughly, and really put yourself in my shoes, empathized with me, it’s not the same as having lived it. Your blood pressure wasn’t spiked day after day, week after week, month after month. Micro aggressions, yes, but aggressions just the same. Maybe it doesn’t rip me apart the way that something worse would, the way that some women actually do get harmed by men. But slowly, little by little, they wear you down.

So yeah, I really hyper focused on the catcalling gawking side of things just because I was out and about in a city this weekend and was catcalled a bunch. I was wearing a simple button down shirt, thrifted so it was too big for me, not form fitting at all, and some shorts. A simple casual outfit. I got asked for my number once, a man drove by and yelled out the window, “god damn baby”, i walked past 2 men who stopped as I walked by to turn their heads to look at me and snicker to each other, a man stopped me to ask me the time and THEN if I want to go back to his place down the block to smoke some weed with him, those are just some interactions I can name off the top of my head.

But it’s not just about the catcalling, it’s also about so much more. I was just hyper focused on that. It’s just like, I can’t really stand how men walk through life with so much privilege and don’t even fully realize it?? How everything is a little bit easier for them, but they don’t fully understand that you worked just as hard or even harder than them to get less far?? How they don’t feel fear or annoyance every single public place they go because of unwanted and often inappropriate attention??? Even the most well meaning man can’t truly get it. Even the most well meaning, feminazi teenage GIRL won’t get it until it fully happens to her (objectification and stuff like that does happen to many women during and even before teenage years, I’m talking about the ones who were protected from it). And also they’re just less interesting to me in general lmfao.

But as a woman who was raised VERY Catholic in a VERY Catholic family who I love VERY much who I wanted to fit in with, I did not want to be queer. I do not see the potential for me to not like women. I tried REALLY hard not to, and I couldn’t. I DO see the potential for me to like men, though. I can appreciate a man’s body (although it has to be truly immaculate, muscular and chiseled like it was carved by Michelangelo in marble (so basically the body of any man who might still be reading this will not be hot enough to feel even the slightest bit of attraction to it). Sometimes, I like the idea of being fucked by a man. I’ve even had very close guy friends who I think I could marry and have a pretty happy life with.

But I think the reason why I’m no longer very interested in doing that (besides the fact that I’m better at accepting the gay thot I am and healing from my trauma) is because the way they were socialized just gets on my fucking nerves. Masculinity gives me the ick, and it’s not very interesting to me at all. Sorry to masc lesbians even. I celebrate that y’all are being true to yourselves, but it’s just not something I tend to be very interested in at all. So even though I do believe gender is a social construct, and I do see some potential for me to enjoy romantically and sexually interacting with men, I’m still not that interested in pursuing any of that.

lol sorry I’m adhd and also I think maybe autistic??? So it helps me figure out my own feelings by going on super deep dive rants like that. Thanks if you read this far, I hope it made you feel seen, understood, loved, appreciated, heard, validated, accepted, etc.

[14fucks]

something about absentmindedly playing with a girls pussy while lounging on a couch high out of our minds, lazily edging her close to a release and then licking my fingers clean before grazing them over her thigh and back to her clit without even moving my eyes from the shitty horror movie we're watching. something about a pretty girl in a t shirt and cute underwear with her legs spread over my lap trying to just get a release, whiny and wet, jerking her hips into the air for something literally anything while i use her pussy as a thing to keep my hands busy. something about telling her to be quieter, shush baby im tryna watch the movie, cant hear the dialogue over you. something about playing with her nipples under her shirt with the cold air hitting her open needy pussy. something about the movie ending and finally she thinks she's gonna get to be fucked, to cum after over an hour of aimless lazy teasing, only to start the sequel.

[cowboymomo]

How THIS Hairy Italian American Woman Learned to Love, Accept, and Even Be TURNED ON BY Her Body Hair

I grew up super ashamed of my body hair. It was thicker than most women, thicker than many men’s even. Thick and wiry, it hurts like hell when it regrows. Itches like crazy. Every single time. Shaving bumps are pretty much impossible to avoid when I try for a clean shave. And I’m prickly within hours.

So why did I shave when it was basically a never ending battle between me and my body hair??? Wasting countless hours in the tub every night, only to be filled with razor burn and stubble just hours afterwards when I woke up in the morning?

Disgust and shame.

I’ve had friends coil back in disgust after touching my legs that were shaven just last night, talking about how it feels so sharp like glass. Things like this were a common occurrence. Not to mention the constant messaging from the media that smooth, bare legs are the pinnacle of beauty, and that rough, hairy legs like mine are naturally are disgusting.

I finally got over my hatred of my body hair when I grew it out during covid. My leg hair was crazy thick, almost just as thick as my Italian American brother’s. So much thicker than the average man’s.

My family was not as accepting about my new acceptance of my body hair, though, and my mom gifted me some laser hair removal. It felt like a micro aggression to be honest. Due to my shame, frustration, and pain caused by shaving, I had begged for laser hair removal during my teen years, but my mom always (rightfully) told me that we couldn’t afford it. When I finally accepted my hairy legs enough to stop shaving, suddenly my mom was able to find enough money for laser hair removal? It made me feel like she found my legs disgusting enough to do something about.

But I went along with it anyways, so now it’s not quite so thick. Still sucks to shave, but now there’s a lot less hair follicles, so it sucks a lot less.

I’d still say that even after laser hair removal, I’m hairier than the average woman. But maybe not hairier than the average man, now.

Except now, I feel comfortable with my body hair. I go out in public in shorts unashamed of the stubble on my legs. Gone are the nightly shaving torture sessions, now I go weeks in between shaves. So often, it’s not just stubble on my legs, but long, grown out, thick wiry hairs. But I wear them in public just the same without a thought to what anyone thinks.

So that’s how I learned how to accept my body hair. Exposing myself to it first in the privacy of my own home. Making friends with it. Then, when I was ready, exposing the world to it. Not everyone received my hairy legs kindly. For example, I ran into a friend’s mom (who was also my 9th grade English teacher) when my legs were at the height of their hairiness, before I had gotten laser hair removal.

I thought I noticed some surprise and disgust from her when she saw my legs, and later, when I told my friend about it, she confirmed that her mom had talked about it to her.

At the time, her reaction kind of bothered me. But now I pity her. How sad is it that a 50 year old woman STILL isn’t able to see through the brainwashing that the patriarchy as well as the capitalist beauty industry has forced upon her? That she still hates body hair enough to not be able to hide her disgust when she sees it on the body of one of her daughter’s friends, one of her students? Very sad.

You’re going to run into uncomfortable situations like this one if you do something like this. After all, the world is just as conditioned to hating women’s body hair as you are. However, the difference between a healthy, well adjusted woman like me who is able to love herself despite the world trying to convince her she’s disgusting, and a bitter, judgmental old lady who makes everyone around her including herself insecure like my friend’s mom, the difference between us lies in our reaction to the world’s judgments.

Most American women face very similar judgements. You have to be skinny, but also curvy. Not TOO skinny, not TOO curvy. You have to have flawless skin, look pretty without makeup on. You have to be hairless, blemish free, soft, smooth, sweet, and more. So much more. And you have to do it all effortlessly, or else you’re a try hard, high maintenance, bitch.

I hate to say it, girls, but you can’t change the world. The average American is going to hold all of those same, toxic beliefs about women as pushed onto us by the media. Perhaps they’ll hold even more, niche ones that you don’t even know about. Perhaps they’ll think you’re disgusting because your thighs touch instead of having a gap in between them, or whatever bodily micro trend is popular right now. Of course, I’m talking about men, but also women, too. Women, too will enforce these unfair beauty standards. Often, they’re the harshest enforcers of all. Self hate is often stronger and louder than misogyny. It’s more personal.

This isn’t a story of how my hairy legs suddenly became beautiful and accepted by the world. This is a story of how I learned to accept my hairy legs as they are, without needing the world’s approval and admiration to allow myself permission to love my hairy legs.

Maybe people still find my hairy legs disgusting. If they do, I haven’t noticed in a really long time. Gone are the days when I’m so uncomfortable with myself that I’m on the lookout for people who are disgusted by the things I’m insecure about. And that makes it a lot easier to not notice them, to prance, no, STRUT, through life without a care in the world.

That doesn’t mean that some people don’t find my legs disgusting, though. But now I realize that I don’t need anyone to be pleased by my legs. Now I realize that I don’t even WANT random men on the streets to lust after my smooth hairless legs. (Men on the streets will lust after ANYTHING, though, so unfortunately, my hairy legs don’t stop them). I don’t need even normal, woman respecting men to lust after my hairless legs, either. My body does not exist for the pleasure of others. Maybe that’s easy for me to say, after all, I’m basically a lesbian. But my body does not exist for the pleasure of ANYONE, not men, not women, not even my partner, not even myself.

My body is just a body. It houses my consciousness, holds all my organs, does other things. Idk I’m not a doctor. My legs are just legs. They get me from point a to point b. They’re tools that help me do things.

And my body hair is just hair. It simply exists. The fact that it exists indicates that maybe there’s survival benefits to the body hair, I don’t really know them well enough to list them.

And my body is not the only woman’s body to grow a lot of thick, wiry, dark hair. It’s a lot more common than you think. It’s so easy to assume that just because most of the girls around you don’t struggle as much with their body hair, that means you’re alone, a freak with some kind of issue like testosterone imbalance or something.

No, even if it’s irregular in your social circle, that doesn’t mean it’s irregular on a global scale. It just means that maybe, the majority of people around you come from backgrounds where body hair isn’t as thick, Anglo Saxon, or East Asian, or something like that.

There’s plenty of ethnicities that ARE naturally hairy, though. Italian, Indian, Persian, Arab, these are just a few ethnicities I can name off the top of my head that have a reputation for having hairier women.

It’s not a design flaw if an entire population shares a common trait. It’s likely an evolutionary adaptation to some environmental condition that actually helps those women prosper.

And another thing: the very existence of your hairy legs indicates that there were woman ancestors who came before you who were just as hairy as you, who someone found sexy enough to fuck and make a baby. Even if your hairiness comes from your dad’s side, there’s hairy women on his side who were fucked to make him, or his grandfather, or his great grandmother, and so on and so forth. Not that the point of your hairy legs is to make you fuckable, but we’re all human, and it’s a human urge to want to fuck and be fucked, so don’t worry, hairy legs are fuckable, too.

I told you the story of how I learned to accept my hairy legs, now let me tell you the story of how I came to find my hairy legs fuckable.

I love porn. Not the porn industry, and not the male gazey porn, no. But some nice, raw footage of some amateurs fucking passionately and lovingly??? Sign me up.

I have a couple favorite porn stars, but the most special one to me isn’t a star. She goes by the stage name Luna Silver for her lesbian porn, and I think Aaeyesha for her straight porn??? I don’t know, I’m into the lesbian porn obviously.

I believe Luna silver is Persian (forgive me if I’m wrong, I thought I read that somewhere). The first thing I really loved about her was her amazingly thick eyebrows, her beautiful curly hair, her beautiful eyes, teeth, nose, and smile.

Here’s a photo she posted recently on her Instagram to illustrate her insane levels of beauty.

You don’t really see women as beautiful as Luna Silver much in porn. Yeah, you see plenty of very hot and sexy women, but Luna Silver is beautiful in a unique way, a way you’d see more among actresses and models than among porn stars.

So that’s what first got me interested in her. The second thing was her cute voice and personality, which I was able to experience because thankfully ersties makes some really high quality porn that isn’t so male gazey, and it includes interviews with the women before the porn starts to give you some emotional context for the porn.

But little did I know that my new porn crush was going to heal my body hair insecurity. Because even though I accepted it, I thought the best that could happen for me was that I was able to find a partner who tolerated it and accepted it like I did.

Toleration and acceptance is not love. This is cheesy, but Taylor Swift’s song Tolerate It actually does a fantastic job of illustrating that. Toleration certainly isn’t lust.

And I’m the type of girl who likes to be lusted after by the RIGHT people. Not by any men, no, not by just any woman, but I REALLY want to turn on the woman I love. Really any woman who turns me on, I feel a natural urge to want to turn her on. I’m only human.

So my attitude towards my hairy legs of simply tolerance was not enough for me. I needed to lust after them. Feel turned on by them.

And that’s where Luna Silver comes in. In most of the videos I’ve seen of hers, she keeps her body hair natural and unshaven. Pubic hair, leg hair, arm hair, armpit hair, even belly hair.

This is actually the first time I ever saw belly hair on a woman in porn. And the funny thing is, it turned me on. I didn’t tolerate it about Luna Silver. I found it sexy as fuck. I wanted to touch it. Feel it. Fuck her with it on her. Appreciate her as she is. Body hair and all.

Thank you Luna Silver, for the natural haired porn that you made. It healed me. I needed to experience lusting after a hairy woman to be able to lust after my own hairy body.

Those people who say porn is ruining people are wrong. Yeah, the wrong kind of porn consumed in the wrong way can give a person some psychological issues. But that doesn’t mean all porn is bad. Porn like ersties helped heal my own insecurities. We need more representation in every aspect of media, even porn. We need fat woman porn, acne woman porn, average woman porn, hairy woman porn. We need to see that every body can be pleasured and can bring their partner pleasure. Because nothing is inherently good or bad. Nothing is inherently sexy or disgusting. That’s all just some cultural nonsense that society filters everything though.

So yeah, anything you feel insecure about, I’d suggest first coming to accept it by exposing yourself to it. If you’re fat, you can start by appreciating fat women fashion influencers on Instagram. Then you can start putting on a cute outfit and looking in the mirror at yourself, learning to love yourself as you are.

Then you can showcase your insecurity to the world, a little at a time. It’s going to be hard, people will judge you and give you a hard time. You’re going to get discouraged, feel bad, embarrassed, and insecure. But keep on exposing your insecurity until it no longer hurts as bad. One day, it might not hurt at all.

But don’t stop there, learn how to lust after your insecurity so that you can realize that your insecurity will actually turn the right people on. The way I did that was by watching lesbian porn with hairy women in it. You might not be sold at first glance the way I was with Luna Silver. That’s okay, keep watching. Find more examples, as many as you can. Try to find what is beautiful about the woman, even if you still feel disgust about her hairiness or her fatness or whatever insecurity of yours you see on her. Find what is sexy about her despite her hairiness first if you have to. Then little by little, start trying to see sexiness in the hairiness. You’d be surprised how sexy it can be.

Straight women: I’m sorry, I think this approach WILL be easier for queer women than it is for you. Queer women already find women sexy. However, I don’t think it will be impossible for you to do this approach, and I think it will still be worthwhile. Just a little harder, and it might take more time. That’s okay.

Even if you’re disgusted by vaginas, open your mind. I was so disgusted by vaginas when I first started watching porn, that I would physically cringe when any shot focused on a vagina. And I’m a lesbian. I learned over a course of a long time to appreciate vaginas and find them sexy. But you don’t even have to find vaginas sexy to benefit from this approach. It’s more, if you can appreciate the beauty of a woman, have a girl crush, then you’re capable of seeing women as sexy even with your insecurity on her. Maybe you won’t need porn to be able to see your insecurity as hot. Maybe just Instagram photos of women with your insecurity will work. But don’t rule out porn just because you’re not a lesbian. Plenty of straight women enjoy lesbian porn. It’s often more focused on women’s pleasure than straight porn is.

Anyways, I really hoped this helped you hairy girls like me out. Please leave comments and stuff with related stories and experiences related to accepting your insecurities. Or even about being shunned for your insecurities and how that felt. Let’s uplift and support each other.

Also, I fully realize that the photos I posted of my own legs are not at all hairy. However, these specific photos are significant to my story because my pubic hair was peeking out of my bikini bottoms.

I was spending a weeks vacation at the beach, and it was that time of the week that not a bikini in the world could hide what was happening with my bikini line. And not a razor in the world could chop the thick wiry hairs down. So my options were to wear some shorts or wear my pubic hair proudly.

This was earlier this summer, and I had already learned to lust after my body hair, MOST ESPECIALLY my pubic hair, but I was still embarrassed by pubic hair peeking out of bikini bottoms in public. It felt a little crass and awkward to me, still.

But that day was the first day I was able to see my bikini line as what it is: hair. End of story. It’s not crass, unsightly, anything to hide or be ashamed of. No need to cover it up for the sake of you or others. It’s fine the way it is.

And actually, I took those photos because my own hairy bikini line was actually turning me on in that moment. So who knows, maybe those photos can turn you on, too. If you’re a woman who hates her own body hair but is turned in by my photos of my own pubic hair above, PLS PLS PLS share that information with me. It would make all my struggles totally with it, because it helped another fellow struggler out, too.

And also I’m kind of an exhibitionist and it’s hot as fuck to be appreciated by women.

Love you, bye

[cowboymomo]

This is a photo of me. 25 femme for femme

All I want is for a woman to make be beg her to fuck me. I am very bratty, so I will not give in easily. I want her to tease me until I can’t take it anymore. Until I’m dripping, shaking, needy. I want her to get off on how needy I am. I want her to be willing and able to do anything to please me. But before she starts pleasing me, I NEED her to tease me.

I want to adore her, and also to be adored. I want to fuck every day as we bask in our mutual adoration. Multiple times a day when possible. For hours at a time.

When we’re not fucking, I want her to still tease me. Suggestive looks across the dinner table, brush against my ass at the grocery store as she’s reaching up to grab something out the aisle. Slip her hands in my pants the second we get a moment alone just to feel how wet she keeps me all day long.

I’ll tease her, too, she couldn’t stop me if she tried. Not that she’d ever truly try, I drive her crazy in the best way possible. I’m constantly buying new lingerie to surprise her with as I innocently bend over in front of her to tie my shoes while wearing my short skirt. Sometimes I’m wearing nothing underneath at all, and I keep it truly random just to keep her on her toes. Small bites and licks randomly when no one is looking. Soft kisses everywhere except where she wants them most.

I also want soft, sweet moments. Steamy Saturday nights that turn into sleepy Sunday mornings. We cook breakfast together, and we decide to spend the rest of the day naked cuddling in bed, talking about nothing, dozing off for a while, lazy fucking when we wake up. Maybe we watch a movie we both have been wanting to see, with a plan of analyzing it together afterwards.

During the movie, she spoons me from behind, and lazily fondles me the entire time. She’s fully engrossed in the movie though, while I’m fully on edge, can think of nothing else but her hand cupping my breast as her thumb lazily tweaks back and forth across my nipple. The other hand plays with my pubic hair, rubbing my pubic mound occasionally, and even once in a while running a finger down my slit. I can’t help but grind my ass back into her, but she chides me when I get too excited, so I have to settle for barely even moving my hips, to the point where my movement is nearly undetectable. Not quite undetectable though, she just pretends not to notice because secretly she’s eating my desperate ass grinding up.

As soon as the movie is over, I turn around and attack her neck, grab the hand that’s been playing with the stretch mark on my thighs, and shove it between my legs, start humping it with all my might. She pretends to be shocked, like she doesn’t know what’s gotten into me. Makes me stop for a minute to analyze the movie with her like we had planned. Of course I have no idea what happened past the first 5 minutes of the movie. She pretends to be astounded, disappointed with me that I wasn’t paying any attention because she was truly excited to hear my thoughts. But she’s also quite pleased with herself for keeping me preoccupied so easily the entire 120 minutes, I can see it in that little smirk on her face, and I desperately want to wipe it off her face with my cunt.

She explains the entire movie to me in great detail, drawing the whole explanation out, prolonging the time between me and those fingers I want shoved up my pussy. Honestly the movie sounds super good, her analysis is of course super interesting and insightful, I definitely wish she would’ve let me pay attention.

She sees the annoyance written all over my face, and innocently asks me what’s wrong, pretends to be concerned as touches her forehead to mine and brushes my hair off my cheek. I tell her she knows what she did. She plays, dumb though, so I know she’s going to make me say it, and I give in easily, don’t even give her the satisfaction of playing her little back and forth game. I tell her that I’m ready for her to fuck me. That I’ve been ready since the end of the opening act, and my body’s been absolutely screaming for it since the end of the second.

She’s still playing dumb, acts like she had no idea, like she’s so sorry for torturing me for so long. She tells me no more waiting, she’s gonna fuck me so good now. And she does. She starts slowly, rubbing my clit almost as imperceptibly as she made me grind on her earlier. Except this time I can feel it, it’s no longer a tease, I feel every second of it, I’m in ecstasy almost immediately. Eventually I need it harder, though, faster. I straddle her thigh and go to town, pussy coating her entire thigh in my wetness. Her pussy is pressed against my thigh, too, and all I can focus on (besides the pleasure I’m feeling from my own pussy) is her wet heat on my thigh, and the sound of her moaning so loud in earnest as she buries her face deep into my neck, the tickle of the deep vibration that somehow makes me even hornier.

Her desperate moaning lights a fire in my belly, I start to get a the little more aggressive. I push her from her side to her back, and straddle her so that my pussy is pressed against hers. She opens her legs a little further so that my pussy can touch even more of hers. I grab both of her boobs as tightly as I can, my fingernails digging into the sides of them a little bit. I push my pussy into hers as hard as I possibly can, and I start grinding, so deliciously slowly. ”You fucking bitch” I manage to croak out between my involuntary moans “Is this what you wanted? You wanted to rile me up until I couldn’t help but put you on your back and fuck you like the stupid whore you are?”

She laughs, and I can’t help but let out a little breathy chuckle as I roll my eyes.

But then I reach back and slide a finger into her entrance. “The fuck are you laughing for? Do you want me to wipe that smile off your face?”

All she can manage to squeak out is one word, a desperate little “please”.

I bite my lip and smile down at her. I only take over dominance about 30-40 percent of the time, and when I do, she’s such a good fucking slut for me. Never a brat like I am when the roles are reversed.

It drives me crazy, makes me feel like she wants me so bad, too bad to say or do much other than exactly what I tell her to do.

I lay down, and push my chest against hers. I love the feeling of my bare boobs on hers as I kiss up her neck to her mouth. When I reach, it, she almost immediately slips her tongue into mine. She wants it wet and sloppy right now, I can tell. We massage each others tongues for a moment, until I pull up. She keeps her tongue out her mouth, though, so I bend back down and give it one last, long, agonizingly slow lick, from the tip all the way up to her upper lip, which I pull into my mouth for a little final kiss.

Her tongue is still out, and it finally dawns on me what she wants. I spit into her mouth, and she moans when it touches her tongue. We giggle together when she swallows it, feeling a little naughty about how dirty we’re being, and I cup her face and give her a fond little peck. I love this woman so much.

But I had promised her that I was going to wipe that smile off of her face, so I climbed up her body, grabbed her by the hair on the top of her head, and pushed my pussy into her smiling mouth exactly as hard as I wanted to, which was as hard as I could fucking push it.

Her eyes roll back a little into her head and she lets out a moan which is muffled by my sloppy wet cunt. She really meant it when she asked me please. She wanted my pussy all over her face. She wanted me to fuck her face like it was nothing like a sex toy, an object designed for me to pleasure myself with. Nothing satisfies her more than satisfying me, and she loves to make sure that I know that.

I let go of my mind completely, and just intuitively follow the pleasure, focusing on whatever feels best and then doubling down on it. At first her mouth is shut, and I’m just pushing myself over and over again into her lips, her chin, her cheeks, her nose even occasionally. I don’t really care what I’m fucking. It feels too fucking incredible to care.

Eventually one of my thrusts comes up just enough that she can finally open her mouth and free her tongue from her lips. I speed up as I experience the new object, my excitement growing exponentially by the second.

Most all I can see of her is her eyes gazing up at me in adoration and lust, barely even blinking because she doesn’t want to miss a second of watching me enjoy myself using her face to get myself off.

It makes me feel so loved, and occasionally the feeling of love overwhelms me so much that I have to tear my eyes off of her (or the little I can see of her peeking up at me from under my pussy) to throw my head back and release a loud whiny moan.

She loves it when I get loud, and she starts moaning against my pussy, one after another, a staccato “ah, ah, ah”, even higher pitched and whinier than my own.

I know that moan. I turn back to confirm my suspicions. She’s got her left hand knuckles deep in her pussy, her right hand pressed firmly into her clit. Vigorous would be an understatement. She’s going so fast, so hard, in and out and back and forth simultaneously.

I can hear it squelching now. She had laughed so hard when I told her long ago about how scandalized I was when I first heard Cardi B’s raunchy macaroni in a pot line. But that’s exactly how it sounds, and when you know how good it’s making her feel, there’s not a sound so lovely in the whole world. I am thrusting my hips so fast and hard, but she’s hammering away at her own pussy even faster, and that gives me the strength I need to match her pace when I turn back around. We’re both sprinting now, and I can tell she’s so close to the finish line.

I’m desperate to cum, my hips going faster and harder than I ever thought possible. But she’s always been faster than me, faster runner, faster driver, faster to fall in love, and faster at… cumming???

I give up fighting that fight so that I can climb off of her mouth, which has just the effect I had hoped. Her face scrunches up in shock, horror, confusion, so fucking cute. The pace of her hands slows only a little, of course she didn’t stop completely, she couldn’t stop herself now even if she tried. But it interrupted her climb up to orgasm just enough that it set it back a few more minutes.

She lets out a loud groan.

“frustrated, baby?” I pant out with a cocky smile plastered over my face.

“Why?” is all she can manage to ask.

“I’m just living that life, von Dutch, cult classic but it’s still pop” I sing out.

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, amazed. She made up the joke herself, that I’m SUCH a brat that Charli xcx’s brat album became my bratty Bible. Normally it’s me who is rolling my eyes at her lame brat jokes.

Which made it even more satisfying when I turned the tables on her in the moment when she needed me most. She was seconds away from a shaking orgasm, and all I had to do to give it to her was to keep fucking the hell out of her face. And I wouldn’t even do that for her.

I would rather agonize myself by interrupting my own pleasure, dooming my own approaching orgasm than give into her game. Than to let her satisfy herself so soon after teasing me ALL. FUCKING. 120 MINUTES of a movie I wanted to see worse than her.

Even though it has been more than just a few minutes since I started fucking the life out of her, it was still too soon to give her what she wants. After all, I’m not a cheap fucking whore like she is. You gotta put in some fucking work to keep me happy, you gotta give me what I want where and when I fucking want it.

“I think the apple’s rotten right to the core.”

“Cowboy Momo!! She exclaims in indignation that I’d commit to the bit hard enough to repeat the bit twice.

She’s told me in the past was that the first thing she fell in love with about me was how intense I was, how stubborn, how far I’ll go to get exactly what I want, how far I’ll take an inside joke.

She softens her face and breathes out a small quiet, “Please,” with every honest bone in her body.

Right now isn’t the moment for the bit, is what her face told me.

And I realize that she’s right. I had a lovely woman in front of me, the most beautiful woman I know, the most kind, the most loving, the most tender, the most romantic, the most fucking sexy woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing in my life.

And what she needs from me now more than anything else in the world is to be fucked to oblivion.

She was horny, too, crazy horny, how oblivious was I not to notice? Maybe not oblivious, just blind from the roaring desire between my legs growing hungrier and hungrier throughout the film.

Why else would she be unable to keep her hands off of me during even just one second of the 120 minute long movie? That sexy fucking body was hers, and she always takes every fucking second she can to feel it up, to experience it in every way possible.

I hate jealousy, and she knows that, it feels so weak and insecure. And she’s naturally never jealous, no, but she’s possessive, so fucking possessive. But only of me. Anything else, what belongs her I belongs to the world. She’s very generous and giving and loves to help anyone and everyone, even strangers. She’s not possessive about earthly possessions.

But me? I am hers. Not in the way that she gets jealous of people lusting after me like all those insecure couples do. She completely understands and feels compassion for all of those poor souls who never will be able to fuck me. I am hers in the way that she is mine. There is no one who occupies my attention for more than a passing moment. I watch porn regularly and have the occasional cheeky flirt, but I am hers.

My body has never responded so violently to any touch ever before, not even to my own. I am hers, more than I am even mine.

I’m very introspective and know myself deeply, but she knows me deeper. I am hers. She pays attention to everything I do. Not because she is good listener, she’s adhd for christs sake. Not even because she wants to.

She couldn’t stop herself from paying attention to me if she wanted to. I am her everything. I see it in her eyes shining at me with everything that I do. It used to startle me. It made me feel uncomfortable to be so closely watched. I’m used to blending into the background.

Not really, I literally wore a hot pink crop top the other day under a cropped plaid green checkered vest.

“That was a…. choice,” her mom had choked out when she saw me. She couldn’t help herself but giggle next to me. In the car earlier, she had been teasing me about another inside joke she had made up long ago.

One about how I’m so sexy that even her devoutly Muslim mother who she used to fear would disown her if she found out that she was queer, even her own damn mother couldn’t wonder what it would be like to fuck me.

I would always pretend to be disgusted by the incest adjacent implications of the joke. There’s something weird about a daughter joking about her mother wanting to fuck her sexy wife. Her wife who her mother wanted to reject from the second she revealed she was in love with a woman. Simply because they are both women.

But her mom is really fucking sexy. You know, for an old woman? No, who am I kidding. She’s just really fucking sexy. It’s undeniable. Her caramel skin versus her onyx hair, streaked with bright silver. It makes me excited to watch my own wife age.

My mother in law isn’t better than my wife, she’s just different. They’re both crazy fucking sexy, just in different ways. I cannot wait to fuck every version of her, and her mom makes me really fucking excited to see what she’s like when she’s as old as her mom is.

And let’s be fucking real? We’re both perverts, and we like that about each other. Sometimes I think about fucking her mother, and she likes that. In fact, she enjoys it so much, that she gets off on it. She gets off on it even when she simply jokes about it. It turns her on. Especially when she jokes about it on the way to her mother’s house.

Her mother lives about 9 hours away from us. Somewhere between hour 2 and 3 of the drive, she started joking about her mom and me. Somewhere between hour 3 and 4, the tone of her teasing had changed a little. Hours 4 through 9 were spent with some combination of my hands down her pants as she drove, her hands down mine, or sometimes our own hands in our own pants. There were a lot of hands doing many things during this time, sometimes even driving.

She barely even noticed we were out of gas, but luckily she did when we were passing a sign that said an Exxon mobile was the only gas station at the exit a mile away.

This was somewhere between mile 6-8, my sense of time was very much not functioning though these hours. My pussy, however, was functioning a little too good. I had had enough orgasms to be legally high by now. And yet my body wanted more.

I was insatiable, she jokes sometimes that it’s a part of my stubbornness, my inability to quit. Really, we both know it’s because I’m adhd and sex is both my special interest and my preferred choice of stimming. It’s her’s too. After our second date, I googled, “do I love her or are we just both adhd”

Spoiler alert, you’re both just

Anyways, I wrote this when I was high and horny and then I got distracted by… other things lmfaooo so I’m never going to finish it. Love you, bye