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 He is fucking me gently because he thinks that's what I want. I know I should say something like harder but I don't because I don't really know him and we started out this way and once you've started out a particular way you feel weird changing it.  He thinks because I wore a dress with flower print and I take photos of people that I am Laura Ashley. I am not. I just haven't done my laundry in a while, and am, unfortunately a very messy eater. I am XX and he doesn't know that the pictures I take are of naked men and women, homeless people in alleys that haunt the Mission District of San Francisco where I live, kids spare changing with Mohawks, inmates, crazy people. He is thinking Sears Family Studio, I am thinking Saudek.He grunts like he is enjoying it, but I wonder if he means it. I always wonder what the sounds from people I don't know really mean. I thought I liked this guy. He seemed fun and interesting when I was talking to him in the bar. But as soon as we got out of there I began to feel a little uneasy. He turned out to be one of those super sensitive types. The type of men that me and my best friend call mushy men. Isn't he finished yet? My mind is wandering; he must be almost done. Why is it always the bad fucks that take so long? I want to come but I don't think he's going to be able to do it. I can't wait to go home and masturbate. I'm frustrated, and as always, my impatient nature takes over. "Will you finish?" I blurt out. He looks a little shocked and suddenly I am sorry. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings.  I get up and go to the bathroom, looking in his full-length mirror at my average looking body. I'll shave off all of my pubic hair, I think to myself. That way when I pick up a man for some good sex he won't think I'm nice and innocent. I wonder if he stands here naked and admires himself. I shake my head, happy to get out of there. I am completely into making sure I get off, but sometimes it's just not going to work. This is why I sleep with men right away. My mother once told me to have sex first because if it's bad, well, that's why you have friends. Good advice, but now I'm aching to get off.I pee and walk back into the bedroom. He is lying on the bed, totally naked. Suddenly I feel shy about my own nude body. I pick up my clothes off the floor and mumble something bout having work to do. It is two in the morning. Back in my car I pound my fist in the steering wheel. Tomorrow I am going to New York on my first real paid assignment. Working freelance has turned out to be harder then I think but it's worth it. I couldn't stand working in the same studio everyday. I crave travel, adventure, and excitement. I pull into my own driveway, thanking God as usual that I no longer have to look for parking. All I wanted was a good fuck before I go to New York. It's like a good luck thing for me. I consider calling up Jay, my on-again-off-again boyfriend. Is it wrong to fuck two different men in one night? I'm not sure. I've never done it. It seems like a real slutty thing to do, which actually seems like fun. I pick up the phone and dial, hesitating for a half-second before I hit the last number. What if he's with a woman? He answers, groggy. He's alone, but instead I decide to masturbate. At least I know I can get myself off.  I close my eyes and move my hand down to my cunt. My fingers know their way around. Sometimes I will play with myself, my index finger moving in mindless repetitive circles, while I check my email or talk to sales people on the phone. But now I am desperate to get off. I begin one of my favorite fantasies. The one where I am masturbating in front of a room full of guys are also masturbating. When I come they come all over me. Since I was thinking of Jay, I switched my fantasy slightly.I am lying on the bed, my back arched, eyes half-closed and expertly rubbing my fingers over my clit. He is kneeling above me. Stroking his cock until it grows thick and hard. He looks into my eyes, I bite my bottom lip, the more he watches me the more turned on I get. He brings his cock to my mouth and draws it against my lips. I open hungrily, wanting to suck it. He is teasing me. I arch my back, open wider. He brings his cock down to my pussy, now brushing it against my hard clit. I want him badly. "Please fuck me," I beg. In my fantasy he smiles. I move my hand, harder, faster. "Please," I whisper again. I push my other hand into my cunt, feeling how hot and wet I am. My fingers are going wild; my legs tighten and begin closing involuntarily. I keep fucking myself as hard as I can. Moans are fleeing from my lips. My body begins to spasm and I come. I lay back and relax, slowly removing my one hand from between my legs. I don't even get to finish my fantasy. He doesn't get to come at all. I used to question my fantasies. I wondered if my circle jerk theme was weird, or wrong. If having a million guys jack off on me made me less of a feminist. But it was more about my power to turn that many men on without them even touching me. And no matter how much I try to change them, to make them more respectable, they keep returning to the image of me masturbating while men watch.
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