Day #12 (or #322) : Hammy's Advice

Don't "Google" for things you don't want to find.

Day #18 : "I no longer expect anything from life"

That was the first thing I read from the Facebook today.
How encouraging.

Surprise party

I knew he would come.

I had everything set: the table, the music, the candlelight. Two bottles of the best soft red wine I could find. With the brand new lacey lingerie and petals of three dozen red roses, it costed a little fortune,and the night would be worth every penny spent. Some things in life are just priceless.

Sitting on the couch, I opened the first bottle, still alone. That fancy beverage caressed my lips and went down like heaven, while I spreaded my legs and my whole body all over the silky mantle of my robe. That vulgar shade of pink contrasting with the black lace, all so deliciously provoking, so purposely indecent, as the panties small enough to show the tanned borders of my bikini line.

I could almost feel his hands on me already, holding my head up and kissing me deeply while I'd press my body against his, feeling his increasing heartbeat, his heavy breathing that was slowly growing into moanings. I can feel the warm tide coming down in between my legs.

The music is a bit louder now: it's the perfect track. I make him sit, serve him the wine he already tasted on my lips. I invite him to sit back and relax while I dance for him. Slowly, languidly, closer and closer so he could touch my skin and smell my perfum. On the floor, I crawl to him. Climb to his lap, then turn my back to be slapped in my butt cheeks as I knew he would. I keep the rythm on my hips, dancing as if he wasn't pulling my panties, squeezing my thighs.

I take my leg up to his shoulder, he takes off my heels and kissed my ankles before pulling me closer. Now I got him right on my spot and he's teasing my pussy with his tongue from over my lingerie. "I can taste you, you're soaked wet". A teasing smile is my answer. Put my leg down, sit upon him, my hands to his hair and pulling his head back as the lap dance begins. He takes off my bra and begins to suck my nipples. I feel his hard on against my clit, and the growing frenzy will make me cum for the first time that night even before I can taste his juicy cock.

Suddenly, the doorbell brings me back to reality. I stop playing with myself, take the last sip of my wine and a quick look in the mirror. Put on my most seductive smile and head to the door.

With my luck, it must be the pizza guy.

...why can't I just fuckin die at once???????????????????????????

Faith in men-kind: restored

Okay, I didn't have a very nice day. Didn't sleep, couldn't make it to the gym, the Internet was unstable, the TV wasn't working, riots closed half the city, I couldn't fulfill all the tasks I had for today, and my stepsister is very sick...

In the evening I was tired and in a terrible bad mood, but a brief conversation about love enlightened my night. Nothing much, I just asked a friend if he believed in love. Just because, since instants before we were joking about sex and relationships, and occured me that we were always making the same jokes, but never talked seriously about it. So I asked, and his simple, sincere answer warmed my heart.

Maybe there is still hope for the ones like us. Maybe there are still fairtales to be told, afterall...because reading his answer I noticed that, yes, there is still people in this world who deserves to be happy.

I hope I can be one of them, too...Someday...somehow...

Tonight I'll dream in Red again. Hopefully soon, I'll be waking up in his so-dreamed arms...

Haunted

Again. The same nightmare wakes me up.
I turn the now empty pages I read so many times: where are the words that for so long warmed my heart, the fire that would always light up my life when everything else seemed to be burnt to ashes..? Where were the lines I followed over and over, out loud and in silence, a manthra to remind me how life could still be fine..?

Desperately I search for the book I never wrote, just to find two hundred blank pages inside a rotting cover, faded colors, half-eaten by moths and stained by dust.

Outside, the heavy rain bangs on my window, the thunder rolls louder than the void of the streets. Still I can hear my own heartbeat. Reality calls, I'm still alive, maybe it wasn't just a nightmare.

Close my eyes. I'm not safe in a dream.

"You were never there..." - it whispers, and vanishes.

And I know dawn will find me crying.

Time to say goodbye

Few things are as weird as watching a life ending.

He was a newborn when I met him. 15 days or so. I immediately fell in love for that little fellow. I never thought by then, that I'd watch him die, over 18 years later. Slowly. He fought to the very last minute - even his breathing stopped minutes before his heart. In 18 years, he never got sick. Not once.
I have this impression that on his last days, he was suffering more because his body wasn't responding to his still strong wills. His legs were so weak he could barely walk, he was practically dragging himself - but he would still try to run after me. It was almost funny how his eyes were so full of life to his last day - that happened to be today.

No, he didn't go peacefully in his sleep as we would like to. He struggled, and this morning we knew he probably wouldn't make it to another dawn. Last night he walked for the last time, then laid on the corner he stayed to his last breathe. Spent all day there, an empty expression, no reaction. Ate a bit, drank a bit. His wide open eyes were still shining. He seemed to be daydreaming. Maybe he was already having a glimpse of the other side of the rainbow bridge.

I knew he would find his last sleep before I go to bed tonight.

He wasn't just a dog, he was a furry angel that stole a piece of my heart by the minute I first saw him.

And took it to heaven with him tonight.

Scene from Don Bluth's "All Dogs Go To Heaven", one of my favourite cartoon movies ever.

Sex machine

I started going to cardio classes this week. Of course I know three weeks won't turn me into any goddess of fitness, but at least I'll feel I'm a little bit more fit to face this new beginning (again). Yeah, it seems that my life is always beginning again. Imagine how many dramatic ends it takes...

So, I was coming from the shower, wet, warm and scented, when I walked past the mirror. I stopped for a moment and let the towel hit the floor, taking a good, deep, critical look to what I was seeing on the reflex. I don't have what I would call a "killer body" myself. I don't have boobs as big as I'd like to. I don't have an ass as round as I'd like to. I don't have a waist as small as I'd like too, hair and legs as long as I'd like to, belly as flat as I'd like to.

But you wanna know what..? I bet some of those girls who do have a "killer body" would just DIE to really enjoy all the pleasures I allow my imperfect body to give and receive... And the overwhelming orgasms it eventually results into.

I might be unsecure of my looks, but I'm pretty confident about my performance: I go for what I like...and I like it all the way.

Who's counting the cellulitis, while busy moaning in pleasure..?

Loosen my mind

Okay, now it's official: this blog totally lost its purpose. Or it was me: I completely lost directions. fact is it was supposed to be fun, angry, sexy and quite ficticious. But lately it haven't been much of any of those.

Earlier today, a friend who is also a great student of astrology pointed something funny at my astrological chart: all planets are pretty much gathered  together in a 120 degrees range or so. This meaning I can concentrate, in this life, on less things than average, and thus living those things in a much more intense way.

I had never thought about that, really. I do am an intense person. I'm passionate about everything I'm passionate about, I have no shallow feelings about anything that really touches me. I just don't care about things and people that don't. I guess I don't even notice them. and it's not like I'm mean or selfish...I just don't like to waste time or heart. Life's too short.

I can love one, or I can throw one out of my life forever. I prefer not to hate, maybe because the much I can love makes me afraid of the much I could hate. So, whenever I don't like something or someone, I'll just try my best to avoid it. When I can't, this means I also can't ignore the bad feelings it inspires me. It's hard, and sometimes way too painful, but I try to deal with it.

I'm not of one night stands, I'm not of mild datings. I can do them, but what for? Even the memories of my most overwhelming encounters are most impressive than these sometimes empty moments. Like big Donuts that will please my senses for a while and then turn into nothing, if not regret, in the moments next.

I like to be swallowed by this thrill, this will of shouting the whole world what's  in my heart. That's precisely why i got online here at the first place. To write the sweetest love declaration I could...

...if only I could reach him. If only I could touch him. If only I could feel he can read between the lines, inside my heart, how much it's obvious that I love him.

More than anything, ever.

Things are...

...getting weird.
Really, really weird.

PMS says: Draw a social analysis of past societies' love stories

Last night I was watching "Wuthering Heights". It's the kind of fucked up love story that I never really got to understand. Cathy was always a bitch to Heathcliff. I mean, if she loved him as much as she seems to love him, and at least half as much that it's obvious he loved her, how in the world could she accept to marry another guy just because he was richer? I mean, it wasn't even a matter of survival, but of luxury and comfort, and social status. In the end, maybe her soul starved of love and passion. "The guy she loved wasn't worthy to be her husband". This just doesn't exist.

Or maybe I'm just too Byronist, believing that even a love that can destroy everything around it -including the persons involved- can't destroy itself. Well, in the end they got to be buried together, Heathcliff and Cathy... but to me, Heathcliff died without living his love. It's not a happy ending, and it was never a happy story to him from the begining.

But there are still love stories like Paraguaçu, the Brazilian Indigenous Princess, that got married and went to become a writer in Europe. Of course she met her European explorer in a time when Brazilian Indigenous People could already communicate somehow with the Portuguese. And probably her book wasn't written in the best portuguese ever for the times, but still it was quite a fate. Bartira is told to be another Indigenous Princess that charmed a Portuguese guy, but somehow, something deep inside tells me this story wasn't such as lovable in real life, as legend says it was.

Whatever...I have no idea why do I still waste my time in making this historical / literary research on humans impressions and experiences on love...There are so many unique situations...people are so different...

everything is so complicated...

...and sweet!

Real life adventures

I wish I could yell to the whole world how productive and wonderful times I have been living ever since I came back home. Definitely, I don't miss the fancier living. It's great to have luxury, but life get so much wider when we don't get distracted by so many material and ordinary things..!

I'm truly starting to find myself. To see me as I really am. The woman I became, afterall. I'm not a girl anymore, and I came to notice that at 32!
In the past two years I've been slaying dragons. But only now, looking back, I can really notice how far I got.

 I had two amazing jobs (and a shitty one that taught me one by one, all the things I hate most about corporatives). I also had the amazing oportunity of working in really big things, and handle so huge responsabilities that I never thought in my life someone would ever trust me. And I know that not in a single moment I let those professionals down. I didn't know I could, now I do.

And all this, thanks to so many people and situations that I'll address my gratefulness to the Universe, hoping each one get your fair share of my heart. I guess I've wrote this here before :) And it's still true.

I am learning the most precious lessons about life and true friendship, family love and mankind, through amazing people: some new, some old mates that now I see over a totally new perspective. They changed, people change. I sure did.

There are some battles ahead yet, there will always be battles. What surprises me is that for the first time I'm starting to think that maybe I'm a warrior, maybe I like to fight! (^_^). Life needs it spice, I have no idea for how long I will be here or what there will be on the other side. There is more true in "carpe diem" that most people can sense, I guess.

Back to Holy Grounds, off to face Tiamat again. (^_ ^ )

300 to 34

I know this is sure not the place to write about that, but still I guess it's the best choice, for this is kinda my secret diary. If you're here, either you care, or you don't. And this is your problem, not mine.
Mine is that  I'm experiencing such an emotional rush, that I really think I still didn't realize what's going on. That overtroubled moment that I know it predicts good weather, but not for right now.
But I'm pretty sure of what I want, and I know it's this feeling that gives me confidence enough to go ahead. I know what I want, I'm going for what I want.

...and in the end, if everything has gone wrong, at least I know it wasn't my fault! (^_^)

All I've been dreaming of...

...is to sleep like this.

Hamalka, the pornstar.

I know it sounds crazy (and if you can read this in my voice, then you know I'm crazy, anyway), but one of the reasons why I kept my virginity during my teenage years, was because I was pretty sure that once I had sex for the first time, I probably wouldn't want to stop. Not that I thought I would become promiscuous, but I would definitely care more about guys. I was a "conscious virgin": I knew pretty much what I was missing, that's precisely why I wanted it to be big deal.

And now, for the first time in my life, ever since I started my sexual life, I haven't been having sex for almost 300 days by now. As, the same way it worked when I was a virgin, this means I haven't been having any kind of sexual contact. In fact, when I was a virgin there was some times that I used to kiss a lot...But now it has been almost 300 days since I last been kissed.

Of course, in the meanwhile I have been seeing / writing / reading a lot of porn. Whenever I feel like it. When I don't, I don't: that's why this blog haven't been updated so frequently. I wasn't feeling very sexual for a while, but somehow it's coming back to me again. Not that I've been inspired enough to write new fantasies, but it's been good to make my shower time funnier every once in a while...

I like porn. I know I've said that a thousand times already, but it's really something I'm not ashamed to admit. Everybody likes sex, everybody have dirty fantasies, what's the matter of enjoying the videos? Because porn, even when it's shitty terrible, it can at least make you laugh, like the unforgettable Smurfs porn.

Imagine that; Hamalka, the pornstar. I wonder what would my first movie be like. So far I had only acted and directed in my dirty imagination, just my own wet stories with M-R, but truly, I think it could be a blast to produce some of them, if I trusted anyone else to play our roles. But I guess it would be pretty hard to act right, enjoy and direct at the same time, so, I probably will never see one of our fucks on the actual form it is deserving of being seen, but a room full of mirrors would make the perfect balance between visual and comfort (really, I dunno how I would feel at the moment, fucking with a cameraman between my legs).

I think a homemade video can be pretty kinky. Specially if it has scenes to please both guys and dolls. We often see a girl being slapped in the face with the guy's dick, but we seldom see the expression the guy is doing. The girl is looking at him in the eye, I want to see what she is seeing, but in porn they seem to be more interest on the man's point of view, always.

You guys have no idea how a girl's point of view can be interesting, too..!Ah, if I could only edit some things I've seen with my own eyes... *angel face*

Almost 300 days. Gosh, I'll rape him dead when I meet him..!

Another senseless post

Sunday morning, birds are singing, the fog is unfolding another cold, sunny morning. I wish I could tell you guys that I haven't been sleeping ever since yesterday, that my saturday night was wild, that I had the best afterparty ever, and still had enough for a good morning fuck. And maybe I should. I'm Hamalka, I can do things that most humans with a decent life couldn't.

So, let's begin again: it's not even ten yet, I'm still drunk, or in fact, I didn't stop drinking. But I'm feeling fine, I'm laughing and singing, and I am writing all this while smoking my last Marlboro menthol. I kicked off my shoes and am stitting with my notebook at our house's pleasant garden. Mr. Red should be sleeping upstairs. I bet he's tired. I am never tired enough for a good story.

...okay, this is not true. If Mr. Red is upstairs this means I'm exhausted. But that's the fun about fan fiction. I can even be sitting outdoors, because it wouldn't be raining hail.

First night we shared, it was raining like hell. Not hail. But as if soneone had threw the ocean upside down. No wonder, it was the raining season. Hot and wet - but believe me, it sounds better than it feels on the everyday life. That night, though, I remember the sound of the rain outside was something I wouldn't ignore. What I was feeling was as powerful as the water coming down from the skies.

We had a whole night of fun and great music, then we ended up in the first motel room we found on our way back home. We had sex, we made love, we had fun, so much fun..! There is nothing better than that first approach, a long hug...a kiss that goes deeper and deeper while hands start to get daring...bodies so close we can feel each other's heartbeat.

I only have to breathe deep to smell that skin I adore. That soft skin against mine, makes me even more aware that it's not just a dream. Whenever I'm away, I wonder if this really feels as good as I remember, and everytime I experience it, I notice reality is way better than the memory. Nah, I don't expect any of you readers to understand what I'm talking about. Being with him - not only in the sexual way - and being with all the other men I've ever knew, it's like the difference between a great lecture and a concert. I love great lectures. I've learnt a lot and had the opportunity of sharing great time with great people in lectures. There are lectures that are never a bore, and do move my heart, but...a concert goes a step further. It talks more universally, because involves music, and dance,  body movements, sex even. Music touches humans in a very particular way - both good music and shitty music. And that's why I say I would never miss a great lecture, but a great concert is just...overwhelming.

Maybe it's really time to get the show on the road, again...

#Day 296 begins

Ups and highers

Hamalka, Hamalka... Reading this blog from its early posts makes me wonder how my readers figure me out. I was all bitter and angry at the beggining, then came that torrent of porn, and now this...reflexive moment, I guess.
I wonder myself if I'm eventually finding a balance point or I'm just loosing it everytime more.

But who cares, I got a comment on my last post.  Life's worth living today (^_^)