The Bloke got in very late last night; I'd scurried up to his place in the evening to prepare a dinner for him, but he got in close to midnight so I didn't know if he'd even want to eat. The poor guy had to be at work early(ish) this morning, so I assumed he'd unload the car and we'd go to bed.
Turns out he WAS just hungry enough to scarf down some of the dinner I'd made, some bread, and some wine. I was tired too, so I stayed up with him, but was rather quiet. The idea of curling up against him was so sweet that I was counting down the minutes until I could strip down and nestle my body against his.
I climbed into bed as he washed up and I was damn near asleep by the time he came in. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tighter into him. "Mmmm... you feel so good... and smell good... and taste good..." he whispered. He ran his hand down the side of my body, slowly feeling my hips and my belly. As his hand wandered back up, it found its way to my breasts and began to touch, then pinch, my nipples. I wriggled with pleasure and smiled in the darkness, moving my mouth to his to find his tongue. I felt his body vibrate as he sighed into me, and my hand found its way down to his cock. He was rock hard. My cunt was getting wetter the harder he pinched my nipples and I moved close to his ear to whisper "Why does that make me want to fuck instantly?" He laughed and said "Well, I guess I'll just have to fuck you then." He turned me on to my belly and opened my cunt with his fingers wide enough to slid his cock in. "I don't know if I'll come..." he trailed off. I didn't care in the least; it felt so good to have him in me and I ground my hips back and against him, feeling him pressing deep against my cervix. It'd been two weeks since we'd fucked last, so I came fast and hard. He laughed with delight after I came and pressed his body against mine to find my mouth for a deep kiss. He slowly pulled out and we fell asleep, both exhausted.
Clearly we weren't that tired; I felt his hands searching for my cunt again around three in the morning and I woke up to him carressing my already-wet clit. I grew hungrier because this time, I wanted him to come. I rolled onto my back and pulled him on top of me; we often fuck from behind, so I love the intimacy of fucking face-to-face. He seemed to as well and pushed as deep in me as he could, cradeling my face with his hands so he could watch my expression. I again lifted my hips and pressed up against him, and listened to his breath change with pleasure. He could hold out much longer, and I pulled his face down to mine, whispering that he could bite me hard and leave all the marks he wanted. He chomped hungrily on my nipples and suddenly lifted his face, shouting out as he came. He lay still for a moment on me, savouring the moment, whispering how delicious I was and how happy he was to be back with me. "I'm sure your neighbors are too..." I smirked, thinking how they must've enjoyed the silence of his absence.
I'm heading back to his place tonight. Our romps last night and this morning were tasty, no doubt, but we need a full night of indulgence. I've already promised to let him do anything he likes to me. Not that that's anything unusual, but with the massive amount of options that lay before us, anticipation is indeed delightful...
Aftermath of a Decision
I'm moving this weekend, which is one of my least favorite pasttimes. Packing is a total bitch. When I skipped town to go to Mexico indefinitely when I was 24, I didn't pack until the night before. And I left anything winter-like in the bin, even abandoning my coat at the airport.
ANYWAY, as I was packing up the contents of my boudoir, I stumbled upon an old dildo. The Bloke's loaded me up with so many new toys that I totally forgot about this one; I haven't used it in well over six months, but I hold a bit of sentimentality for it. It was The Divorce Dildo. It was my first fuck after I left my husband. -Swoon-
Still, the past is gone, right? I tossed it into the rubbish bins. C'mon! I got bigger and better now.
Women are downright heartless, aren't we?
(Afterthought: what on earth are the trash collectors going to think if that of all things falls out en route to the truck? Hmmm. I'm sure they've seen worse...)
ANYWAY, as I was packing up the contents of my boudoir, I stumbled upon an old dildo. The Bloke's loaded me up with so many new toys that I totally forgot about this one; I haven't used it in well over six months, but I hold a bit of sentimentality for it. It was The Divorce Dildo. It was my first fuck after I left my husband. -Swoon-
Still, the past is gone, right? I tossed it into the rubbish bins. C'mon! I got bigger and better now.
Women are downright heartless, aren't we?
(Afterthought: what on earth are the trash collectors going to think if that of all things falls out en route to the truck? Hmmm. I'm sure they've seen worse...)
Sizing It Up
The age-old question of size came up the other night: does it matter?
Hmmm.
The generous part of me would like to put up the polite front and say "No! Of course not!"
In truth? Yep. Sure does.
Now, before y'all get all up in my grill over that, I have one big revelation: size is both good an bad.
My first lover ever was my on-and-off high school boyfriend. We first hooked up when I was fifteen, tortured each other for a few months, and then became pretty solid when I was around 17. We had sex for the first time when I was just 16 (on the washing machine in his basement... oh, the romance!) and I did. not. en. joy. it. My unfortunate first was big. And for a virgin, he was B-I-G. He couldn't even get in me at first and finally, after finding the pinhole opening that I must've been, he slammed in. I felt a ripping pain and blood gushed out everywhere. S'a good thing we were near the washing machine, 'cause we needed to wash damn near everything around us.
Needless to say, I was pretty hesitant to repeat that. We broke up shortly thereafter, I gained some experience with a smaller guy, and by the time I hooked back up with my first, we were good to go. He was certainly packing, but I loved it. It hurt sometimes if he pressed in too deep, but I even relished that part. Despite our relatively young ages (me 17, him 19), we were pretty creative and I have him to partially thank for my kink today.
I've had plenty of lovers over the years, but honestly, the men that stand out the most were big. My ex-husband was not. And honestly, it was difficult. I had a hard time getting off, though size wasn't the only issue; he was also remarkably uncreative. I asked him to spank me once and he looked horrified. I can't even imagine what he would've done if I suggested a dildo. In fact, my divorce gift to myself was a well-endowed vibrator. Oh, sweet freedom!
When The Bloke first came home with me, we were in an intense make-out session and I felt his hard-on through his khakis. I was astounded. I'd never been with anyone that big, and I even laughed and said "My god, I don't think that'll even fit in me!" He laughed and replied with his confident "Don't worry, it will..." I suppose he already had blind faith in my openness.
The key here, though, is that I love to push the limits of sex; I love to feel stretched wide open and I can orgasm just thinking of that. I'm not an overly sensitive woman; the harder The Bloke chomps on my nipples or clit, the more excited I get. A more delicate woman would have a difficult time accommodating such size; hence my early proclamation. I think most guys think that uberendowed gents can get anyone they want, but it can be seriously intimidating to some women.
Luckily for all parties presently involved, we ain't got such issues. The only problem we have now is that dildos I once thought were large now just seem average. Bugger.
Hmmm.
The generous part of me would like to put up the polite front and say "No! Of course not!"
In truth? Yep. Sure does.
Now, before y'all get all up in my grill over that, I have one big revelation: size is both good an bad.
My first lover ever was my on-and-off high school boyfriend. We first hooked up when I was fifteen, tortured each other for a few months, and then became pretty solid when I was around 17. We had sex for the first time when I was just 16 (on the washing machine in his basement... oh, the romance!) and I did. not. en. joy. it. My unfortunate first was big. And for a virgin, he was B-I-G. He couldn't even get in me at first and finally, after finding the pinhole opening that I must've been, he slammed in. I felt a ripping pain and blood gushed out everywhere. S'a good thing we were near the washing machine, 'cause we needed to wash damn near everything around us.
Needless to say, I was pretty hesitant to repeat that. We broke up shortly thereafter, I gained some experience with a smaller guy, and by the time I hooked back up with my first, we were good to go. He was certainly packing, but I loved it. It hurt sometimes if he pressed in too deep, but I even relished that part. Despite our relatively young ages (me 17, him 19), we were pretty creative and I have him to partially thank for my kink today.
I've had plenty of lovers over the years, but honestly, the men that stand out the most were big. My ex-husband was not. And honestly, it was difficult. I had a hard time getting off, though size wasn't the only issue; he was also remarkably uncreative. I asked him to spank me once and he looked horrified. I can't even imagine what he would've done if I suggested a dildo. In fact, my divorce gift to myself was a well-endowed vibrator. Oh, sweet freedom!
When The Bloke first came home with me, we were in an intense make-out session and I felt his hard-on through his khakis. I was astounded. I'd never been with anyone that big, and I even laughed and said "My god, I don't think that'll even fit in me!" He laughed and replied with his confident "Don't worry, it will..." I suppose he already had blind faith in my openness.
The key here, though, is that I love to push the limits of sex; I love to feel stretched wide open and I can orgasm just thinking of that. I'm not an overly sensitive woman; the harder The Bloke chomps on my nipples or clit, the more excited I get. A more delicate woman would have a difficult time accommodating such size; hence my early proclamation. I think most guys think that uberendowed gents can get anyone they want, but it can be seriously intimidating to some women.
Luckily for all parties presently involved, we ain't got such issues. The only problem we have now is that dildos I once thought were large now just seem average. Bugger.
Let The Sunshine In
I don't quite know what it is about summer, but it certainly brings out my inner slut. With The Bloke back, I'm itching to have him fuck any open orifice on me.
We went to an open air concert last night; the last time we'd gone to one, I ended up giving him head in the parking lot. Last night we made it out fully clothed, but only because I told him "We have to leave NOW!" in order to avoid the long traffic lines and raging horniness. 'Tis a bad combination.
So, we rode out in good time, only to pull over a wee bit down the road to smoke a bowl after I'd unsuccessfully tried many times in the car, making me feel like I was back in high school and utter incapable of keeping a lighter going in any sort of air flow. Bugger.
Happy, we barreled back to his place and fumbled on upstairs to the boudoir. (An aside: some of the finest fucks we've had have been on the floor of his living room. 'Twas only a few months ago. How I long for yestermonth!) We stripped down right quick and I hungrily kissed his body. I'd been aching for him all day and couldn't wait to taste and suck him. I made my way down to his glorious cock (an understatement if ever there was), and began to swallow him down. He pushed deeper into my throat and his response got me hotter. I wanted him to cum in my throat. I wanted him to cum anyfuckingwhere he wanted to. I slid him in and out of my mouth, occasionally pushing him deeper and tightening my throat; I loved the effect on him. His cock grew harder and harder and I couldn't let my benevolence trump my own desire, so I pulled him out and begged him to fuck me.
The Bloke, however, is always good for one-upping me. He whipped out the infamous butt plug and slid it in me before banging me. He pushed his cock in me and I ground against him, sending me into orgasm after orgasm. We finally collapsed, exhausted. I asked if he wanted to sleep and after a few moments of quiet, he stated "No, I think I'd rather fuck you again."
Enchante, monsieur.
This time, he wanted to fuck my ass. As I've already worked through my hesitancies with him, I was more than willing. He lubed me good and I pulled myself as wide as I could and guided him in. He pressed in ever-so-slightly until the head of his cock was in me; I was enraptured, savouring the delicious debauchery of it all. Slowly, slowly he pressed further, admittedly hard for him to do because he wanted to bang me full on. He moved his cock gently in and out of me and sure enough: another orgasm.
We collapsed once again and this time really did sleep.
And, as much as I love our erotic romps, he woke me around 6 this morning for my favorite of all: the morning screw. He wakes me by kissing me and stroking my body until I stir a little; then, he begins carressing my nipples and stroking my cunt. I'm usually wet by the time I'm fully awake and he enters me so sweetly, holding me close. He usually cums quickly, strongly, and I relish every moment of it. By the time he shouts out mid-orgasm, I'm enveloped in the tenderness of it and savouring the enticing warmth the lingers between my legs.
We went to an open air concert last night; the last time we'd gone to one, I ended up giving him head in the parking lot. Last night we made it out fully clothed, but only because I told him "We have to leave NOW!" in order to avoid the long traffic lines and raging horniness. 'Tis a bad combination.
So, we rode out in good time, only to pull over a wee bit down the road to smoke a bowl after I'd unsuccessfully tried many times in the car, making me feel like I was back in high school and utter incapable of keeping a lighter going in any sort of air flow. Bugger.
Happy, we barreled back to his place and fumbled on upstairs to the boudoir. (An aside: some of the finest fucks we've had have been on the floor of his living room. 'Twas only a few months ago. How I long for yestermonth!) We stripped down right quick and I hungrily kissed his body. I'd been aching for him all day and couldn't wait to taste and suck him. I made my way down to his glorious cock (an understatement if ever there was), and began to swallow him down. He pushed deeper into my throat and his response got me hotter. I wanted him to cum in my throat. I wanted him to cum anyfuckingwhere he wanted to. I slid him in and out of my mouth, occasionally pushing him deeper and tightening my throat; I loved the effect on him. His cock grew harder and harder and I couldn't let my benevolence trump my own desire, so I pulled him out and begged him to fuck me.
The Bloke, however, is always good for one-upping me. He whipped out the infamous butt plug and slid it in me before banging me. He pushed his cock in me and I ground against him, sending me into orgasm after orgasm. We finally collapsed, exhausted. I asked if he wanted to sleep and after a few moments of quiet, he stated "No, I think I'd rather fuck you again."
Enchante, monsieur.
This time, he wanted to fuck my ass. As I've already worked through my hesitancies with him, I was more than willing. He lubed me good and I pulled myself as wide as I could and guided him in. He pressed in ever-so-slightly until the head of his cock was in me; I was enraptured, savouring the delicious debauchery of it all. Slowly, slowly he pressed further, admittedly hard for him to do because he wanted to bang me full on. He moved his cock gently in and out of me and sure enough: another orgasm.
We collapsed once again and this time really did sleep.
And, as much as I love our erotic romps, he woke me around 6 this morning for my favorite of all: the morning screw. He wakes me by kissing me and stroking my body until I stir a little; then, he begins carressing my nipples and stroking my cunt. I'm usually wet by the time I'm fully awake and he enters me so sweetly, holding me close. He usually cums quickly, strongly, and I relish every moment of it. By the time he shouts out mid-orgasm, I'm enveloped in the tenderness of it and savouring the enticing warmth the lingers between my legs.
Inbox
From The Bloke, via email:
I tried to fix the dildo that won’t vibrate last night. I was not successful. I got it apart once, put it back together to test it and, for the life of me, could not get it apart again. I will continue to work on it but I noticed that it seems to be deteriorating. Then I noticed that The Rabbit is also showing signs of melting, as though it was held too close to a flame. I think it must be from the lube. They recommend using water-based lube but I didn’t think the oil-based would actually melt the plastic and we always clean the toys after playing. Then I noticed that the bottles of lube had lube on the outside. I think storing the wet bottles of lube with the toys is the problem. So, I cleaned the toys, the bottles of lube and the carry case.
I find it both incredible endearing and mildly disturbing that he spent so much time on this.
I tried to fix the dildo that won’t vibrate last night. I was not successful. I got it apart once, put it back together to test it and, for the life of me, could not get it apart again. I will continue to work on it but I noticed that it seems to be deteriorating. Then I noticed that The Rabbit is also showing signs of melting, as though it was held too close to a flame. I think it must be from the lube. They recommend using water-based lube but I didn’t think the oil-based would actually melt the plastic and we always clean the toys after playing. Then I noticed that the bottles of lube had lube on the outside. I think storing the wet bottles of lube with the toys is the problem. So, I cleaned the toys, the bottles of lube and the carry case.
I find it both incredible endearing and mildly disturbing that he spent so much time on this.
Blurry Vision
I'm in the process of moving. This, dear readers, is perhaps my least favorite extracurricular activity and yet I seem to do it with disturbing regularity. The only bonus so far is that I bought a new bed which The Bloke has very generously offered to help me break in. He's selfless, that one.
But I digress.
In a bid to procrastinate just a leeetle while longer, I decided to do some laundry, which is another unfavored activity but it's quite a few rungs above moving. On my way over to da 'mat (as us hipsters are prone to call it), I bumped into a gent from a meditation group I've gone to. P is probably in his late 40s and looks unnervingly like a lover I had in Mexico, Y. Looks, however, are deceiving and P couldn't be further in personality from Y if he tried. Whereas Y was suave, smooth, sexy, self-assured, P is awkward and a bit hyper. He's a very nice man, no doubt, but he's on full-speed most of the time, which is quite curious since I met him in the least speedy environment around.
ANyway, I smiled and waved at P from across the street and he waited while I crossed. "I was thinking of you today," he smiled. "Oh really? And why's that?" I responded. "Well, yesterday you said you were 'seeing someone'. What does that mean?"
Ah, yes. The age-old question.
And actually it's a legit question. "Seeing someone" is about as nebulous as it gets. It could mean that you're sleeping with someone you like a lot and aren't looking (which is my case). It could mean that you're avoiding the person to whom you affirm you're seeing someone. Last year, I heard a guy say casually that he was seeing someone and it turned out they'd been living together for 17 years and he helped raise her kids! So what does it mean?
P continued "Does it mean you're in love and happy? Or does it mean you're involved but open? I'm sorry if I'm forward, I'm just curious." I did appreciate his directness. "For me, it means I'm not looking," I answered. He nodded and said "It's just interesting. Another woman said that to me last week, and I really wanted to ask what she meant. I figured you could tell me." (Translation: not interested in me - thank goodness - but too timid to ask the chick he is digging.)
This all began a discussion of love, intimacy, honesty. P and I talked about the difficulties therein but that, even at our relatively experienced ages, you need to take the leap of faith. Honestly, I think that's why a lot of older men like me: I'm not jaded. Despite relationships turning sour, I still love throwing myself in an affair; I love the first feelings of enamourment; I love exploring a new lover, both physically and mentally; and I love finding someone with whom I connect and want to hang around a while. I also don't believe that anything lasts forever. Life continues to flow, and people evolve and grow. That's not a bad thing at all. All I ask from a lover, either committed or not, is to tell me if he wants to move on. I might be a little hurt, but I'll have much more respect than I would for someone who starts acting shady. (Not that that has ever happened... I've been very lucky!)
I once heard a very open sex educator say that he teaches children to make sure every sexual experience they have will be a pleasant memory. And I agree. It's a beautifully honest way to view sexuality and relationships, whether its a first time or 200th, whether is gay or straight, whether its a kinky fling or a loving commitment.
But I digress.
In a bid to procrastinate just a leeetle while longer, I decided to do some laundry, which is another unfavored activity but it's quite a few rungs above moving. On my way over to da 'mat (as us hipsters are prone to call it), I bumped into a gent from a meditation group I've gone to. P is probably in his late 40s and looks unnervingly like a lover I had in Mexico, Y. Looks, however, are deceiving and P couldn't be further in personality from Y if he tried. Whereas Y was suave, smooth, sexy, self-assured, P is awkward and a bit hyper. He's a very nice man, no doubt, but he's on full-speed most of the time, which is quite curious since I met him in the least speedy environment around.
ANyway, I smiled and waved at P from across the street and he waited while I crossed. "I was thinking of you today," he smiled. "Oh really? And why's that?" I responded. "Well, yesterday you said you were 'seeing someone'. What does that mean?"
Ah, yes. The age-old question.
And actually it's a legit question. "Seeing someone" is about as nebulous as it gets. It could mean that you're sleeping with someone you like a lot and aren't looking (which is my case). It could mean that you're avoiding the person to whom you affirm you're seeing someone. Last year, I heard a guy say casually that he was seeing someone and it turned out they'd been living together for 17 years and he helped raise her kids! So what does it mean?
P continued "Does it mean you're in love and happy? Or does it mean you're involved but open? I'm sorry if I'm forward, I'm just curious." I did appreciate his directness. "For me, it means I'm not looking," I answered. He nodded and said "It's just interesting. Another woman said that to me last week, and I really wanted to ask what she meant. I figured you could tell me." (Translation: not interested in me - thank goodness - but too timid to ask the chick he is digging.)
This all began a discussion of love, intimacy, honesty. P and I talked about the difficulties therein but that, even at our relatively experienced ages, you need to take the leap of faith. Honestly, I think that's why a lot of older men like me: I'm not jaded. Despite relationships turning sour, I still love throwing myself in an affair; I love the first feelings of enamourment; I love exploring a new lover, both physically and mentally; and I love finding someone with whom I connect and want to hang around a while. I also don't believe that anything lasts forever. Life continues to flow, and people evolve and grow. That's not a bad thing at all. All I ask from a lover, either committed or not, is to tell me if he wants to move on. I might be a little hurt, but I'll have much more respect than I would for someone who starts acting shady. (Not that that has ever happened... I've been very lucky!)
I once heard a very open sex educator say that he teaches children to make sure every sexual experience they have will be a pleasant memory. And I agree. It's a beautifully honest way to view sexuality and relationships, whether its a first time or 200th, whether is gay or straight, whether its a kinky fling or a loving commitment.
Deep Stretch
Yoga is useful in ways I never quite realized.
So, remember the mention of the trip the ER to remove a wayward sponge? Yep, almost came to that this morning - again.
The Bloke came home last night and I met him up at his place. (An aside: his neighbor saw me reading on the deck and, when I said The Bloke would be home soon, he said "Well, I'm going to bed early..." I laughed out loud. A hint? Perhaps!) The Bloke was understandably quite tired, but that's never stopped him before from wanting a romp. We unwound with a beer, a chat, and some nibblies. He pushed away his plate and announced "I've had enough..." and that was our cue to retreat upstairs.
I'd already steeled my uterus against impregnation with a sponge; despite the ER incident, it's still my contraception of choice and I felt all Elaine when it was off the shelves for a while. Today's Sponge ROCKS, and the errant one that got wedged up in me was not a Today's and had no string-handle-thing for retrieval, hence the disappearing act. The Bloke asked if it was okay to "fuck with reckless abandon" and I nodded as he bit into my nipples. He lifted his body over me and sunk is cock deep in me, holding my face and watching my reaction. After an orgasm for me, he pulled out and nibbled my clit and lips, getting me wetter and wetter. Finally, he turned me over and pounded me from behind; I must've cum at least three more times as he grinded his cock deep against my cervix. He finally exploded in me and collapsed, still deep in me. I love those moments when we're both dizzy from an orgasm and relishing the sweetness of after.
Since The Bloke and I both seem to have insatiable appetites, we both woke up early this morning and began to play again. "Still ok?" he asked, referring to the birth control situation. I nodded again - LOVE the fact that the sponge is good for many fucks - and he entered me again, on our sides, facing each other. It was deliciously intimate, and I loved kissing him and caressing is body as we moved together. But, since we both love it so, I ended up on my belly again, him deep in me, hugging me tight against him as he came. We stayed that way a while, shifting as he pulled out, drifting in and out of blissful napping for a bit.
I decided to get the sponge out before I left, so I went to the bathroom and slid my finger up.... nothing. I couldn't feel it. I felt around a bit more and located it over to the side, and I felt a fissure down the center of it. Not a prob, I figured, since they do tend to split a bit during a vigorous session. But this bugger would not budge. The string-thing was nowhere to be found and I thought Oh, SHITE, here we go again...
I figured I wouldn't fret it too much, so we had a quick breakfast and he headed off to work and I came home. But in the shower, I took the proverb "If at first you don't succeed..." to heart and
slid a finger up. I felt it again and actually got hold of a part of it, but it broke off. Bugger!
This, dear readers, called for equipment.
I hopped out of the shower and drippingly went over to a drawer in which I had a crochet hook. It was a big, plastic one that came with a "Kidz Kan Krochet" type of project (I'm THAT inept with some things that friends actually give me kiddie versions... ) It was smooth and dull and purple. Perfect! I inhaled and did my best Uttasana, trying to get maximum reach-advantage and I went back in, feeling with a finger, then two, then the hook. The string was actually turned around, not facing any sort of exiting orifice at all. I maneuvered, and maneuvered, and maneuvered some more until I finally got a grip and set myself free from the spongetastic confines into which I'd built my uterus.
Oh, sweet success!
So, I'd like to take a moment to thank my yoga instructors; a few months ago, I might not have been able to get so deep into the pose. Y'all saved me a cool grand.
Namaste.
So, remember the mention of the trip the ER to remove a wayward sponge? Yep, almost came to that this morning - again.
The Bloke came home last night and I met him up at his place. (An aside: his neighbor saw me reading on the deck and, when I said The Bloke would be home soon, he said "Well, I'm going to bed early..." I laughed out loud. A hint? Perhaps!) The Bloke was understandably quite tired, but that's never stopped him before from wanting a romp. We unwound with a beer, a chat, and some nibblies. He pushed away his plate and announced "I've had enough..." and that was our cue to retreat upstairs.
I'd already steeled my uterus against impregnation with a sponge; despite the ER incident, it's still my contraception of choice and I felt all Elaine when it was off the shelves for a while. Today's Sponge ROCKS, and the errant one that got wedged up in me was not a Today's and had no string-handle-thing for retrieval, hence the disappearing act. The Bloke asked if it was okay to "fuck with reckless abandon" and I nodded as he bit into my nipples. He lifted his body over me and sunk is cock deep in me, holding my face and watching my reaction. After an orgasm for me, he pulled out and nibbled my clit and lips, getting me wetter and wetter. Finally, he turned me over and pounded me from behind; I must've cum at least three more times as he grinded his cock deep against my cervix. He finally exploded in me and collapsed, still deep in me. I love those moments when we're both dizzy from an orgasm and relishing the sweetness of after.
Since The Bloke and I both seem to have insatiable appetites, we both woke up early this morning and began to play again. "Still ok?" he asked, referring to the birth control situation. I nodded again - LOVE the fact that the sponge is good for many fucks - and he entered me again, on our sides, facing each other. It was deliciously intimate, and I loved kissing him and caressing is body as we moved together. But, since we both love it so, I ended up on my belly again, him deep in me, hugging me tight against him as he came. We stayed that way a while, shifting as he pulled out, drifting in and out of blissful napping for a bit.
I decided to get the sponge out before I left, so I went to the bathroom and slid my finger up.... nothing. I couldn't feel it. I felt around a bit more and located it over to the side, and I felt a fissure down the center of it. Not a prob, I figured, since they do tend to split a bit during a vigorous session. But this bugger would not budge. The string-thing was nowhere to be found and I thought Oh, SHITE, here we go again...
I figured I wouldn't fret it too much, so we had a quick breakfast and he headed off to work and I came home. But in the shower, I took the proverb "If at first you don't succeed..." to heart and
slid a finger up. I felt it again and actually got hold of a part of it, but it broke off. Bugger!This, dear readers, called for equipment.
I hopped out of the shower and drippingly went over to a drawer in which I had a crochet hook. It was a big, plastic one that came with a "Kidz Kan Krochet" type of project (I'm THAT inept with some things that friends actually give me kiddie versions... ) It was smooth and dull and purple. Perfect! I inhaled and did my best Uttasana, trying to get maximum reach-advantage and I went back in, feeling with a finger, then two, then the hook. The string was actually turned around, not facing any sort of exiting orifice at all. I maneuvered, and maneuvered, and maneuvered some more until I finally got a grip and set myself free from the spongetastic confines into which I'd built my uterus.
Oh, sweet success!
So, I'd like to take a moment to thank my yoga instructors; a few months ago, I might not have been able to get so deep into the pose. Y'all saved me a cool grand.
Namaste.
Feeding the Fire
The Bloke arrives tomorrow.
He's forewarned me that he'll be tired; hell, he's looking at a 9 hour drive before he reaches home. But, seeing as we've been through this a few times already, The Bloke seems able to gather enough strength to give me at least a taste of some good lovin.'
To get myself primed for him, I began reading through some other blogs:
Confessions of a College Callgirl is always a good read, and the Callgirl's most recent post about a sex club in NYC got me (s0rta) fondly recalling my own trek there
The Erotic Woman is hot anyway you look at it: there's enough gorgeous nakedness there to get my imagination fired up.
Jefferson at One Life, Take Two provides (a) eye candy, and (b) tasty prose. I guiltily admit, however, that I just like browsing through his cast of characters, since they all seem debauched enough for me to enjoy.
And, thanks to Jefferson's links, I read a bit of Always Aroused Girl, who I can sincerely appreciate because she seems to have rediscovered herself after a divorce AND she's a damn good writer. Call it a semi-self-serving sympathy plug, if you will, but I can totally relate. Minus the chitlin.
So, getting fired up doesn't seem much of an issue. I sent The Bloke a text saying as much and he responded that he can't wait to make me cum. Nicey nice. Seems we're on the same page there.
He's forewarned me that he'll be tired; hell, he's looking at a 9 hour drive before he reaches home. But, seeing as we've been through this a few times already, The Bloke seems able to gather enough strength to give me at least a taste of some good lovin.'
To get myself primed for him, I began reading through some other blogs:
Confessions of a College Callgirl is always a good read, and the Callgirl's most recent post about a sex club in NYC got me (s0rta) fondly recalling my own trek there
The Erotic Woman is hot anyway you look at it: there's enough gorgeous nakedness there to get my imagination fired up.
Jefferson at One Life, Take Two provides (a) eye candy, and (b) tasty prose. I guiltily admit, however, that I just like browsing through his cast of characters, since they all seem debauched enough for me to enjoy.
And, thanks to Jefferson's links, I read a bit of Always Aroused Girl, who I can sincerely appreciate because she seems to have rediscovered herself after a divorce AND she's a damn good writer. Call it a semi-self-serving sympathy plug, if you will, but I can totally relate. Minus the chitlin.
So, getting fired up doesn't seem much of an issue. I sent The Bloke a text saying as much and he responded that he can't wait to make me cum. Nicey nice. Seems we're on the same page there.
Two Balls, No Strikes
With The Bloke STILL out of town, times are getting hard.
I stayed at his place last night; I'd been out of town myself for a day or two and needed to (a) check up on his digs, and (b) erm... who am I kidding? I just wanted to stay there.
So I made my way up to his place last night and was settled in reading when he sent me a text message. I was suprised to hear from him as I'd thought he was out partying with his brothers until the wee hours. But no; for some reason, none of them were into a late night, so he was home, horny, and looking to play over the phone.
One snafu: I'd left my bag of toys at home.
Bugger! I rang him anyway, figuring I'd at least provide him with a sexy voice. And I could always stroke myself sans accoutrements. After all, isn't that why we were blessed with two hands?
But The Bloke loves the idea of me and toys. He was quick to remind me of Ben Wa balls we'd left next to his bed.
I'd never used them before. I'd seen them in headshops and was aware of the general purpose but had never actually stuck them up in me and experienced the subtle, powerful orgasm promised.
Upon The Bloke's egging, I lubed myself up and inserted the first ball. "Am I meant to use both?" I questioned. The Bloke could barely answer as he was in the throes of jerking off, but his guess was yes. So in went the second, and... nothing. I shift
my hips, rolled on to my belly and... nothing.
Seeing as I once had a contraceptive sponge stuck in me and had to go to the ER for removal (good times, I can assure you), I was not about to leave to metal balls clanging around in my canal. I squeezed them out as quickly as I could, and in just enough time to hear The Bloke cum powerfully over the phone. I was almost as thrilled, since another trip for removal of foreign object from vagina did not seem on the roster for the evening's activities.
So Ben Wa? Don't get it. Not yet.
Though I'm willing to give it another go upon The Bloke's triumphant return on Sunday. I suspect all stops will be pulled. And I further suspect that trips to the ER will be far, far from my mind...
I stayed at his place last night; I'd been out of town myself for a day or two and needed to (a) check up on his digs, and (b) erm... who am I kidding? I just wanted to stay there.
So I made my way up to his place last night and was settled in reading when he sent me a text message. I was suprised to hear from him as I'd thought he was out partying with his brothers until the wee hours. But no; for some reason, none of them were into a late night, so he was home, horny, and looking to play over the phone.
One snafu: I'd left my bag of toys at home.
Bugger! I rang him anyway, figuring I'd at least provide him with a sexy voice. And I could always stroke myself sans accoutrements. After all, isn't that why we were blessed with two hands?
But The Bloke loves the idea of me and toys. He was quick to remind me of Ben Wa balls we'd left next to his bed.
I'd never used them before. I'd seen them in headshops and was aware of the general purpose but had never actually stuck them up in me and experienced the subtle, powerful orgasm promised.
Upon The Bloke's egging, I lubed myself up and inserted the first ball. "Am I meant to use both?" I questioned. The Bloke could barely answer as he was in the throes of jerking off, but his guess was yes. So in went the second, and... nothing. I shift
my hips, rolled on to my belly and... nothing.Seeing as I once had a contraceptive sponge stuck in me and had to go to the ER for removal (good times, I can assure you), I was not about to leave to metal balls clanging around in my canal. I squeezed them out as quickly as I could, and in just enough time to hear The Bloke cum powerfully over the phone. I was almost as thrilled, since another trip for removal of foreign object from vagina did not seem on the roster for the evening's activities.
So Ben Wa? Don't get it. Not yet.
Though I'm willing to give it another go upon The Bloke's triumphant return on Sunday. I suspect all stops will be pulled. And I further suspect that trips to the ER will be far, far from my mind...
For a good time, call
With The Bloke out of town, I'm left to my own devices. And hands. And toys.
He'll be back in less than a week, but we've both gotten rather spoiled with the regularity of our romps. We've grown accoustomed to seeing each other a few times a week and fucking at least twice; I've lost count how many orgasms I normally have during one of our trysts. So while a week may not seem like much, our bodies are both crying out in revolt.
I stayed at his place last night because I wanted to take care of his plants and because he's got a beautifully quiet place near the water. It was strange, though: I've never been there without him, so I felt a little awkward at first. After settling in with some dinner, music, wine (of course), and a good read, I was mellow and relaxed and loving every moment of the penetrating quiet. I decided to turn in early, so I climbed into his big comfy bed by around ten and sent him a text telling him such.
Nibble? I knew he'd take the bait.
He responded that he liked the idea of me in his bed. I told him I was fired up. He asked if we could play.
Why, yes.
I rang him and after a moment or two of chit chat, my panties were down and I was lubing myself up for him. I listened to him get off and tell me all he wanted to do to me. He sounded like he was going to cum quickly, so I busted out the big guns: The Rabbit.
Now, I know The Rabbitt got a lot of attention from a mention on a Sex And The City episode; not having ever seen the show, I didn't pay it much mind, but I'd heard it was the vibrator to end all vibrators. The Bloke bought one for me as a surprise and this baby is turbo-charged; I came in about five minutes when we played with it.
Sure enough, I slide it in me and pressed the vibration buttons... mmmm, the vibration in my cunt was delightful, but the arm reaching my clit drove me wild. We came over the phone in record time.
Of course, I've promised him a vigorous session as soon as he gets home, but last night was good enough to have him ringing me again first thing this morning...
He'll be back in less than a week, but we've both gotten rather spoiled with the regularity of our romps. We've grown accoustomed to seeing each other a few times a week and fucking at least twice; I've lost count how many orgasms I normally have during one of our trysts. So while a week may not seem like much, our bodies are both crying out in revolt.
I stayed at his place last night because I wanted to take care of his plants and because he's got a beautifully quiet place near the water. It was strange, though: I've never been there without him, so I felt a little awkward at first. After settling in with some dinner, music, wine (of course), and a good read, I was mellow and relaxed and loving every moment of the penetrating quiet. I decided to turn in early, so I climbed into his big comfy bed by around ten and sent him a text telling him such.
Nibble? I knew he'd take the bait.
He responded that he liked the idea of me in his bed. I told him I was fired up. He asked if we could play.
Why, yes.
I rang him and after a moment or two of chit chat, my panties were down and I was lubing myself up for him. I listened to him get off and tell me all he wanted to do to me. He sounded like he was going to cum quickly, so I busted out the big guns: The Rabbit.
Now, I know The Rabbitt got a lot of attention from a mention on a Sex And The City episode; not having ever seen the show, I didn't pay it much mind, but I'd heard it was the vibrator to end all vibrators. The Bloke bought one for me as a surprise and this baby is turbo-charged; I came in about five minutes when we played with it.
Sure enough, I slide it in me and pressed the vibration buttons... mmmm, the vibration in my cunt was delightful, but the arm reaching my clit drove me wild. We came over the phone in record time.
Of course, I've promised him a vigorous session as soon as he gets home, but last night was good enough to have him ringing me again first thing this morning...
Back Door Bloke
The Bloke and I have been experimenting with rear entry. And I don't mean doggie style.
I'd tried anal sex before but just found it frightfully painful. When The Bloke first mentioned it as a possibility, I paused, hesitating to agree.
I've always loved playing down around the butt; I'd had a lover in college who rimmed me and I felt like I'd landed on a cloud. And stick a finger in my ass during sex and I feel electricity running through my veins. But touching and licking are very different than full entry and pounding: that I'd attempted with an ex who wasn't large at all and YIKES! I damn near went fetal from the pain after.
I explained it all to The Bloke and he nodded knowingly. "Yeah," he said "It's all about relaxtion." Sounding a little too flippantly Buddhish for me, I still doubted we could pull this off without causing my posterior irreparable damage. Thankfully, The Bloke's had a lover in the past who is just as kinky as I am and who had turned him on to the ways of anal sex.
The Bloke is also a big beliver in toys, which helped plead his case tremendously. He's bought me an arsenal, so we started small with anal beads. Apparently, the idea is to insert them one at a time until you've reached your limit. You can even snip off the smaller ones at the end if they're extraneous. We dabbled with them one night and they were pretty fun - but we only got about halfway down the chain. I did, however, love when he pulled them out, one by one. Mmmm. Next up was a vibrating anal probe. It looked like a vibrator, but much thinner. The Bloke lubed me and it up and dove in. I got into it, but when it got too far, I asked him to stop. I realized that that is the main problem for me; unlike vaginal sex, going too deep can be very painful. So The Bloke shopped around some more (an aside: it's hilarious to me that he spends so much time shopping, evaluating, c
omparing sex toys for us....) and he found a silicone butt plug. Aha! It was a bit thicker than I'd've liked to start with, but I agreed to give it a go. We got stoned and he slowly inserted it in me... and my god, it felt damn good. And then we fucked, doggie style, and I swear, I saw stars. I had the most intense orgasm I ever had before. The combination of the butt plug, weed, and his incredible cock sent me over the edge.
SOLD!
I asked him last night if he wanted to fuck my ass. His eyes lit up. We sped back to his place and ripped off our clothes, eager to let the games begin. We smoked the requisite bowl and he lubed me up good. Getting him hard was not an issue since the very idea of the night's possibilities were making him crazy with desire. He started by circling my ass hole with his finger, getting me ready for more. I writhed with anticipation and need: feeling his finger was making my cunt wetter by the second. We had the bag o' toys ready if I needed widening assistance, but he took his time providing that himself. Finally, we went for it: on my belly, my hips raised to him, he slowly began to squeeze his cock into my ass. Slowly, slowly... and the next thing I knew, he was at least halfway in. He didn't pound me, just carefully dipped the head in and out. I was going out of my mind: I couldn't take it any longer, it felt so incredibly good. I finally begged him to pull out and fuck me hard. Which he did.
He's going out of town for a week and a half, so we made sure I was stocked on lube before he leaves. I don't think I'll be butt plugging myself in his absence, but I'm sure a session or two with The Rabbit will be in order. And when he can't hold out any longer and calls me for phone sex, I'd love to rim my hole and describe to him all the ways I need him to fuck me.
I'd tried anal sex before but just found it frightfully painful. When The Bloke first mentioned it as a possibility, I paused, hesitating to agree.
I've always loved playing down around the butt; I'd had a lover in college who rimmed me and I felt like I'd landed on a cloud. And stick a finger in my ass during sex and I feel electricity running through my veins. But touching and licking are very different than full entry and pounding: that I'd attempted with an ex who wasn't large at all and YIKES! I damn near went fetal from the pain after.
I explained it all to The Bloke and he nodded knowingly. "Yeah," he said "It's all about relaxtion." Sounding a little too flippantly Buddhish for me, I still doubted we could pull this off without causing my posterior irreparable damage. Thankfully, The Bloke's had a lover in the past who is just as kinky as I am and who had turned him on to the ways of anal sex.
The Bloke is also a big beliver in toys, which helped plead his case tremendously. He's bought me an arsenal, so we started small with anal beads. Apparently, the idea is to insert them one at a time until you've reached your limit. You can even snip off the smaller ones at the end if they're extraneous. We dabbled with them one night and they were pretty fun - but we only got about halfway down the chain. I did, however, love when he pulled them out, one by one. Mmmm. Next up was a vibrating anal probe. It looked like a vibrator, but much thinner. The Bloke lubed me and it up and dove in. I got into it, but when it got too far, I asked him to stop. I realized that that is the main problem for me; unlike vaginal sex, going too deep can be very painful. So The Bloke shopped around some more (an aside: it's hilarious to me that he spends so much time shopping, evaluating, c
omparing sex toys for us....) and he found a silicone butt plug. Aha! It was a bit thicker than I'd've liked to start with, but I agreed to give it a go. We got stoned and he slowly inserted it in me... and my god, it felt damn good. And then we fucked, doggie style, and I swear, I saw stars. I had the most intense orgasm I ever had before. The combination of the butt plug, weed, and his incredible cock sent me over the edge.SOLD!
I asked him last night if he wanted to fuck my ass. His eyes lit up. We sped back to his place and ripped off our clothes, eager to let the games begin. We smoked the requisite bowl and he lubed me up good. Getting him hard was not an issue since the very idea of the night's possibilities were making him crazy with desire. He started by circling my ass hole with his finger, getting me ready for more. I writhed with anticipation and need: feeling his finger was making my cunt wetter by the second. We had the bag o' toys ready if I needed widening assistance, but he took his time providing that himself. Finally, we went for it: on my belly, my hips raised to him, he slowly began to squeeze his cock into my ass. Slowly, slowly... and the next thing I knew, he was at least halfway in. He didn't pound me, just carefully dipped the head in and out. I was going out of my mind: I couldn't take it any longer, it felt so incredibly good. I finally begged him to pull out and fuck me hard. Which he did.
He's going out of town for a week and a half, so we made sure I was stocked on lube before he leaves. I don't think I'll be butt plugging myself in his absence, but I'm sure a session or two with The Rabbit will be in order. And when he can't hold out any longer and calls me for phone sex, I'd love to rim my hole and describe to him all the ways I need him to fuck me.
Ripe Fruit
Summertime is tough on me.
Like today, for instance: I'm minding my own business, stuck at the very unglamourous laundromat, and watching the world parade down the main street of my section of the city. And then it hit me: just about every woman that walked by was wearing a sexy little dress, meandering dreamily in the sultry heat of today.
Why oh why must every one of them look like a luscious, fresh fig?
-Sigh-
The Bloke and I are going out later tonight. We've talked of adding a friend to our mix; not a current friend, mind you (so any of you reading are safe...), but finding a ready, willing, and able woman to join in our romps.
I've played with a woman only once before as a "going away present" when I left NYC. It was a very considerate gift, I should add; one of my friends knew I wanted to play, so he brought me to a swingers' club one late, tipsy night. I had no interest in the men coming at me with hardened cocks - really, it seemed almost absurd - which made me the least popular woman there, I'm sure. But I did have a lovely tongue-filled session with a young, bronzed beauty, kissing her nipples and mouth and letting my fingers play with her lips and clit. Her man got off watching us. I'd love to have gone further with her but I knew others would join in and it was just a bit too anonymous for me. I kinda paranoid about some things, and I didn't see too many condoms out and about. An explosive orgasm, as much as I'd celebrate it, didn't quite seem worth the risk.
So today, I'll simmer up dreams for myself and The Bloke and download pictures of Dita Von Teese, perhaps one of the most luscious women around. And I'm certain The Bloke will not object to my whisperings in his ear tonight, when we're out at an open air concert in a full crowd, of all the ways in which we could touch, taste, tantalize her...
Like today, for instance: I'm minding my own business, stuck at the very unglamourous laundromat, and watching the world parade down the main street of my section of the city. And then it hit me: just about every woman that walked by was wearing a sexy little dress, meandering dreamily in the sultry heat of today.
Why oh why must every one of them look like a luscious, fresh fig?
-Sigh-
The Bloke and I are going out later tonight. We've talked of adding a friend to our mix; not a current friend, mind you (so any of you reading are safe...), but finding a ready, willing, and able woman to join in our romps.
I've played with a woman only once before as a "going away present" when I left NYC. It was a very considerate gift, I should add; one of my friends knew I wanted to play, so he brought me to a swingers' club one late, tipsy night. I had no interest in the men coming at me with hardened cocks - really, it seemed almost absurd - which made me the least popular woman there, I'm sure. But I did have a lovely tongue-filled session with a young, bronzed beauty, kissing her nipples and mouth and letting my fingers play with her lips and clit. Her man got off watching us. I'd love to have gone further with her but I knew others would join in and it was just a bit too anonymous for me. I kinda paranoid about some things, and I didn't see too many condoms out and about. An explosive orgasm, as much as I'd celebrate it, didn't quite seem worth the risk.
So today, I'll simmer up dreams for myself and The Bloke and download pictures of Dita Von Teese, perhaps one of the most luscious women around. And I'm certain The Bloke will not object to my whisperings in his ear tonight, when we're out at an open air concert in a full crowd, of all the ways in which we could touch, taste, tantalize her...
Reunited, and it feels so good
An orgasm is a beautiful thing.
The Bloke is back in town, albeit breifly, but long enough for me to high dee ho to his gaff for a romp. Sadly, my period made an appearance the very same day - mighty considerate of it, to be sure. While neither of us are exactly prudish about sloppy sex, I'm usually just not feeling my normally hornilicious self on Day One of the bleeds. But, as we know, where there is a problem, we can probably find a solution.
I got to his place and we had some dinner (I rock in the kitchen and the bedroom... doesn't that make me the perfect woman?) and a bottle of wine he'd gotten from his weekend jaunt in wine country. The night was stellar - the sun set the sky ablaze as it sunk over the horizon and we ran over to the shoreline to watch it. It sank more and more quickly and The Bloke had a burst of inspiration: marijuana. We raced back to the house, smoked a bowl, and marvelled at the remainders of the pink-orange sunset.
The Bloke and I normally smoke a bit together, so this is nothing new. What was new for me was the massive boost to my libido. I normally get a bit more rambunctuous, but since that's a constant state for me, it's kinda hard to gauge. But yesterday? Ay, papi, me so horny! I was pawing The Bloke by the water and he was returning the favor, squeezing my nipples and pressing his hard cock into me until I couldn't take it anymore. We raced back (once again) to the house, only to drop his drawers as soon as we got in. I dropped to my knees and wrapped my mouth around him (which is no small feat, I assure you). We grappled our way up to his bedroom, where he pulled out some ropes and old towels: towels to prevent a crimson tatoo on his sheets, and ropes to hold me in place. -Swoon- We had yet another insane romp; he fucked my mouth, my cunt, my ass until I screamed. I pity his neighbors.
But this morning, I was no longer stoned (obviously) and quite crampy. No mind: The Bloke leaned back and stroked his gorgeous erection himself. I was
tempted to provide oral assistance, but I rather enjoyed watching him jerk off as I snuggled up against him. I loved watching his face, listening to his breathing change, and hearing him shout out when he came.
I'm meant to see him again tomorrow night, and let's pray this flow is waning a bit because after this, it'll be damn near two weeks before we can romp. Thankfully he's provided me with an arsenal of toys with which I can amuse myself, and about which I can post my reviews.
The Bloke is back in town, albeit breifly, but long enough for me to high dee ho to his gaff for a romp. Sadly, my period made an appearance the very same day - mighty considerate of it, to be sure. While neither of us are exactly prudish about sloppy sex, I'm usually just not feeling my normally hornilicious self on Day One of the bleeds. But, as we know, where there is a problem, we can probably find a solution.
I got to his place and we had some dinner (I rock in the kitchen and the bedroom... doesn't that make me the perfect woman?) and a bottle of wine he'd gotten from his weekend jaunt in wine country. The night was stellar - the sun set the sky ablaze as it sunk over the horizon and we ran over to the shoreline to watch it. It sank more and more quickly and The Bloke had a burst of inspiration: marijuana. We raced back to the house, smoked a bowl, and marvelled at the remainders of the pink-orange sunset.
The Bloke and I normally smoke a bit together, so this is nothing new. What was new for me was the massive boost to my libido. I normally get a bit more rambunctuous, but since that's a constant state for me, it's kinda hard to gauge. But yesterday? Ay, papi, me so horny! I was pawing The Bloke by the water and he was returning the favor, squeezing my nipples and pressing his hard cock into me until I couldn't take it anymore. We raced back (once again) to the house, only to drop his drawers as soon as we got in. I dropped to my knees and wrapped my mouth around him (which is no small feat, I assure you). We grappled our way up to his bedroom, where he pulled out some ropes and old towels: towels to prevent a crimson tatoo on his sheets, and ropes to hold me in place. -Swoon- We had yet another insane romp; he fucked my mouth, my cunt, my ass until I screamed. I pity his neighbors.
But this morning, I was no longer stoned (obviously) and quite crampy. No mind: The Bloke leaned back and stroked his gorgeous erection himself. I was
tempted to provide oral assistance, but I rather enjoyed watching him jerk off as I snuggled up against him. I loved watching his face, listening to his breathing change, and hearing him shout out when he came.I'm meant to see him again tomorrow night, and let's pray this flow is waning a bit because after this, it'll be damn near two weeks before we can romp. Thankfully he's provided me with an arsenal of toys with which I can amuse myself, and about which I can post my reviews.
Ancient Wisdom
One of my best friends got married in 2004. She asked me to be the maid of honor, and I was touched since I'd known her and her now-husband for about 12 years at the point. They'd been living together for five years prior, so I was kind of surprised they had any desire to make it legal - I figured that it wasn't that important to them.
Gifts for them were a bit of a struggle for me since I knew they had all of the necessities. Their wedding gift came easily enough since I knew they were wine enthusiasts. But a bridal shower gift? Hmmm. Figuring five years was long enough to need inspiration, I bought an illustrated Kama Sutra along with massage oils and other accoutrements. The bride blushed when she opened it (a first!) and squealed "THANK you!" Her mother-in-law grabbed it and said "You're not doing THAT with my son, are you??"
Yikes. After five years, one can only hope.
I've owned a non-illustrated version of the Kama Sutra for many years and never read much. I cracked it last night and began reading about stimulating erotic desire, embraces, and petting and caresses. (Bear with me - The Bloke's out of town, so I've gotta make do with my own imagination and props...) It's a delight to read that biting and scratching is considered a normal part of erotic play instead of kinky aberrations. I also learned of all sorts of playful positions, like laying breasts in between a man's thighs to stimulate desire.
I suppose what is most notable to me is the healthy view of sex. Judeo-Christian values have indelibly fucked this country up, and it's always a shock to me to see how many hangups people have about healthy sexual exploration. We've become a nation that forces constant titillation through the media but then judges any sort of indulgement. Quite frankly, any sort of god that would give us the gorgeous gift of our bodies and condemn us for enjoying them sounds like an evil, twisted bastard. But that's just me.
Reading the Kama Sutra reminded me of an exercise we did in grad school: everyone in a class about public education and culture had to make alist of the ten books he or she thought everyone should read. The Bible and The Autobiography of Malcolm X headed most peoples lists (this was in NYC), but I don't recall anyone including eastern philosophy or literature of any kind. I'd add the Kama Sutra; I'd love to see children learn how to enjoy themselves and their partners with respect instead of learning how to be too scared to ask for a condom.
Anyway, excuse me while I go practice venudaritaka, or 'the broken flute.' I have to make sure I can stretch that way before I attempt it...
Gifts for them were a bit of a struggle for me since I knew they had all of the necessities. Their wedding gift came easily enough since I knew they were wine enthusiasts. But a bridal shower gift? Hmmm. Figuring five years was long enough to need inspiration, I bought an illustrated Kama Sutra along with massage oils and other accoutrements. The bride blushed when she opened it (a first!) and squealed "THANK you!" Her mother-in-law grabbed it and said "You're not doing THAT with my son, are you??"
Yikes. After five years, one can only hope.
I've owned a non-illustrated version of the Kama Sutra for many years and never read much. I cracked it last night and began reading about stimulating erotic desire, embraces, and petting and caresses. (Bear with me - The Bloke's out of town, so I've gotta make do with my own imagination and props...) It's a delight to read that biting and scratching is considered a normal part of erotic play instead of kinky aberrations. I also learned of all sorts of playful positions, like laying breasts in between a man's thighs to stimulate desire.
I suppose what is most notable to me is the healthy view of sex. Judeo-Christian values have indelibly fucked this country up, and it's always a shock to me to see how many hangups people have about healthy sexual exploration. We've become a nation that forces constant titillation through the media but then judges any sort of indulgement. Quite frankly, any sort of god that would give us the gorgeous gift of our bodies and condemn us for enjoying them sounds like an evil, twisted bastard. But that's just me.
Reading the Kama Sutra reminded me of an exercise we did in grad school: everyone in a class about public education and culture had to make alist of the ten books he or she thought everyone should read. The Bible and The Autobiography of Malcolm X headed most peoples lists (this was in NYC), but I don't recall anyone including eastern philosophy or literature of any kind. I'd add the Kama Sutra; I'd love to see children learn how to enjoy themselves and their partners with respect instead of learning how to be too scared to ask for a condom.
Anyway, excuse me while I go practice venudaritaka, or 'the broken flute.' I have to make sure I can stretch that way before I attempt it...
Night on Bald Mountain
I shaved.
This is big news for me. I normally trim, very carefully, but I don't shave down totally. I'd done it once or twice before and - yeeeIKES - is it ever itchy! I also have Mother Earth tendencies and rather like my dark, thick bush. But I'm an adventerous chick, so I decided I'd have a little fun and get a buzz cut. I suppose I'd spent too much time watching "I Feel Myself" and felt the need to spent more time exploring my cunt. So, during a lunch break (the concept of which is fairly ludicrous since I work from home), I scurried to a shop to get a multiple-setting buzz cutter. Nothing's too good for my pubes!
I did, of course, consider going the whole-hog and getting waxed. And I'm not talking some sissy bikini wax - brutha please! That's for wimps! I considered getting a Brazilian wax. 'Considered' is the operative word in that sentence as idea never evolved into action. And that's because I am a wimp. There's also something faintly disturbing to me about fucking a woman with no pubic hair - it seems like some sort of little girl fantasy is being worked out. Hmm. I'm still torn on it all and maybe - just maybe - if I ever get that stoned or drunk or decide to smoke enough opium, sure - I'll tear it all off.
For the present, however, I'm buzzed. I raced home after my razor acquisition and tore into the packaging. These things are so cool because you can change the settings and thereby gage how low you're gonna go. I went to the shortest possible - I was going to go sans guard at all, but that'd leave my pussy with 5 o'clock shadow. I'm not into leaving razor burn on The Bloke's face when he next chows down. It was indeed a challenge getting all them strays trimmed up and I'm thankful that I'm quite the yogini because several contortions involving the buzzer and a tiny mirror were necessary to make sure I didn't miss anything.
But me likes.
I sent The Bloke a text that I'd just given myself a buzzcut. I was teasing him because he'd just asked me last weekend if I'd ever had my hair in a bob (it's quite long now). I've had my hair all lengths but its so unruly that the longer it is, the better it lays. Still, I knew he wouldn't be quite sure what I'd buzzed.
And, needless to say, he realized it as soon as he saw me last night. And he rather enjoyed the lack of barrier en route to my clit. He was delighting in it this morning as he slammed into me again for breakfast. Maybe I'll go Brazilian for his birthday. And since his birthday is at the end of the year, that gives me enough time to develop a heroin problem to help kill the pain.
This is big news for me. I normally trim, very carefully, but I don't shave down totally. I'd done it once or twice before and - yeeeIKES - is it ever itchy! I also have Mother Earth tendencies and rather like my dark, thick bush. But I'm an adventerous chick, so I decided I'd have a little fun and get a buzz cut. I suppose I'd spent too much time watching "I Feel Myself" and felt the need to spent more time exploring my cunt. So, during a lunch break (the concept of which is fairly ludicrous since I work from home), I scurried to a shop to get a multiple-setting buzz cutter. Nothing's too good for my pubes!
I did, of course, consider going the whole-hog and getting waxed. And I'm not talking some sissy bikini wax - brutha please! That's for wimps! I considered getting a Brazilian wax. 'Considered' is the operative word in that sentence as idea never evolved into action. And that's because I am a wimp. There's also something faintly disturbing to me about fucking a woman with no pubic hair - it seems like some sort of little girl fantasy is being worked out. Hmm. I'm still torn on it all and maybe - just maybe - if I ever get that stoned or drunk or decide to smoke enough opium, sure - I'll tear it all off.For the present, however, I'm buzzed. I raced home after my razor acquisition and tore into the packaging. These things are so cool because you can change the settings and thereby gage how low you're gonna go. I went to the shortest possible - I was going to go sans guard at all, but that'd leave my pussy with 5 o'clock shadow. I'm not into leaving razor burn on The Bloke's face when he next chows down. It was indeed a challenge getting all them strays trimmed up and I'm thankful that I'm quite the yogini because several contortions involving the buzzer and a tiny mirror were necessary to make sure I didn't miss anything.
But me likes.
I sent The Bloke a text that I'd just given myself a buzzcut. I was teasing him because he'd just asked me last weekend if I'd ever had my hair in a bob (it's quite long now). I've had my hair all lengths but its so unruly that the longer it is, the better it lays. Still, I knew he wouldn't be quite sure what I'd buzzed.
And, needless to say, he realized it as soon as he saw me last night. And he rather enjoyed the lack of barrier en route to my clit. He was delighting in it this morning as he slammed into me again for breakfast. Maybe I'll go Brazilian for his birthday. And since his birthday is at the end of the year, that gives me enough time to develop a heroin problem to help kill the pain.
Take It Off
The Bloke and I went to our first strip club together.
I'd gone to a few when I was younger downstate (you can imagine which state it was...) My only recollection of one outing was a hot, tight brunette shimmying her way over to our table to offer a lap dance. "Oh," I laughed, "You wanna give me a lap dance?" She slung her body over mine and whispered huskily in my ear "I tell you one thing, I'd enjoy it a helluvalot more!"
Oh! Snap!
Needless to say, I'd been itching to replicate the experience. My last week in NYC resulted in one very very very bad strip club that was just plain depressing. Honestly? If my ass is (a) fitter, and (b) shakes better than those on stage, why would I waste my dollars? That's what mirrors are for.
So.
The Bloke and I mentioned going. I think he was a bit cautious when he brought it up. "Jesus!" I exclaimed, "I'd love to go!" We knew it'd have to be a non-school night since we planned on smoking a bit of dope and probably publicly indulging, thereby risking a lewd and lascivious arrest. Thankfully, the latter didn't happen, but plenty of the former did.
The Bloke sent me a text one morning when we'd planned on getting together regarding some strip clubs in Canada. I promptly donned a little floral dress that involved no bra and, more notably, no knickers.
Hot! Damn!
The Bloke could barely contain himself. We hit The Sundowner in Niagara Falls; I wasn't quite sure what to expect based on the massive number of cars in the lot, but I gave it a go.
Canada is one weird place, dawgs.
First of all? Yep, it was crowded. But never, when fighting my way through the frat boys, did I feel a hand on my ass that I couldn't locate. Those buggers am damn polite up north.
Secondly, despite the tons of gents there, never did it seem close to getting out of hand. The dancers put on pseudo-sex shows, slapping and fingering and licking each other. It was hot, but open and playful. I also watched a very slow, erotic lap dance that almost made me cream - I can only imagine the state of the poor recipient! But at the end, the dancer hopped up, got her cash, and cheerfully wished him a fun night.
Mmmm.
So needless to say, me and The Bloke followed suit: we retreated to the parking lot, smoked a bowl, and I gave him head. After going back inside, I'd press my body up against him so he could feel my cunt through his jeans. Rock-hard en route home? Why, yes.
And honestly? Sure it was fun, but I think the massive fuck I got back at the homestead was far, far better.
But I'm always thankful for inspiration...
I'd gone to a few when I was younger downstate (you can imagine which state it was...) My only recollection of one outing was a hot, tight brunette shimmying her way over to our table to offer a lap dance. "Oh," I laughed, "You wanna give me a lap dance?" She slung her body over mine and whispered huskily in my ear "I tell you one thing, I'd enjoy it a helluvalot more!"
Oh! Snap!
Needless to say, I'd been itching to replicate the experience. My last week in NYC resulted in one very very very bad strip club that was just plain depressing. Honestly? If my ass is (a) fitter, and (b) shakes better than those on stage, why would I waste my dollars? That's what mirrors are for.
So.
The Bloke and I mentioned going. I think he was a bit cautious when he brought it up. "Jesus!" I exclaimed, "I'd love to go!" We knew it'd have to be a non-school night since we planned on smoking a bit of dope and probably publicly indulging, thereby risking a lewd and lascivious arrest. Thankfully, the latter didn't happen, but plenty of the former did.
The Bloke sent me a text one morning when we'd planned on getting together regarding some strip clubs in Canada. I promptly donned a little floral dress that involved no bra and, more notably, no knickers.
Hot! Damn!
The Bloke could barely contain himself. We hit The Sundowner in Niagara Falls; I wasn't quite sure what to expect based on the massive number of cars in the lot, but I gave it a go.
Canada is one weird place, dawgs.
First of all? Yep, it was crowded. But never, when fighting my way through the frat boys, did I feel a hand on my ass that I couldn't locate. Those buggers am damn polite up north.
Secondly, despite the tons of gents there, never did it seem close to getting out of hand. The dancers put on pseudo-sex shows, slapping and fingering and licking each other. It was hot, but open and playful. I also watched a very slow, erotic lap dance that almost made me cream - I can only imagine the state of the poor recipient! But at the end, the dancer hopped up, got her cash, and cheerfully wished him a fun night.
Mmmm.
So needless to say, me and The Bloke followed suit: we retreated to the parking lot, smoked a bowl, and I gave him head. After going back inside, I'd press my body up against him so he could feel my cunt through his jeans. Rock-hard en route home? Why, yes.
And honestly? Sure it was fun, but I think the massive fuck I got back at the homestead was far, far better.
But I'm always thankful for inspiration...
Ugly Truth
Ah, bathroom philosophers. God love 'em.
I saw this lil' gem in the loo of a cafe last weekend, and, due to the glories of modern technology, I was able to capture it with my cellphone forever and ever. Or at least until I inadvertantly hit 'erase'.
But as I was hovering there over the pot, I began to ponder the age-old question: how much of attraction is based on physical beauty?
I am not a beautiful woman. I am attractive, but I am certainly not signing on to be the next Gisele for Victoria's Secret. I grew up a fat chick, so I long relied on my wit (of which you are luckily now experiencing the razor-sharpness) and intellect, since I felt no sane man could possibly be attracted to me. But as I've gotten older and leaner, I've learned not only that physical beauty is important, but more importantly, how it is important.
Think about it: when you first meet someone, can you say "Damn, look at the sense of humor on him!" No. That happens a bit after. But when you first meet someone, there's usually some sort of something that is aesthetically pleasing enough to make you want to know some more.
Now lest y'all think this is a rail against fuglies, let me note that so much of percieved beauty is merely attitude. I have not had a problem dating at all since my mid-20s. While that does co-incide to the time during which I lost weight, the difference is all in my attitude: the combination of confidence, knowing what I want, and being brazen enough to voice it seems to be doing the trick.
I think my epiphany happened when I went to a hot springs retreat in California. While I've always been happy to skinny dip, this was the first time I'd be naked around loads of strangers for the bulk of my time there. Since clothing was 'optional', I'd brought a bathing suit and figured I'd just don that if I felt too awkward. However, as soon as I got to the changing room, I realized how ludicrous it was since everyone else was buck nekkid. When in Rome, right? I also noticed the vast array of body types around me: old, young, fat, lean, flabby, toned - you name it. And no one cared. That's perhaps what was most beautiful. I realized that there would always be someone who was "more" than me in some way - better tits, a sweeter ass, leaner legs, whatever. But since everyone was so comfortable in their own skins there, no one stood out as being ugly. It was the confidence and comfort that made it so.
When I met The Bloke earlier this year, I was attracted to his eyes and the way he carried himself. He was tall and lean and came across as a thoughtful, confident man. As I chatted to him 
and learned a bit more, I was greatly intrigued. "You should call me," I told him. He didn't know what to make of me. The next time we ran into each other, he asked me about it. "Well, you're hot," I told him. And he was. And he responded in kind. I don't think he was enamoured with my stunning beauty so much as my boldness. (Of course enjoying a good fuck helps too, but I digress...)
All of this brings me back to the original question: How much of attraction is based on physical beauty? I'd say about half. It certainly helps get attention. But so much more is confidence and sass.
Think Mae West. Attractive? Sure. But her saucy wit and her delight in carnal pleasures got her much further than her baby blues.
Plus she was from Brooklyn. 'Nuff said.
Bienvenue
So. Today is Day One.
We've upped and decided to create this blog.
Basically, I'm a 30-something chick who loves sex. My partner in pornographic crime is an older bloke who loves that I love sex. I suppose it could be called a symbiotic relationship of sorts.
To sum up, we enjoy a damn good romp, and we seem to have no limits.
We've come to realize, through our own not-so-limited experiences, how few people there are who are really open to erotic exploration, be it due to religious/social hang-ups, physical or psychological insecurities, or flat-out fear. And that, kids, is a crime. So we've decided that a much-needed public service is right before us: we'll be documenting and evaluating different dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, etc; we'll debate the merits of Viagara and its available variations; we'll hunt for the best on-line toy stores and price compare; we'll even get into the gory deets of our day-to-day exploits because let's face it: everyone loves a good ol' fashioned sex story.
I'm also going to try to enlist the help of one of my girls, hereby known as The Kissing Bandit. La Bandita is coming in to her own: she's overcoming her insecurities and discovering the glories of flirting and make-out sessions. While it's become my mission to get her laid already, I'm certainly enjoying the tales she drags home each week.
Right, so that's all for now...
We've upped and decided to create this blog.
Basically, I'm a 30-something chick who loves sex. My partner in pornographic crime is an older bloke who loves that I love sex. I suppose it could be called a symbiotic relationship of sorts.
To sum up, we enjoy a damn good romp, and we seem to have no limits.
We've come to realize, through our own not-so-limited experiences, how few people there are who are really open to erotic exploration, be it due to religious/social hang-ups, physical or psychological insecurities, or flat-out fear. And that, kids, is a crime. So we've decided that a much-needed public service is right before us: we'll be documenting and evaluating different dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, etc; we'll debate the merits of Viagara and its available variations; we'll hunt for the best on-line toy stores and price compare; we'll even get into the gory deets of our day-to-day exploits because let's face it: everyone loves a good ol' fashioned sex story.
I'm also going to try to enlist the help of one of my girls, hereby known as The Kissing Bandit. La Bandita is coming in to her own: she's overcoming her insecurities and discovering the glories of flirting and make-out sessions. While it's become my mission to get her laid already, I'm certainly enjoying the tales she drags home each week.
Right, so that's all for now...
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