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...)
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...
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