I don't usually get overly political here, but this is something I'm excited about, and want to spread the word to as many people as possible.
In response to three different incidents across the country where queer couples have been harassed (and, in one case, arrested) for kissing in public, we're holding Kiss-Ins. Throughout the entire country.
And I'm REALLY excited about it. I know there are other, maybe more important issues on the table right now, but this is something I care about, and something I think should be such a basic, no-brainer right that it matters that it's not. Of COURSE we should be able to kiss those we love. In public. Without being harassed. Or arrested.
So that's what we're going to do. On August 15th, at noon Mountain time (that's 11a on the West coast, 2p on the East coast), we're going to kiss. In public. So bring someone you love, and go here to find out where your nearest Kiss-In will be.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
HNT: Satin III
This is the last of the HNT photos The Pilot took when he was here last month.
I suppose that's fitting. I haven't written about it, but my Relationship with The Pilot is... well, it's over. We're negotiating our way back into a friendship, but that is a process. It's a process I think we're capable of accomplishing... but it will take some work.
So, mention of The Pilot will likely be somewhat more sparse. It isn't his fault, and it isn't anything terrible. It's just the way it is.
But here is another shot he took. And I know it's similar to another I've posted before, but the angle is a little different, and I think it's rather beautiful. So is he.
HHNT!
I suppose that's fitting. I haven't written about it, but my Relationship with The Pilot is... well, it's over. We're negotiating our way back into a friendship, but that is a process. It's a process I think we're capable of accomplishing... but it will take some work.
So, mention of The Pilot will likely be somewhat more sparse. It isn't his fault, and it isn't anything terrible. It's just the way it is.
But here is another shot he took. And I know it's similar to another I've posted before, but the angle is a little different, and I think it's rather beautiful. So is he.
HHNT!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Quote of the weekend
Compliments of my roommate... at about 1am, as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, we were discussing what my role was with her toddler daughter (who I help take care of when I can).
Roommate: Well, you can't be an auntie, because all of her aunties are old lesbians!
Me: Yeah, but when I grow up, I wanna be an old lesbian, too!
Roommate: You're not going to be an old lesbian, you're going to be an old... sex fiend!
I love living here. SO. MUCH.
Roommate: Well, you can't be an auntie, because all of her aunties are old lesbians!
Me: Yeah, but when I grow up, I wanna be an old lesbian, too!
Roommate: You're not going to be an old lesbian, you're going to be an old... sex fiend!
I love living here. SO. MUCH.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
HNT: Classic
This is another HNT that's a little bit old school. I actually took it in Spain last fall, so it's almost a year old. I don't particularly remember why I took it, although I think there's a possibility it was to send to Edward. (Ick.)
In any case, I don't have anything exceedingly exciting or special to say about it, but it definitely is half-nekkid!
HHNT!
In any case, I don't have anything exceedingly exciting or special to say about it, but it definitely is half-nekkid!
HHNT!
Toybox: Slippery stuff
My cunt is a sensitive creature, apparently. I realized a few years ago that the reason sex with condoms was often uncomfortable for me was because I was allergic to something in them. I first thought it was the latex, but then realized that it was only SOME latex condoms to which I would have a negative reaction. So, like any enterprising, proud slut, I figured out which types of condoms DIDN'T cause a reaction. And only bought those.
Of course, those ended up being the more expensive and tough-to-find styles, and meant that I ALWAYS had to provide the condom in my encounters. Which can get annoying after a while. And really sucked if, after a particularly rough or lengthy sack session, a partner wasn't done and we wanted to switch condoms, but I didn't have any more.
Or in one particularly memorable instance, where I had two men who both wanted to fuck me... And only one condom to which I wasn't allergic. Weak sauce.
I had similar trouble finding lubes that didn't result in a similar allergic reaction... And yes, of course my first instinct was to go to the doctor and get checked out to make sure it wasn't an STI or anything of the like causing the discomfort. Nope. Clean. Just a fussy cunt. Thanks, body.
So I had just resolved myself to always having to be well-stocked on my upper-echelon condoms. And if I wasn't? Or if a condom or myself needed more lube? Well, that was just too damn bad, wasn't it?
And then came Slippery Stuff. I added it to my Wish List at VibeReview because other reviewers had said it was essentially hypo-allergenic. I figured it couldn't hurt to try a tester, right?
The lovely folks at VibeReview sent me a 4 oz. bottle in my super-sexy package along with several other products. In a habit I picked up from countless trips to the sex store and discussions with Essin 'Em, the first thing I did was put some of the lube on the back of my hand, and taste it.
Slippery Stuff claims to be odorless and tasteless, and while the odorless part isn't quite true (it kind of smells like kid's bubble solution, actually), it really doesn't have much of a taste. Well, it tastes like nothing, is what I mean. I wouldn't drink it with a straw, but it's just a sort of non-flavor. No gross saccharine flavors masking too much glycerin. In fact, Slippery Stuff is totally glycerin-free. And water-based. Which means it's compatible with condoms. Which is awesome.
Because it's a water-based lube, it is a little runny. Be prepared to pour it like water, because it will get all over the place. But that's OK in my book. There are times when adding a little extra mess isn't the worst thing in the world. Slippery Stuff doesn't dry sticky, although it does have a WEIRD stringy property. With a few drops on the back of my hand, each time I tapped a finger into it, I got several strings connecting the finger to my hand. Kind of like when you used to get those obnoxious strings of hot-glue off an otherwise perfectly round blob of glue. (No, I wasn't neurotic as a kid, why do you ask? Why, WHY, dammit?) Even so, it didn't leave my hand (or anywhere else on my body) particularly sticky. Which is much appreciated.
As for its actual lubrication qualities... Well, I should point out that I don't usually need or use lube when I'm alone. I suppose it's my cunt's way of making up to me the allergy - I don't usually need extra lubrication. But in the past, the condoms and lubes I have been allergic to have actually sapped away my natural moisture, leaving me physically uncomfortable... Which is just some sort of cruel joke.
Slippery Stuff didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, I did actually feel wetter, and the lube itself stayed moist much longer when I was actually using it than it did playing with it on my hand. It was silky and smooth and wet and lovely. The only complaint I have is that it made my glass dildo almost too slippery. There are worse things.
I would absolutely recommend this lube for anyone else who's had trouble with lubrication or finding products they aren't allergic to. I was particularly on the look-out for any kind of adverse reaction, and I had none at all. For that alone (even without the other great attributes), I give Slippery Stuff...
5 out of 5 stars
If you'd like your own bottle, or to read more reviews of Slippery Stuff, click here. If you just feel like exploring VibeReview (which I also highly recommend), check them out!
Of course, those ended up being the more expensive and tough-to-find styles, and meant that I ALWAYS had to provide the condom in my encounters. Which can get annoying after a while. And really sucked if, after a particularly rough or lengthy sack session, a partner wasn't done and we wanted to switch condoms, but I didn't have any more.
Or in one particularly memorable instance, where I had two men who both wanted to fuck me... And only one condom to which I wasn't allergic. Weak sauce.
I had similar trouble finding lubes that didn't result in a similar allergic reaction... And yes, of course my first instinct was to go to the doctor and get checked out to make sure it wasn't an STI or anything of the like causing the discomfort. Nope. Clean. Just a fussy cunt. Thanks, body.
So I had just resolved myself to always having to be well-stocked on my upper-echelon condoms. And if I wasn't? Or if a condom or myself needed more lube? Well, that was just too damn bad, wasn't it?
And then came Slippery Stuff. I added it to my Wish List at VibeReview because other reviewers had said it was essentially hypo-allergenic. I figured it couldn't hurt to try a tester, right?
The lovely folks at VibeReview sent me a 4 oz. bottle in my super-sexy package along with several other products. In a habit I picked up from countless trips to the sex store and discussions with Essin 'Em, the first thing I did was put some of the lube on the back of my hand, and taste it.
Slippery Stuff claims to be odorless and tasteless, and while the odorless part isn't quite true (it kind of smells like kid's bubble solution, actually), it really doesn't have much of a taste. Well, it tastes like nothing, is what I mean. I wouldn't drink it with a straw, but it's just a sort of non-flavor. No gross saccharine flavors masking too much glycerin. In fact, Slippery Stuff is totally glycerin-free. And water-based. Which means it's compatible with condoms. Which is awesome.
Because it's a water-based lube, it is a little runny. Be prepared to pour it like water, because it will get all over the place. But that's OK in my book. There are times when adding a little extra mess isn't the worst thing in the world. Slippery Stuff doesn't dry sticky, although it does have a WEIRD stringy property. With a few drops on the back of my hand, each time I tapped a finger into it, I got several strings connecting the finger to my hand. Kind of like when you used to get those obnoxious strings of hot-glue off an otherwise perfectly round blob of glue. (No, I wasn't neurotic as a kid, why do you ask? Why, WHY, dammit?) Even so, it didn't leave my hand (or anywhere else on my body) particularly sticky. Which is much appreciated.
As for its actual lubrication qualities... Well, I should point out that I don't usually need or use lube when I'm alone. I suppose it's my cunt's way of making up to me the allergy - I don't usually need extra lubrication. But in the past, the condoms and lubes I have been allergic to have actually sapped away my natural moisture, leaving me physically uncomfortable... Which is just some sort of cruel joke.
Slippery Stuff didn't do anything of the sort. In fact, I did actually feel wetter, and the lube itself stayed moist much longer when I was actually using it than it did playing with it on my hand. It was silky and smooth and wet and lovely. The only complaint I have is that it made my glass dildo almost too slippery. There are worse things.
I would absolutely recommend this lube for anyone else who's had trouble with lubrication or finding products they aren't allergic to. I was particularly on the look-out for any kind of adverse reaction, and I had none at all. For that alone (even without the other great attributes), I give Slippery Stuff...
5 out of 5 stars
If you'd like your own bottle, or to read more reviews of Slippery Stuff, click here. If you just feel like exploring VibeReview (which I also highly recommend), check them out!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Fiction
I couldn't stop looking at you. I couldn't stop myself from melting into your arms. It's a miracle I managed to keep my heart inside my chest each time you touched me. I don't think you have any idea how you affect me.
Because I notice the way your eyes flash when you look at me. How they're smoldering and cool all at once, and I know you see mine turn greener every time you mention my name. And I see the way you smirk at me when you think I don't know what's on your mind. Or maybe that's when you know I do know. Exactly what you're thinking.
And I can't get enough of the way your mouth just makes me melt. Everything about it - your kisses, with your soft, full lips that find such perfect rhythm with mine so easily. Your tongue, and the way it explores my mouth and my body and makes me shiver in anticipation. Your words, and the way they are so beautiful and eloquent and perfect that they can't be real. Because no one speaks like that in real life. No one is so cool and collected and graceful and simultaneously selfless and giving. That only happens in fiction.
And it must be fiction, the way our bodies collide and you wrap me in your arms. It must be fiction, how I can feel your whole body lean into the kisses you lavish on me and yet always leave me wanting more. Nothing you do is single-handed. All of it seems to incorporate your entire body, your entire being...
And it makes too much sense to be ironic when you tell me you take things hard and slow. The explanation proves too confoundingly true to be fact. The things you say to me must be fictional. The way you move inside me must be the stuff of fantasies, and not of this dreary realism we call home. Your beauty and your persistent optimism are too free of irony and naiveté to survive this place. Maybe to survive me. But at the same time, it's so infectious that I hear myself second-guess my negativity.
Your sincerity is too poetic to be composed. Everything I've seen you do is poetry.
Like when you throw me to the bed and don't for a second let our lips part. Or you pull away and I can feel both our flushed skin, and see your eyes radiating in the dark. Some mysterious color that no name would do justice to. It's all passion and intelligence and perfection and fiction because it couldn't possibly be reality. And when you slide your mouth down my body and don't bother stopping to ask permission and before I can protest, my hands are tangled at the sheets, grasping for anything to hold onto my grip on reality. Then you are relentless in your efforts, and suddenly you have control of my body and are pushing all the right buttons at the same time you're only pushing one and the room explodes and leaves just you and I. Me panting and floating, you smiling and gloating.
So I'll bring you to me because when it comes to you, insatiable doesn't begin to cover my appetite. There is, quite simply, nothing else on the menu, no other nourishment, when you are here. Everything before and everything after ceases to exist. There is only you and I and the only thing I can focus on is your skin on mine and the electric charge that comes from that contact, and hearing you say those beautiful, violent, obscene words with such eloquence and unrestrained passion that I can't believe it exists.
Because I notice the way your eyes flash when you look at me. How they're smoldering and cool all at once, and I know you see mine turn greener every time you mention my name. And I see the way you smirk at me when you think I don't know what's on your mind. Or maybe that's when you know I do know. Exactly what you're thinking.
And I can't get enough of the way your mouth just makes me melt. Everything about it - your kisses, with your soft, full lips that find such perfect rhythm with mine so easily. Your tongue, and the way it explores my mouth and my body and makes me shiver in anticipation. Your words, and the way they are so beautiful and eloquent and perfect that they can't be real. Because no one speaks like that in real life. No one is so cool and collected and graceful and simultaneously selfless and giving. That only happens in fiction.
And it must be fiction, the way our bodies collide and you wrap me in your arms. It must be fiction, how I can feel your whole body lean into the kisses you lavish on me and yet always leave me wanting more. Nothing you do is single-handed. All of it seems to incorporate your entire body, your entire being...
And it makes too much sense to be ironic when you tell me you take things hard and slow. The explanation proves too confoundingly true to be fact. The things you say to me must be fictional. The way you move inside me must be the stuff of fantasies, and not of this dreary realism we call home. Your beauty and your persistent optimism are too free of irony and naiveté to survive this place. Maybe to survive me. But at the same time, it's so infectious that I hear myself second-guess my negativity.
Your sincerity is too poetic to be composed. Everything I've seen you do is poetry.
Like when you throw me to the bed and don't for a second let our lips part. Or you pull away and I can feel both our flushed skin, and see your eyes radiating in the dark. Some mysterious color that no name would do justice to. It's all passion and intelligence and perfection and fiction because it couldn't possibly be reality. And when you slide your mouth down my body and don't bother stopping to ask permission and before I can protest, my hands are tangled at the sheets, grasping for anything to hold onto my grip on reality. Then you are relentless in your efforts, and suddenly you have control of my body and are pushing all the right buttons at the same time you're only pushing one and the room explodes and leaves just you and I. Me panting and floating, you smiling and gloating.
So I'll bring you to me because when it comes to you, insatiable doesn't begin to cover my appetite. There is, quite simply, nothing else on the menu, no other nourishment, when you are here. Everything before and everything after ceases to exist. There is only you and I and the only thing I can focus on is your skin on mine and the electric charge that comes from that contact, and hearing you say those beautiful, violent, obscene words with such eloquence and unrestrained passion that I can't believe it exists.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Toybox: The Magnificent Vibrating Glove
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Friday, July 17, 2009
Adventures in sexting
I've written before about how I'm kind of awkward trying to say anything coherent or sexy during sex. I don't do phone sex because I'm afraid of sounding like a cheesy porno. But sexting (or sex messaging)? That I can do. I posted a series of sext messages from The Scientist a month or so ago.
Well, because I'm a lucky girl, (and, who knows, maybe you all are lucky readers,) I have more super hot sext messages that I got permission to post. The Pilot sent these to me a few weeks ago. He was mentioning that he was proud of them, but didn't really know how to show them off. I, of course, willingly offered him a place to do so. He made an effort to keep each paragraph to the 160-character limit imposed by his phone, so I'll post them as such.
Which makes me think, perhaps we should start using Twitter to post erotica. Yesss... TwittErotica. Maybe this means I'll be getting a Twitter for this blog. We'll see. Not sure how many I can consecutively handle.
Anyway, without further ado, The Pilot's sext fantasy:
The sun still lights the sky from behind the mountains, casting a warm glow on your white-clad form as you cross the yard to meet me.
You're wearing the now-iconic dress and the heavy glass pendant but I'm more interested in the smiling lips and gorgeous dark eyes that are now radiant with joy.
You grab me in what must be the hardest embrace you can and whisper "I missed you" into my shoulder. "You too," I smile, pinned against the car
as I return the hug with equal intensity. "I hear there's free drinks downstairs..." I quip, and you smirkingly take the hint.
Your roommates know what's up and keep the greetings brief and in minutes I'm listening to the pavlovian click of your door being locked.
Not even a breath later, you're against the wall with my hand on your neck and my lips pressed to yours. After a long kiss, I let my hand slide down between
your perfect tits, ending with one finger on your chest. "Stay" I quietly command, and move your chair sideways. "What...?" you start to say, but I'm kissing
you again as I guide you to the chair. "Ohh." You smile coyly as you wriggle onto the arm, your hips moving suggestively to meet the wall behind you.
"I knew you'd figure it out" I say, and kneel in front of you, slowly running my hands up the insides of your legs coaxing them wider and pulling your dress
along for the ride. I narrowly miss the hot mound between them, teasing a desperate whimper out of you as I stop at your hips and dig my thumbs into the
secret buttons I know are hidden there. Gradually releasing pressure, I begin to slide back down your silky legs, this time "accidentally" hooking
my fingers into your panties. With a little cooperation on your part, they're soon sylistically complimenting the rug behind me- leaving your pussy deliciously exposed.
You're already wet, and I can feel the heat radiating from you long before my fingers touch your soft flesh. You let out a moan and hurredly fumble
with my pants. My belt thuds to the floor and we share a chuckle before lapsing back into heavy breathing. My pants and underwear join your panties,
and before I know it, your beautifully feminine hand is caressing my raging hardon. Conscious thought momentarily pauses and I find myself gripping your
neck to keep from falling over. You choke out a gasp and forget to jerk me off just long enough for me to refocus on you. I let your hot cunt go and move my
hand behind your hips, pulling them away from the wall and towards my desperately erect cock. Moving slowly closer, I move the hand at your neck down to my cock,
guiding the head to just barely touch your cunt. "Hey" I get your attention with a lustful kiss and your dark eyes lock mine as I slowly lean into you...
Inch by inch my cock disappears into your hot, lathered hole. The feeling of your muscles tightening around me makes me growl with pleasure and I have to catch
myself with your neck again. I want to stop for a moment, to savor the feeling, but your hips drive into me as your hands find their way to my taut ass,
pulling me into you. I pause for a second and you dig your nails in, forcing me deeper and making me squeeze your neck indignantly. Not that I can resist for long.
Our rhythms begin to sync; my hand behind your hips and your nails on my ass lock us together and I fall forward, biting your neck around my tightened hand.
By now we're both panting with animal lust, sweating and grinding against each other in the frantic throes of lovemaking that's been denied for months.
As the room shrinks to only you and I, I start to feel the rush of the impending explosion building at the base of my cock and my thrusts take on a new urgency.
I can tell you're as close as I am from the short, gasping breaths that you're stealing through the hand on your neck and the palpable pulsing of your cunt
muscles. It's finally too much and my whole body tenses as I shoot hot cum deep into your clenching, dripping cunt.
My hips thrust rythmically of their own accord, driving my pulsing cock as deep as it will go. I can feel you gripping me with every movement, encircling my
solid erection in slick, throbbing heat. Your own frantic motions drag a breathless "ohfuckohfuckOHFUCKFUCK...FUCK!!!" from your lips. Your back arches
and my skin burns behind your raking fingernails, proving without words that Oh yes, it WAS good for you. Our breath comes in ragged gasps and through the tingling
semi-blackout of our shared orgasm I am only dimly aware of the juices soaking both of us from the hips down. Breathing slows, muscles relax, and after a few
breaths, I slowly, languidly slide out of you, lingering with each tiny sensation of skin on cum-slicked skin. I smirk and murmur into your neck
"I think we're gonna need a towel." A euphoric "Ha!" is all you can manage before sighing deeply and slouching into my arms. "But first, let's do it again," I grin.
Well, because I'm a lucky girl, (and, who knows, maybe you all are lucky readers,) I have more super hot sext messages that I got permission to post. The Pilot sent these to me a few weeks ago. He was mentioning that he was proud of them, but didn't really know how to show them off. I, of course, willingly offered him a place to do so. He made an effort to keep each paragraph to the 160-character limit imposed by his phone, so I'll post them as such.
Which makes me think, perhaps we should start using Twitter to post erotica. Yesss... TwittErotica. Maybe this means I'll be getting a Twitter for this blog. We'll see. Not sure how many I can consecutively handle.
Anyway, without further ado, The Pilot's sext fantasy:
The sun still lights the sky from behind the mountains, casting a warm glow on your white-clad form as you cross the yard to meet me.
You're wearing the now-iconic dress and the heavy glass pendant but I'm more interested in the smiling lips and gorgeous dark eyes that are now radiant with joy.
You grab me in what must be the hardest embrace you can and whisper "I missed you" into my shoulder. "You too," I smile, pinned against the car
as I return the hug with equal intensity. "I hear there's free drinks downstairs..." I quip, and you smirkingly take the hint.
Your roommates know what's up and keep the greetings brief and in minutes I'm listening to the pavlovian click of your door being locked.
Not even a breath later, you're against the wall with my hand on your neck and my lips pressed to yours. After a long kiss, I let my hand slide down between
your perfect tits, ending with one finger on your chest. "Stay" I quietly command, and move your chair sideways. "What...?" you start to say, but I'm kissing
you again as I guide you to the chair. "Ohh." You smile coyly as you wriggle onto the arm, your hips moving suggestively to meet the wall behind you.
"I knew you'd figure it out" I say, and kneel in front of you, slowly running my hands up the insides of your legs coaxing them wider and pulling your dress
along for the ride. I narrowly miss the hot mound between them, teasing a desperate whimper out of you as I stop at your hips and dig my thumbs into the
secret buttons I know are hidden there. Gradually releasing pressure, I begin to slide back down your silky legs, this time "accidentally" hooking
my fingers into your panties. With a little cooperation on your part, they're soon sylistically complimenting the rug behind me- leaving your pussy deliciously exposed.
You're already wet, and I can feel the heat radiating from you long before my fingers touch your soft flesh. You let out a moan and hurredly fumble
with my pants. My belt thuds to the floor and we share a chuckle before lapsing back into heavy breathing. My pants and underwear join your panties,
and before I know it, your beautifully feminine hand is caressing my raging hardon. Conscious thought momentarily pauses and I find myself gripping your
neck to keep from falling over. You choke out a gasp and forget to jerk me off just long enough for me to refocus on you. I let your hot cunt go and move my
hand behind your hips, pulling them away from the wall and towards my desperately erect cock. Moving slowly closer, I move the hand at your neck down to my cock,
guiding the head to just barely touch your cunt. "Hey" I get your attention with a lustful kiss and your dark eyes lock mine as I slowly lean into you...
Inch by inch my cock disappears into your hot, lathered hole. The feeling of your muscles tightening around me makes me growl with pleasure and I have to catch
myself with your neck again. I want to stop for a moment, to savor the feeling, but your hips drive into me as your hands find their way to my taut ass,
pulling me into you. I pause for a second and you dig your nails in, forcing me deeper and making me squeeze your neck indignantly. Not that I can resist for long.
Our rhythms begin to sync; my hand behind your hips and your nails on my ass lock us together and I fall forward, biting your neck around my tightened hand.
By now we're both panting with animal lust, sweating and grinding against each other in the frantic throes of lovemaking that's been denied for months.
As the room shrinks to only you and I, I start to feel the rush of the impending explosion building at the base of my cock and my thrusts take on a new urgency.
I can tell you're as close as I am from the short, gasping breaths that you're stealing through the hand on your neck and the palpable pulsing of your cunt
muscles. It's finally too much and my whole body tenses as I shoot hot cum deep into your clenching, dripping cunt.
My hips thrust rythmically of their own accord, driving my pulsing cock as deep as it will go. I can feel you gripping me with every movement, encircling my
solid erection in slick, throbbing heat. Your own frantic motions drag a breathless "ohfuckohfuckOHFUCKFUCK...FUCK!!!" from your lips. Your back arches
and my skin burns behind your raking fingernails, proving without words that Oh yes, it WAS good for you. Our breath comes in ragged gasps and through the tingling
semi-blackout of our shared orgasm I am only dimly aware of the juices soaking both of us from the hips down. Breathing slows, muscles relax, and after a few
breaths, I slowly, languidly slide out of you, lingering with each tiny sensation of skin on cum-slicked skin. I smirk and murmur into your neck
"I think we're gonna need a towel." A euphoric "Ha!" is all you can manage before sighing deeply and slouching into my arms. "But first, let's do it again," I grin.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
my night inside a chick flick
I shouldn't have listened to my insecurities. I shouldn't have worried so much. I shouldn't have been so pessimistic about it. Although, I guess that's the thing about optimism, is it always seems that much more striking in the face of such persistent negativity.
But I should have known better than to think I could resist. Not that I really wanted to. Or wanted to at all, in fact. Because just like I remembered, as soon as he smiled at me, I was disarmed. And I think I made it an entire five minutes before I just HAD to kiss him again. What can I say? I had to see if it lived up to what I remembered.
And, good lord. Did it. He put his hand along my jaw, just barely grazing my neck, and pulled me into his kiss. And just like I remembered doing, I melted. Urgency increased, his grip around my body strengthened, and we found ourselves falling into my bed. Or maybe it was the lounge chair in my room. I really couldn't say - I was already floating away.
I didn't used to be this way. What I mean is, I haven't been this way before. Where someone's kiss literally makes me weak in the knees. Clouds my head and distracts me from everything else I should be doing and where I should be going and who I should be seeing. But that's what happens. I forget there's anything else, and focus on the butterflies. Damn butterflies. Sneaking up on me like that.
At some point, we remembered that we had places to go and people to meet and time to spend together. So we walked, hand in hand, to the neighborhood bar to meet my roommates for a drink.
When the spontaneous evening plans we had fell through, we turned the car around and headed back to town. "We could take a walk around the lake near my house, if you wanted," I suggested. He agreed, recommended we grab a bottle of wine for the stroll. A bottle of wine became a bottle of champagne to accompany the perfectly warm night. And the stroll became finding an outcropping of grass and sitting near the water's edge, looking at the stars and the city lights.
Over champagne we shared secrets and laughter and those kinds of conversations that only come about when you're really interested in what the other person is saying. I kept looking from the city buildings to the sky which had cleared itself of clouds ("Just like I knew it would. I knew it would be a beautiful night," he tells me, without irony.) then back to him and I can't believe how often he's smiling at me. And how all of this seems so surreal and cinematically perfect.
Like when I suggest I want to go spin, and he stands up with me and takes my hands and we spin in circles until we're giggling and collapse on top of each other. And he kisses me in the grass until I'm breathless again and then helps me up.
We strolled back to the car, his fingers intertwined with mine. I drove us back to my house, where my roommates were drinking and listening to music. They greeted us with broad, warm smiles, told us how happy they were that we were back early. By the time I'd returned with our drinks, he was already engaged in conversation with my roommates, who seemed to be enjoying his company nearly as much as I was. ("Beautiful social graces," was my roommate's term for how open and inviting he was, and how he brought conversation out of even my quietest roommate.)
I lost track of what, exactly they were talking about, because the conversation went on for at least an hour. If there was any break in the flow, I didn't see it. As I stopped buzzing around the house and returned to the party, he situated himself near me, and put his hand around my waist. We stole a kiss here and there, and eventually excused ourselves. I blamed the need to wake up for work in the morning.
I stepped out before he did, so I sat down on the grass outside and stared up at the stars again. Took a deep breath, and couldn't stop smiling a smile I felt through my entire body. He followed a minute or two later. Kneeling in front of me on the grass, he murmured, "do you have ANY idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you in there?"
"Well, why did you, then?" I asked.
And with that, he was on top of me. Kissing me hard, and passionately, and so perfectly that I could do nothing but melt into him.
And the best part? None of this is fiction.
But I should have known better than to think I could resist. Not that I really wanted to. Or wanted to at all, in fact. Because just like I remembered, as soon as he smiled at me, I was disarmed. And I think I made it an entire five minutes before I just HAD to kiss him again. What can I say? I had to see if it lived up to what I remembered.
And, good lord. Did it. He put his hand along my jaw, just barely grazing my neck, and pulled me into his kiss. And just like I remembered doing, I melted. Urgency increased, his grip around my body strengthened, and we found ourselves falling into my bed. Or maybe it was the lounge chair in my room. I really couldn't say - I was already floating away.
I didn't used to be this way. What I mean is, I haven't been this way before. Where someone's kiss literally makes me weak in the knees. Clouds my head and distracts me from everything else I should be doing and where I should be going and who I should be seeing. But that's what happens. I forget there's anything else, and focus on the butterflies. Damn butterflies. Sneaking up on me like that.
At some point, we remembered that we had places to go and people to meet and time to spend together. So we walked, hand in hand, to the neighborhood bar to meet my roommates for a drink.
When the spontaneous evening plans we had fell through, we turned the car around and headed back to town. "We could take a walk around the lake near my house, if you wanted," I suggested. He agreed, recommended we grab a bottle of wine for the stroll. A bottle of wine became a bottle of champagne to accompany the perfectly warm night. And the stroll became finding an outcropping of grass and sitting near the water's edge, looking at the stars and the city lights.
Over champagne we shared secrets and laughter and those kinds of conversations that only come about when you're really interested in what the other person is saying. I kept looking from the city buildings to the sky which had cleared itself of clouds ("Just like I knew it would. I knew it would be a beautiful night," he tells me, without irony.) then back to him and I can't believe how often he's smiling at me. And how all of this seems so surreal and cinematically perfect.
Like when I suggest I want to go spin, and he stands up with me and takes my hands and we spin in circles until we're giggling and collapse on top of each other. And he kisses me in the grass until I'm breathless again and then helps me up.
We strolled back to the car, his fingers intertwined with mine. I drove us back to my house, where my roommates were drinking and listening to music. They greeted us with broad, warm smiles, told us how happy they were that we were back early. By the time I'd returned with our drinks, he was already engaged in conversation with my roommates, who seemed to be enjoying his company nearly as much as I was. ("Beautiful social graces," was my roommate's term for how open and inviting he was, and how he brought conversation out of even my quietest roommate.)
I lost track of what, exactly they were talking about, because the conversation went on for at least an hour. If there was any break in the flow, I didn't see it. As I stopped buzzing around the house and returned to the party, he situated himself near me, and put his hand around my waist. We stole a kiss here and there, and eventually excused ourselves. I blamed the need to wake up for work in the morning.
I stepped out before he did, so I sat down on the grass outside and stared up at the stars again. Took a deep breath, and couldn't stop smiling a smile I felt through my entire body. He followed a minute or two later. Kneeling in front of me on the grass, he murmured, "do you have ANY idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you in there?"
"Well, why did you, then?" I asked.
And with that, he was on top of me. Kissing me hard, and passionately, and so perfectly that I could do nothing but melt into him.
And the best part? None of this is fiction.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
HNT: Hardwired
I'll let you in on a little secret: my neck is one of the most highly sensitive erogenous zones on my body. I've known it for a long time, and so have my partners - it's a pretty clear indicator when I begin melting as soon as someone starts kissing my neck. Start biting, and you'll have me whimpering.
And, as The Pilot has learned recently, the fastest way to turn me into a puddle of desire? Put your hand around my neck. And start squeezing. Because, as it turns out, my neck seems to be pretty damn well hardwired directly to my clit. It's a fun tool for things bordering on orgasm control, too... because it's such an incredibly effective way to tease me.
There might be an entry forthcoming about how The Pilot learned to use this to his advantage to an extent I've never experienced, but we'll see. That memory might be just too juicy to share.
In the meantime, though, enjoy this preview:
HHNT!
And, as The Pilot has learned recently, the fastest way to turn me into a puddle of desire? Put your hand around my neck. And start squeezing. Because, as it turns out, my neck seems to be pretty damn well hardwired directly to my clit. It's a fun tool for things bordering on orgasm control, too... because it's such an incredibly effective way to tease me.
There might be an entry forthcoming about how The Pilot learned to use this to his advantage to an extent I've never experienced, but we'll see. That memory might be just too juicy to share.
In the meantime, though, enjoy this preview:
HHNT!
Monday, July 6, 2009
It all makes sense now...
I stopped by my mother's house today, and as she was helping me get the cat and dog fur off my little black dress, her boyfriend made a joke. I was standing with my back to her, and she was using the sticky-roller to remove fur from my ass.
"It's been a while since you've gotten a whuppin', isn't it?" asked the boyfriend about me.
My mom went on to explain: "The last time she got a 'whupping,' she was four. And I spanked her, and afterwards, she turned around and gave me a hug and said 'Thank you.'"
My response? "Wow, foreshadowing, much?"
And then we all busted out laughing.
"It's been a while since you've gotten a whuppin', isn't it?" asked the boyfriend about me.
My mom went on to explain: "The last time she got a 'whupping,' she was four. And I spanked her, and afterwards, she turned around and gave me a hug and said 'Thank you.'"
My response? "Wow, foreshadowing, much?"
And then we all busted out laughing.
Friday, July 3, 2009
"If I'm just bad news...
... then you're a liar."
If you're going to tell me you believed what they said, then you weren't who I thought you were.
But then again, I guess I didn't turn out to be who we thought I'd be, either. And I apologize for that disappointment. I apologize for getting carried away and seeing things that weren't there. I guess I was so eager to see everything go well for once that I jumped the gun. And did silly things like I did.
"They said don't, don't let it go to your head..."
But I refuse to believe everything was made up. I'm not entirely delirious. I haven't fallen that far down. Because we both know that I'm NOT always such terrible news. Not anymore. Hell, you've even seen me smile. And sure, things aren't always running as smoothly as they could, but I refuse to acknowledge that as entirely my fault. I actually think I've done a pretty decent job of carving a life out of these ruins.
"You're a touch overrated, you're a lush and I hate it, but these grass stains on my knees, they won't mean a thing.."
Of course, you never really even saw the ruins. They were there long before you. And I should have known that what we created out of them would still be standing long after you. Or rather, I should have recognized that there would BE a time after you. It's not as scary as I thought it might be, not as dark. Although I guess dreams which build up so quickly and with such intensity burn out in the same fashion.
"Maybe I should hate you for this - never really did ever quite get that."
Maybe it's because it had such striking beauty while it lasted. Well, you did. No, scratch that. WE did. We were beautiful for those moments. That's all they were, really, when you compare it against a backdrop of an entire lifetime. There isn't much that really is significant. And maybe that's why there's just a dull ache, and not the sharp, stabbing pain of loss. It's all just a memory now anyway.
To be honest, I'm not sure it was ever anything more.
If you're going to tell me you believed what they said, then you weren't who I thought you were.
But then again, I guess I didn't turn out to be who we thought I'd be, either. And I apologize for that disappointment. I apologize for getting carried away and seeing things that weren't there. I guess I was so eager to see everything go well for once that I jumped the gun. And did silly things like I did.
"They said don't, don't let it go to your head..."
But I refuse to believe everything was made up. I'm not entirely delirious. I haven't fallen that far down. Because we both know that I'm NOT always such terrible news. Not anymore. Hell, you've even seen me smile. And sure, things aren't always running as smoothly as they could, but I refuse to acknowledge that as entirely my fault. I actually think I've done a pretty decent job of carving a life out of these ruins.
"You're a touch overrated, you're a lush and I hate it, but these grass stains on my knees, they won't mean a thing.."
Of course, you never really even saw the ruins. They were there long before you. And I should have known that what we created out of them would still be standing long after you. Or rather, I should have recognized that there would BE a time after you. It's not as scary as I thought it might be, not as dark. Although I guess dreams which build up so quickly and with such intensity burn out in the same fashion.
"Maybe I should hate you for this - never really did ever quite get that."
Maybe it's because it had such striking beauty while it lasted. Well, you did. No, scratch that. WE did. We were beautiful for those moments. That's all they were, really, when you compare it against a backdrop of an entire lifetime. There isn't much that really is significant. And maybe that's why there's just a dull ache, and not the sharp, stabbing pain of loss. It's all just a memory now anyway.
To be honest, I'm not sure it was ever anything more.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
HNT: Satin II
I don't have a special reason for posting this one this week, but it is one of my favorites. Again, compliments of The Pilot - he arranged this, also, what with the positioning of the satin and what not.
HHNT, everyone!
HHNT, everyone!
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