Winding, Crooked Trails

Incubus

I nearly didn't post this. I don't like it much and found it pedestrian upon rereading but I've been thinking about the concept and besides Boo asked so nicely for me to spice it up a bit and I'm nothing if not obliging.  So.......

A sound she couldn't identify awoke her from a sleep she didn't remember falling into.  At least she thought it was a sound, it was a disturbance and while so very subtle it was in fact enough to wake her and make her wonder if it came from within or without.

There it was again.

Convinced now that it was indeed external, from somewhere outside her. Or nearly convinced.  It was a moving sound, more of a rustle or a soft whoosh than anything as abrupt or sharp as an audible click, thump, bang or clang.  Or knock.  Like the sound gauzy drapes almost makes in a soft breeze.  One of those sounds you can't hear without seeing.  Or in this case, without feeling.  She certainly didn't see the source so maybe it wasn't really there, the sound anyway, but something was.

Before she drifted off to sleep she remembered towelling nearly dry, remembered the satiny robe clinging to her dampness, remembered wrapping another smaller towel around patted curls and waves of wet hair.  Now it was drying with tangly tendrils spilling out from under the towel.  She apparently hadn't moved in sleep, laying on top of the covers, she never did that but she remembered being so sleepy with limbs and lids too heavy for anything but laying down and letting them close.  Further proof was the outline left on the bed when she rose, a faint shroud from where she'd lain, the ghostly damp shape of her.  She stood, drew the robe around her, retied the sash and pulled the towel free from her matted mane.  The cool draft that slipped into her robe as she gathered it around her gave her a slight shudder and she took a step without a destination in mind.  She stood for a moment to orient, then padded down the hall, turned at the stairwell and slid her hand along the smooth wood of the banister while floating down with satin wisps and silent footsteps.  She stepped into the entry and felt the coolness of the wood floor under her feet.  The knot at the silky sash of her robe unknotted itself and she hugged it to her with hands on crossed arms until she reached to jiggle the knob of the door she knew was locked.  The sewn seams inside her lapels fell across the center of either breast and her nipples were achingly hard in an instant.   She ignored them. The night shadows from ambient light dappled and diffused through the lightly shaded windows allowed her to see her way around the circle of rooms to end up where she started at the foot of the stairs.  She sat on the carpeted landing and again her robe fell open as if invisible fingers were determined to keep it that way.  She leaned back on her elbows and stretched her legs out in front of her and watched leafy shadows from the tree in the front yard quake and slow dance down her body.  A low peal of rumbling thunder caused the nape of her neck to clench and the shivery shudder ran down her spine.  The leaves picked up their dance and the rain breathed the smell of iron into the house.  Another clap startled her and she was surprised to find herself sitting there.  She looked back over her shoulder at the mirror leaning against the landing wall and sure enough there she was.  Awake she thought, awake, she said it out loud to make it so. 

Then the loudest thundering booming crack of them all, the loudest she'd ever heard, and it was lit up for her to see with a brilliant lightning flash.  Her body jumped, jerked and tightened and a bolt of heat surged up both legs, it opened her, splayed her right there on the stairs and shook her to her core, ripped and rattled her til she was gulping for breath, arching her hips to the surge, to the electric charged bolt, pushing up to it, flinching with spasms, wracked with the intense pleasure of it, shocked and rocked and wanting more even though it was too much, too much, wave after wave after wave.  The robe was laying under her, pushed off her shoulders, head thrown back, neck arched, throat stretched, shuddering and shaking, rain now pounding the panes of glass and plopping in puddles on the porch and pavement of the sidewalk. Heavy breathing caught in her throat, her thighs taut and tense and still open, her mind reeling along with her body, my god she mouthed just as the door flew open violently from some rainy howling gust.  She leaped to her feet on unsteady legs, circled the knob with shaky fingers and used her shoulder to push it against the elements that had forced it open. Leaning against it, thinking, remembering, it was locked, I know, it was locked, figuring, but not all the way shut, that had to be it. Leaning hard, pushing, a slam of her hip and shoulder to make sure, the blowing rushing rain dripping off her nose and chin, chilling her body.  Propping herself against the door on still wobbly legs, drops becoming rolling rivulets down the front of her to meet the slick wetness between her thighs from somewhere darker still.  Feeling some shame now at the loss of control, of self, lost to something, then another shivering aftershock shoving the shame aside, stepping with care on the wet floor, stooping to grasp the satiny pile in her fingers, feeling the turbulence from outside whirl about and lift her toward and up the stairs in an airy ascent.

Gliding in the dark toward her bedroom, retracing her steps but this time pulling the covers back and for the second time that night laying damp upon the bed but this time shrugging the robe to the floor and crawling beneath soft dry linens drawn to her chin.  Thunder more a distant rumble now and the lightning more muted than the bright flashes that had colored everything the hue of electric bluish white you see from the flash of a strobe or an old movie reel.

Later, in that hour that's not yet ready to be early, she lifted her legs dreamlike, the tight sheets resisting and holding her with her feet flat and knees parted, arms at her side, palms turned up and fingers curled as if in offering.  And this time it began slowly with small lapping waves of pleasure, the slow warmth of adding hot water to a cooling bath. 

The warmth rose both on her legs and in temperature forcing her knees farther apart when it finger licked its way to the middle of her thighs.  She licked her dry lips and a smile that was something other than soft bared her teeth and for god knows what reason she likened this new feeling to the spreading warmth of wetting the bed too long after she was a little girl. She flushed with shame, liked it, and decided to wear it for awhile.  Her mind wandered to when she would lay in bed and wet herself in a different way.  She kept her arms and hands to her side and let the sensation take her over, let it possess her.  She arched her hips to meet the imagined thrusts and felt the pressure of fingertips on the inside of her knees and without hesitation opened to the touch.  The sheet was either kicked or pulled to her feet and she shook them free of the entanglement.  Her hands turned, still at her side and she wrinkled and clutched the sheets tightly in her fingers, holding on.   

She felt the dank humid air surround her, so heavy she could feel it's weight.  She felt it settle upon her and at first slowly, then with growing impatience, shook her head from side to side on the pillow.  The bed creaked with the added pressure and her arms slid outwards and once again gripped the sheets into wrinkles she could hold fast to.  Her eyes were wide now and whatever it was that was outside of her was about to come in.  Outside the storm whipped against the windows again, a pelting of windblown rain, more wet.  She wanted to throw the window open and soak herself but she was pinned to the bed.  She dove down deep into herself to that place with dark dirty corners that caked her knees with streaky grime, the place with a keyhole in the door, a real keyhole and the long skinny key that rattled in the lock.  The place with the bare light bulb in the ceiling with the string attached that clicked when pulled and cast shadows except in the farthest corner where no light could get to.  She went down there, creaky wooden steps to get there, the soles of her feet black with the years of the dirt settling, setting on stairs rarely used.  She raised her hips up into that darkness and turned her head toward that blackest corner, felt the hand pulling her away from the center, pulling her away from the shadows, warmth running down both legs now, rubbing them together to feel the them slip slide, then back apart.  Palms gritty dirty from the peeling chipped painted block walls

It hit her like a fist, bone jarring and with no warning, pounding at her.  The storm smashing so hard, the glass actually creaking with the force of it.  Lifting her hips to meet it, hands scratching across the sheets slipping under her, grabbing, fingers digging hard hurting, salting an open wound, sweat pouring, nails raking and then her hands held up over her head clutched hard, wrists held together tight.

She cried out at the jolting current coursing through her.  She thrashed wildly, made low keening noises in her throat, then fell back flat, spent.  She lay that way with her chest rising and falling, quick with breath at first, then slowing.  Her arms and legs rested heavy on the bed, unmoving. 

She slept, she didn't dream.

Later with first light still a pale gray, she awoke from another sleep she didn't remember falling into, walked gingerly to the shower and leaned her forehead against the cool tile with hands flat against the wall and winced as the water streamed against the thumb print bruises on her thighs, washing the sticky streaks down her legs to meet the dark dirt from her feet swirling down the drain.    

Caption please

"The confrontation with her lover's lover took a turn she didn't expect."

or.....

"She knew she would eventually walk out of here wearing a split lip and those shoes."

Fluid retention, head rubbing and tummy patting

Because I feel most of the problems in the world today are caused by fanatic organized religion and rampant run of the mill greed I've been attempting to guide myself in a kindler, gentler spiritual direction.   My process of self discovery encompasses my sensual side as well and since most of my sexual experiences take place with no one else around it just makes sense that I turn to the Buddhist and Taoist practices to enhance those solitary encounters.  Like many who are seeking a spiritual center I utilized Wikipedia search in my time of need and voila, look what popped up....   

Male control of ejaculation

Many Taoist practitioners link the loss of ejaculatory fluids to the loss of vital life force, where excessive fluid loss results in premature aging, disease, and general fatigue. The more extreme Taoists contend that one should never ejaculate, where others provide a specific formula to determine the maximum amount of regular ejaculations. The general idea is to limit the loss of fluids as much as possible to the level of your desired practice. Although increased performance for men is one of the direct benefits of this practice, many Taoists agree that this should not be the ultimate goal in practice or the maximum benefits of spiritual development will not be received.

Well, well, that explains how old I look and most likely was the root cause of my heart attack.  I've cum too often......christ, it's amazing I'm still alive.  I wondered where the fuck my vital life force went.  Why I bet it's even behind my losing my job.  While it's far, far too late for the extreme approach of never ejaculating perhaps I can find that specific formula of minimized fluid loss that best suits my pursuit of improved performance spiritual development. 

There are different methods to control ejaculation prescribed by theTaoists. The most simple being not to allow oneself to reach "the point of no return." This can result in blue balls or other uncomfortable and frustrating situations unless certain techniques are followed to help recirculate the blood and semen from those areas. The most common are to gently massage the testicles and surrounding areas, to breathe deeply into the abdomen in a specific way, and/or to do a headstand or some other form of inversion in which the genitals are raised above the torso. Regardless of which method one practices, many Taoists agree that these practices are helpful after sexual stimulation in all cases.

Huh, no shit.  OK.  I'm down with the gentle testicle massage, surrounding areas too I suppose, seems a small price to pay to avoid the dreaded balls of blue to say nothing of recirculating the much dreaded blood and semen from those areas.  I didn't get that the headstand thing comes after sexual stimulation at first and strained a muscle in my neck until I got that part of it straight, most likely from the physical awkwardness of the one handed headstand, to say nothing of the pain of learning the lesson that the headstand must be performed back to the wall particularly when stimulation has yet to subside.  Wall needed painting anyway.  My attempts at gentle massage while doing a headstand also failed due to a lack of hand to genitals and surrounding areas coordination.  The mental image you now must have most certainly illustrates the difficultly of this maneuver.  I didn't cum though so the leaning headstand and cumbersome groping justified the means.  These Taoists know their sex I tell ya.

The Million Dollar Point

One method is to push on the Million Dollar Point (a term coined by Dr. Stephen Chang) immediately before ejaculation. This point is located directly between the scrotum and the anus, where the urethra passes close to the surface of the skin. By using the middle three fingers of the left hand, one reaches to their perineum (or their partner's) and applies mild pressure to block the passage of semen through the urethra during orgasm. This is generally considered as a means to an end to reach the level of practice where, through the development of proper muscle control, one no longer needs to use the "Million Dollar Point".

This one isn't as simple as it sounds.  Key being, immediately before ejaculation.  Timing is everything with this method. I also found that neither two nor four fingers was an effective method in preventing my loss of fluids.  Problem being my million dollar point being only a little over two fingers in width and one slipped finger provides an unexpected stimulus and immediate loss of fluids.

Goal

Through the strengthening of the pelvic floor muscles, a man can learn to withhold ejaculation and orgasm indefinitely. At this point, one can even orgasm fully without any fluid loss. Men who have reached the highest levels of practice can maintain an orgasmic state for a duration much longer than the unpracticed male, and can orgasm multiple times in a row without a refractory period.

I hate those damned refractory periods.  I usually refer to them as down time or just let me rest up and recover a minute here honey.

The way to make the semen return, to thereby nourish the brain, is as follows. When a man feels that he is about to ejaculate, he should firmly press the place between the scrotum and anus with the fore and middle fingers of his left hand, at the same time inhaling deeply and gnashing the teeth, without holding the breath. This practice will cause the semen to be activated but not ejaculated. It will instead return from the Jade Stalk, ascend, and stimulate the brain. This method was taught by Lu the Immortal, but he ordered his disciples to swear an oath that they would not divulge this potent secret to the uninitiated.   

Another tricky issue of timing here but at least we're back to the two finger method which better suits my physiology.  The first time I held my breath which prompted the immediate loss of fluids, the second time I forgot to gnash my teeth.  I wasn't really experienced at teeth  gnashing but some practice  did in fact hone my gnashing skills.  This approach to not cumming reminds me of rubbing your tummy and patting your head at the same time, another exercise that will almost always prevent a loss of fluids.  It looks really goofy to tummy rub and head pat with a hard on though.  I'm all about looking good whether I ejaculate or not though so I quickly dropped the rub-pat method from my repertoire.  Lu was apparently more successful at this than I was as I never was able to get my semen to ascend back to my brain.  That could be from the lack of a well defined connection from my brain to my genital region for so many years. Picture a highway overgrown with weeds and a bridge or two out along the way.  Virtually impassable.  So, alas, no potent secret that I wouldn't be able to divulge to you the uninitiated even had I figured it out.

While feeling a slight increase in performance and enjoying the benefits of reduced fluid loss, such as having to change the  sheets less often, my balls did take on a blue hue.  So with a sense of some frustration but with a never tiring pursuit of personal and genital growth I opted to go back and google......."enhanced sexual performance via crazed, wild and nasty encounter with a pig tailed, dirty kneed, dirty girl who calls you daddy and all but begs for the occasional spanking and doesn't want you to retain your fluids."

Lo and behold by gosh and by damn, one of you turned up first on the search list. 

The answer was right there in front of me all along.  Fluid retention be damned, I've discovered the road to sexual enlightenment and it was right before my very eyes.  Next time I'll google first, wikipedia second.

Who'dafuckin'thunkit?

Unleashing......some

I used to post photos like this, I'm not really sure why I stopped.

I'm not a traditional faked expression, legs spread porn person, the dumb slut look doesn't do it for me.  Neither does that point of view close up scened staged fuck.  Nope, I'm more of an erotica person than a pornophile, but don't kid yourself, I can wear nasty like a pair of tight jeans.

Finding you sitting there like this  when I walk in the door works just fine for me.  Giving with mystery, enticing, I love a temptress, a seething steaming temptress with a side of challenge.

I started this post yesterday, although you can't tell can you?  I don't feel well which hardly ever happens, fucking gum infection has me edgy and grouchy, but some pharmaceuticals have improved the situation to where I'm edgy without the grouch slouch today.  Edge-y, like I haven't been in awhile, here anyway.  Edgy enough to not worry so much about what someone might think about what I say.  I need to do more of that, everyone else does and I suck at it.  Get off my fucking tip toes and grind that particular flaw of mine under my shoe like a smoked cigarette. This ain't network TV afterall.  I just might stay this way the whole holiday weekend, it feels good.

If you rest your chin on your knees and give me this look, I'll come undone. 

Or if you look back over your shoulder at me when you're on hands and knees, undone again.

Or stretch your arms up to wrap your fingers tight around the slats of my headboard

Or leave your shoes on in bed

Or take them off in the car

and put your foot on the dash, that does me in

Or offer me your throat

Or take mine

Or wear that little denim skirt, the one that's frayed at the bottom and is wicked low on your hips with those new strappy fuck me shoes

or without them

Or when you lift your foot to my mouth and ask me to kiss your instep, just there, just so

Or hang your hair in my face when you ride me

Knowing I'm going to part it and hold it back to see your eyes

Or if you smile a little pretend to be sorry smile when you mark me

Or if you fit my lap like you belong there and know how to settle, just so

Or if you wear tiny panties and a baby tee and consider yourself dressed

Or if you say let's play it far tonight baby

And if you can say fuck me without using words

You hit those marks I'm gonna buy me a "I'm hers" hat and wear it to bed every night

till you knock it off

hummmms............these are a few of my favorite things

 

Reading a couple of pages in bed

She has the kind of hair that is never out of place and she tosses and flips it and drops it to my face, straddling my chest not wanting me reading anything but her in bed, the fine honeyed strands parenthetical to the mischief in her eyes.  It rankles her hackles when my attention is off center so with a seemingly blithe insouciance, which is anything but, she redirects my focus by trilling he own melody against my lips punctuated by a tug with bared teeth, feral girl grinning while she bites not so gently when she shakes her head side to side , her teeth grating and drawing the blood, a vampirish lipstick for a vamp.  She hangs demure on a hatrack outside the bedroom door to be donned once again on the way out, to sit atop the face she puts on while I watch from behind the wavy shower door having memorized every move.  But here the lady is a tramp trolling for the one she won't let get away, her tricks in a trunk more than a bag.   She crushes the bloody kiss down on my lips, lifts making sure her hair stays in my face and with a look far from playful nibbles at the split in my lip.  She was strong willed before she was this, I call her a strumpet, she says I don't know what that is, how bout trollop I say, red stained toothy grin says yeah, I'm one of those.  Girl of a thousand faces, a few hundred only I get to see, this one impish dirty girl saying you can read if you want or you can gallop with a trollop.  I sweep the still open book to the floor and and say you gonna mount your steed or just keep on with the vampire thing?

not so random friday stuff

Last couple of days I've been throwin' fuel on the fire over at Jayne's cause I really like fire and to see things burning.  Topic has been the sexualization of women and harassment, stuff like that.  Certainly incendiary subject matter.

Jayne says......."sometimes I get the equally uninvited comment: "Smile, honey!" If it's an elder gentleman, I let it slide. But for younger ones, I sometimes tell them my mother just died, and they'd be upset too, and they should mind their own business. Like I said, rage, right under this placid surface . . ."

and so I commented........Because I'm less virile? Less of a threat? Not capable of a strong sexual response? You sayin' I can get away with more just because of my age? How come if an old man calls a young woman honey it's something different? Seems discriminatory to me, ageism, to no longer be seen as a sexual being, just some harmless old coot. Now Jayne, this isn't something I would expect from such a smart, pretty little thing like yourself. Holy hell, I bet I'm not far from being called "a cute little old man".

So I've paused for sexual introspection and a brief dialog with my conscience.  I'm most likely deceiving myself but it won't be the first time.

msc  = my sexual conscience
ml  =  my libido

msc - you think you're sexually addicted?

ml - most likely

msc - you have it under control?

ml - for the most part I do. I don't want it completely under control

msc - you think it's harmful to you

ml - perhaps, at times

msc - how so?

ml - maybe it consumes time that would be otherwise better spent

msc - think it's harmful to others?

ml - not like it used to be

msc - you mean your history of infidelity?

ml - there was that

msc - ironic, you being better about that now when it doesn't matter as much

ml - yeah, ironic

msc - you think of yourself as perverted?

ml - no

msc - fetish laden?

ml - there's stuff I like, lots of it, but no, unless you count the foot thing

msc - no BDSM, D/s bent?

ml - not in a ritualistic sense, I don't do scripts

msc - oh give it a try, don't fit a model?

ml - no, certainly more dominant than submissive

msc - quietly, gently dominant?  don't see that in the book

ml - I never looked it up

msc - got that watching and being watched thing too

ml - couple of my favorites, yep

msc - your addiction worrisome to you?

ml - not so much anymore

msc - and why is that?

ml - because I make a conscious effort  not to exploit or harass or to cause discomfort

msc - is that successful

ml - for the most part I think, I'm not perfect

msc - but most women here would feel you are sexually attentive to them?

ml - yes

msc - excessively so?  you think that's a bad thing?

ml - no, not excessive, I have control.  I don't know if it's bad or not, depends on how it's received I suppose.

msc - so you have rules for yourself?

ml - sure

msc - let's have em

ml - most important one, don't direct attention where it isn't wanted

msc - you do ok with that one?

ml - I think so, I've never been one for aggressive pursuit

msc - lessens the likelihood of rejection

ml - that it does

msc - your sexual interests waning with age?

ml - no, it's never been more intense

msc - well, first step is admitting you have a problem

ml - you say problem, I say keep bringin' it

msc - you're hopeless

ml - I know, ain't it grand?

msc - think this will cause others to wonder if they  suffer a similar malady?

ml - you say malady, I say blessing, and god I hope so

msc - wouldn't change it, huh?

ml - no, plus it's the weekend 

Just for fun

Because sex worker got two votes and I'm too old to dance naked or sell my body.....

The genius was that it's not illegal to transport whispers and moans across state lines  or to resell phone calling cards with a little markup for services rendered, no it was all pat and tight and while not wildly profitable it was a sweet way to turn a buck or two.   Wondering, why does it take capitalism to bridge the gap you see every day, men and women still sitting on opposite sides of the gymnasium like at the eighth grade dance, except years later, still afraid of sucking it up and strolling over to say, hey, you want to dance?  Lonely girls in lonely beds with lonely days and ways, I just want one of the good ones, I've been beaten down by the bad ones, O where are the good ones and I don't need riches or Tom Cruise, what I need is so simple, why can't I have it.  Or even worse, looking up at lonely, thinking it would be a better place to be than where I am, lonely meaning I've popped this asshole pimple from my life.  Give me some lonely and I'll move on from there.  And the men, either hammering and pushing and not understanding the rejections, the hit a hundred to get one style, pound, pound, pick me, wanna fuck?  And the ones who sit back, I just want a nice girl, I'm a little afraid to ask and I don't know where they are and if I did I wouldn't know what to say, and anyway, women want the bad boys so they have something to bitch about to us nice guys. 

So there's this Grand Cyber Canyon and all it takes is a mule and a few bucks to get from one side to the other, some of it legit, some not so, and lots in between.  From online dating for the respectable, or at least those who claim to be, to fetish sites for those who put their respectability in storage long ago, a million 900 numbers and places to peek and peak, web cams, dorm cams, slam bam thank you mam cams.  Chat rooms and porn sites, buy it, rub it, fuck it.  World wide cyber sex waves, imagine it, you can't.  Harness that energy, collect the money and get change from paying off the national debt.   

I just want a little piece and you can buy your 200 minutes of access to me and it won't cost you the five bucks a minute men pay to hear some chick dirty talk you off, sitting in a room with other five dollar a minute chicks probably filing her nails or reading People magazine while she urges you on.  No, you bring it, I'll wing it, meet you, sweet you, eat you up, put you on top or bottom, fill you, thrill you, spank you and thank you.  You just pick a path and I'll show you the road to where you want to go.  I'll whisper and coax,  lead and feed, I'll be right there with you, hold your secrets in my hands  soft and careful and then we'll find some you didn't know you had.  Call you by name, call you what you want to be called, moan you and groan you, take you apart and hold the pieces, put them back in different places.  Bite you, fight you, then right you.  Pull your hair, yank it, tangle fingers in it and brush it out of your eyes.  Groove you and soothe you. Wicked and wanting, taunting and haunting, teasing and pleasing, all for you.

But alas, out of business, I went bleary eyed broke falling asleep at my day job, I broke the cardinal rule like the rich lonely old john buying presents for his favorite hooker, I got to caring about you, I got to know you, I turned the meter off, I meant what I whispered, I whispered what I meant.  I should have sat at my kitchen table and looked at the SI swimsuit edition, figured my taxes or scratched my ass.  I shouldn't have laid in bed with my head on your pillow and my lips to your ear.  I shouldn't have listened to you.  I should have turned my head instead of letting you do it.  I knew I was in trouble when I started letting you call me collect. 

Oh well.   

Act Two

baby, sweet baby, you're my drug
come on and let me taste your stuff
baby, sweet baby, bring me your gift
what surprise you gonna hit me with?

I am waiting here for more
I am waiting by your door
I am waiting on your back steps
I am waiting for your essence

baby, sweet baby, whisper my name
shoot your love into my vein
baby, sweet baby, kiss  me hard
make me wonder who's in charge

baby, sweet baby, can't get enough
please come find me and help me get fucked up

lw

That her car was in the drive told him she was in her who fucking cares mood.  Nearly every other visit, and there had been many, she had pulled around the house to the back out of the sight of passersby.  The ticking engine told him she had just arrived.  There was a lot more to be told, some of which he knew, the rest he wouldn't even try to guess.  Eager is as eager does so he took the long walk to the mailbox and stood there a few moments longer thumbing through pizza coupons and last month's phone bill, flipped the door shut and leisurely sauntered back up the drive, glancing right as he passed her car, not looking for anything but that's when you saw the most interesting things.  Keys in ignition, purse still on the front seat, sandals on the floor,  and make up kit spilled, ah vanity.  Her self awareness was an intoxicating weapon and when aimed almost always bullseyed her intended mark.  She could act an entire scene with her eyes and no speaking parts.  You found yourself answering questions she hadn't asked.  He knew she would be on the back porch so he fumbled with keys and entered the front and tossed mail on a desk with locked drawers she couldn't get into.  She had wanted a key to go on the ring with the others that unlocked various parts of him but he knew he had to maintain a place she couldn't access.  She resented anyplace he wouldn't allow her and never stopped picking at locks.  He resisted the urge to plop down on his chair and see what her next move was but he didn't think a chess match with someone who would knock all the pieces to the floor was the right game to play.   He walked toward the back, stopping at the fridge to grab two long neck bottles, carried them in one hand, and opened the back door with the other.  She wasn't about to look up and he wasn't about to speak, either would be giving up too much.  He took a seat across from her, twisted a cap and held the bottle out to her, making sure to meet her more than half way. She took it, careful not to touch his fingers, and he twisted another cap, swilled, leaned his head back and made sure he didn't sigh.  This play was hers and he knew she had her speaking parts memorized.  He wondered if this was the end of their intermission and fought the urge to flip the porch light on and off for dramatic effect, then realized she needed a drama boost like fire needed gasoline.  He tilted his head back and swilled again, she held hers in both small hands, the bright red of her nails on the deep green bottle reminding him of a decorated Christmas tree.  She finally sipped, she could make a beer last a week.    He knew better than to open a bottle of wine, the glass would have been a prop too distracting in her hand.  It was like she was swirling and inhaling you, holding you in spread fingers. She had taken two hours to look casually thrown together in these old things shorts and a baby t that she gave life to and looked everything but cheap on her.  She had the largest small breasts he had ever seen and could make herself small enough to fit in your pocket when she walked next to you.  She could press fit herself to anything and anyone but if she didn't want you near you were in another area code.   

She told him she knew she had said she wasn't coming again and he said, yes you did say that, without saying but here you are.  And she doesn't ask whose car that was out front when she drove by last wednesday night but the question is in her eyes, the answer not in his.  She hates most the questions she can't ask and he doesn't give her the path to ask them.  She has answers she can't give him as well, and a place she goes he can't.  He admits to being glad to see her, both with words and eyes, taking her in, she knows none of her is lost on him.  The had always struggled with control, not so much over who has it, but with being out of it.  With control they could plan, plot, scheme, but that  implies a scheduled need and they never loved to an appointment book or a calendar.  So with her car in the drive and her need buttoned up with her pride he sets his bottle down, take hers from loose fingers and stands over her.  Before she says things that she doesn't need to say and that he doesn't need to hear he takes her hand and they turn in the direction they both know they are going, him asking, you want to move the car, her hair framing her face as her head shakes and he  sees a look he hasn't seen before which is amazing in itself.   His look says, I don't need answers, I need you, her saying, you make no sense, him saying, you make even less. 

They only make it as far as the big leather chair, sinking into it, into each other, and the fit, oh the fit, hands under her hair, that which they thought previously denied, resurrected.  T pulled from overstreched arms and tossed, hips raised to slide shorts down to be tossed toward the window where they can see a car in the drive, both smiling because this time it's hers.    

much ado about even less

Once again, thank you all so very much for each and every comment.  You are my inspiration, every day.  Without you I wouldn't and couldn't bring it.

Fuckabunchadoldrums, let's sex it up, wanna?

I love to see a woman on her hands and knees.  It's primitive, it's presenting and it's even better if she is looking back over her shoulder.  The word inviting comes to mind.  And if she crawls, slowly, in my direction with her hair falling in her face, I'm done for.

I like to lift hair and find all that is underneath.

I bite.  And am fine with being bitten.  Or scratched.

You want to leave your mark, just do it.

I can hold your ear lobe in my teeth and whisper at the same time, it took years to hone this skill and it has proven to be quite effective.  It's much sexier than that loud slurping ear tonguing.  If you're above the lobe, the tip of the tongue and a soft moan works just fine.  Especially at that grooved arch at the top. 

I think shoulders  don't get enough attention, they're much more deserving.  They're rounded so straps fall off them.  I like for them to fall one at a time. 

Hair down a bare back, it's over, you have me, take what you will.

There is a reason women perfume the insides of their wrists, go see why, it's soft there.

If I could sleep with my head at the base of your spine where it just swells into your ass I would give all my pillows to the poor.

I'm sorry I didn't develop a foot fetish years ago.  All that wasted time.  If that makes you squeamish we can move onto something else and you just won't know what you missed.  If you're game, let me go run the tub and get the oil.

The nice thing about shorter kisses is you can carry on a convesation at the same time. 

Not to belittle long kisses in any way.

Every woman should be photographed with her arms crossed in front of her bare breasts, and her head cocked with that look in her eyes.  You know the one.

Everything I know about women I learned from a woman.  I'm convinced there is no other way.  Throw away the books.

Much of what I know about myself I learned from a woman.  See above re the books.

It aint rocket science, making someone happy, how come so few of us do it?

I have always wanted a secret room, just for me and my lover, no one else.  I could go on and on about how it would be furnished and equipped.  It's a secret, shhhhh.

I think we should pick a date and time and all cum at the same time.  I believe it would make the world a better place.  We could have...um....a ball drop or something.  Simultaneous orgasmic waves beaming out from all directions........a collective "I'm cuuuuummmmmmmmmming.

Hey, it's January, you have a better idea I'm all ears.  Well, not all ears.

I so love you guys, I do, it's true, you know it is.

Wicked Wednesday - public service edition

The automobile.  Has anyone not had sex of some kind in a car?

I think there should be an automotive HNT.

JanesGuide  is a good site to look around for internet erotica.  Like me, they are service oriented and want to provide you with a satisfying and complete sexual experience.  It's so nice to be able to break your sexual interests down and search by subject matter.  Like toys/ glass/ insertion/ large/ brightly colored.   Or  erotica/photos/ celebrity/double penetration.

Voyeurweb  is  a fun place to look around.   It's free and largely amateur and don't ask me if it only has photos of females because I honestly don't know, not having searched Voyeurweb/photos/male.  I stopped at Voyeurweb/ chicks/smokin'.  I found the site through the blog (ugh) of a woman who has many wonderful photos on there.  I have a knack for right place, right time, or maybe it's just cause I'm careful where I step so I don't get crap on my shoes.

My Pleasure  is a toys for big girls (and boys too I suppose) site.  I've not spent much time there but they seem to review for quality and tell you which end is up (on the toy, surely you know this about yourself) and where to put the batteries.  There even seems to be some education provided should you be lacking knowledge in any sexual area.  "Just what is a satyriasis Edge, and where can I find me one?"  "And an incubus, I want one of those too, can I get a satyriasis who doubles as an incubus?"
I know these kinds of questions burn and so often remain unanswered.

Being a voyeur extraordinaire I find Flickr  to be highly addictive and a great place to search the photographic talent of others.  It's amateur for the most part and I like that.  I like my sports professional but prefer sexual exploits to be just for the fun of it.  The exchange of currency so dampens the ardor.

I am by no means endorsing any of these sites, as I said, I am merely trying to provide a service whereby I can help enlighten and educate those of you  hankering for a little enlightenment.  Or just generally hankering.  Should you moisten, sigh, moan or cry out, well then, that would  just makes me feel good about myself   and serve as a reminder of  how sweet it is to be able to give something back rather than just take, take, take.

Before you leave, please participate in my survey.  Yes my initial sexual experience was in an automoble Edge, or no way, what kind of girl do you think I am?  Keep in mind, I already know what kind of girl you are so there is no reason for shyness at this late stage.

Should you have further interest in the incubus thing drop me a line, I suffer from insomnia and I think it's related to my satyriasistical tendencies.

This post has been brought to you by the color red and the letters XXX.