Word of the Day

Figleaf had the great idea to make "tribidism" the word of the day. But in the interest of fair play Webster's says "marplot" is the word of the day. Who to believe? I guess there can be two words of the day! The challenge is to use them both in one sentence. Anyone want to try?

And, if you can use them during the day, say, like in your staff meeting or with the check out clerk at the grocery store, then you get to pick tomorrow's word of the day!

Word Whore

What the fuck is wrong with Blogger's formatting and spacing? It is seriously sadistic and is harshing my buzz! If you can help me straighten this mess out I will write a list for you. You name the theme. How's that for bartering?

Top 50 TTTMO

(things that turn me on)

1. A firm ass in sweat pants.

Go figure! And it really is on the top of my list.

2. Attentiveness.

As in "I see by the way your ass is quivering I'll have to spank you harder."

3. Being read aloud to in bed.

Smut. Poetry. Reader's Digest. You name it. I'm just a whore for words.

4. Spontaneity.

As in pull me by the wrist into the family restroom during intermission at the theater. You figure out the rest.

5. Chubby girls in tight clothes who know they're hot.

6. Silliness.

Make me call you Lord Master of the Supercilious Sirens of Suburbia. Macrame my bondage gear. Sing showtunes while you whip me. Lavish butterfly kisses on my nipples after you remove the electrical tape and clothespins.

7. Lavishing attention on freshly washed feet. Mine and yours.

8. Truthfulness, especially when it's risky.

For example, "I wanted you so bad today I humped the refrigerator." Yes, I did do and confess that one recently. Stuttering "Christ I want to fuck you" on the first date. Or spitting out "I think I love you" on the third.

9. The backs and insides of body parts.

The backs of your knees, inside of your wrists, instep of your foot, the crease where your thigh meets your crotch. You get the idea.

10. When someone you like smiles at you for no reason.

11. Tribidism.

12. Generosity of self.

This may be my number two number one. If you giveme your heart without reserve, your fears, your trust, your lust... I am yours to do with as you please.
13. Tenderness, especially when following roughness.
Think burlap followed by silk. Think a smack followed by a caress. Think a shove followed by an embrace.
14. The smell of the desert after it rains.

15. The quiet rockers in good bands (often the drummers and the bassists).
16. Sleeping naked under the stars... in one sleeping bag.
17. Unconditional compassion, for all sentient beings.
18. Ardent approval.

A la "Good girl!" Or "Yeah. Just like that baby..."

19. Having my face pressed between your palms while you kiss me.

20. Having my wrists pinned down by someone stronger then me.

21. Having my body physically manipulated - pushed, rolled, pulled, bent - by my partner for his/her pleasure, and mine.
22. Dancing with you in the shower to funky baselines.

23. Taught, straining muscles.

24. Bruises that hide under your clothes like secrets.
25. Silent sex.

26. Noisy sex.

27. Saying no, no, no and meaning yes - not to be confused with saying no and meaning no.

28. Sissies.

Men who cry. Men who wear pink. Men who flinch at violence.
29. Curiosity and inquisitiveness.
Especially with my body.
30. Patience and diligence.

Especially with my body.

31. Fingers gripping my hair, tightly, at the base of my skull.

32. Construction workers in orange vests and hard hats who smile as you drive by.

33. Asking uncomfortable questions, and answering same.

34. My lover asking for what s/he wants... with a slight edge of desperation in his/her voice.

35. The smell, and taste, of someone who has worked hard with their body all day in the sun.

36. Being held tightly with the sound of rain singing me to sleep.

37. Fucking in complete darkness, when sight is obliterated and all other senses are utterly alive.

38. Fucking in broad day light, when nothing can be hidden.

39. Long, slow fucks.

40. Fast, hard fucks.

41. Sexy ugly, like Mick Jagger and Sandra Bernhardt.
42. Softness, like smooth cotton sheets or silky underwear or whispery kisses.

Especially when contrasted by something hard and stingy and bitey.

43. Things that make my skin turn hot and pink.

See number 42.
44. Waking up next to a man with a hard cock.
Or a girl with a hard cock.
45. Anticipation.
46. The thin line between pain and pleasure.
47. Sucking and being sucked on.

Ears. Lips. Nipples. Fingers. Toes. It's all good.

48. My lover's moist breath against my skin... my neck, my ears, my cunt.
49. Vulnerability.

50. Did I say men in sweatpants?

Top 5 TTTMO EWISKB

(things that turn me on even when I should know better)

1. Uncommunicative types.

Quiet, sulky, brooding, and awkward... and god forbid they tell you what they want in bed!
2. Unavailable flirts.
People who flirt with you but really are unavailable or unable to have any follow through.
3. Emotionally volatile and impulsive types.
Hence all my wacko friends and exes who I absolutely adore and who continually drive me completely nuts.
4. Narcotics.

5. Woundedness.

Like Cuffs to the Bedpost

So, of course Spanky had a "gardening accident" yesterday and had to cancel our date. Apparently a weed whacker sent a solid unidentified flying object hurling into his chest leaving him with a bruise or something. Now see, if Spanky were a good masochist like me he wouldn't be able to wait to come on over and show off his bruise. But this is where we differ... and there's the rub.

You see Spanky is a real sweet guy. He's from Memphis and comes complete with a lovely southern accent and the most charming manners. He's odd and quirky and goofy, just how I like 'em. He's creative (a musician and a painter) and open minded and hard working. We share like values (he's a Buddhist... I'm Buddhist like) and we want the same sorts of things out of life. And he seems to like me quite a bit and, praise the lord, isn't afraid of saying so. Sounds like the perfect match, no?

No. I'm afraid not.

The poor man has three strikes against him. And try as I might I just can't move beyond them.

#1 He's a stoner.

It isn't a question of morality for me. Lots of my friends smoke pot. But truth be told people who are stoned get on my nerves quicker than a drunk uncle at a wedding reception.

#2 He's skinny.

Actually, he would probably be described as "fit" by most. He has firm muscles. A tight little ass. He's of average stature in all respects But what it comes down to is this: when we fuck I feel like I might break him. Or smother him. And unfortunately that does not turn me on.

#3 He fucks too nice.

Don't get me wrong. I like me some sweetness in bed. But I need a little sour too if you know what I mean.

At first I thought I could rebuild him. Like the Bionic Man. I sought advice from the two most dommy doms I know, Prince and Papi.

Prince told me I needed to try to nurture and coax the dom out of him... being careful not to top him from the bottom. He suggested I get some kinky porn, anything by Andrew Blake, and comment during the viewing of said porn on acts that looked like enticing. He suggested I talk about my fantasies, being careful not to do so in bed lest I cross over into bossy bottom territory. He went on to say:

Perhaps instead of saying something like, "I like it rough," say something about how girly you are and how much you like... mm, something sensual, like the feel of rope around your ankles or wrists. Make it confessional, a true confidence. Or steer him cleverly into a conversation about the difference between making love with girls and boys, and how much you like penetration and why. The thing is, it's unappealing I think, to the true dom, or the dom archetype in the mind if you will, to be told what to do. Whereas letting a dom know that the opportunity is there for him to express his inner fantasies is sexy for him.

All good advice, or so I thought. And then there was my papi. Remember, this is the man who sat me down and asked me my hard limits before even a tiny kiss was ever exchanged. He's all up front and by the rules. To put it simply, his advice was tell him what I wanted point blank. Say "I want you to tie me up and fuck me up the ass" or whatever. His theory is that most men are more than happy to oblige but they just don't know what the ladies want unless they're told.

Ultimately I think both doms were right. But Prince captured the underlying truth when he said When it comes down to it, you just can't make a dom. That part of his mind has to be there already, however latent.

For example, you know I have this thing about having my wrists gripped, right? I have this theory (have I told you this already?) that you can tell a sub from a vanilla by whether she offers you her hand to hold or her wrist to grab. When fucking Spanky I would sometimes rest my wrist in his open hand and press ever so slightly. That is usually enough to trigger any dominant tendencies and usually those fingers snap around my wrist like cuffs to the bedpost. But Spanky would wiggle his hand around till he was holding mine ever so sweetly. Every time.

So I told him I like it rough (this was before I sought the professional advice noted above). I thought that might be enough to get his own fantasies flowing. And I get a bigger thrill out of being the object of someone else's fantasies then I do having them act out mine. But apparently he thought I meant just thrust a little faster, a little harder. So bless his sweet soul the next time we fucked he was pumping away like a construction worker on speed... which was nice, but kinda funny too. I think the thing is I really need a pile driver more than a jackhammer, if you know what I mean.

The next time we fucked I just pushed him over and climbed on top of him. Throwing aside my fear of crushing him I rode him hard and fast like a drunken cowgirl on an electronic bullride, grabbing the headboard behind him and smothering his face with my tits. His eyes got wide and he came quickly and hard. Afterwards he rolled over and said you really do like it rough! Then he fell asleep.

Eventually I told him straight up he could pull my hair and spank me and push me around if he liked. I even sent him my list of the top 50 things that turn me on. But try as I might I just couldn't channel his inner dom.

Until...

I happened to go out of town for a week and when I came back I emailed him to tell him I had returned. He wrote back something to the effect that he should spank me for leaving him for so long... and then he apologized profusely for saying so. Of course I wrote back immediately (which would be a sure fire sign to any dom what makes this girl jump) that had I known he would respond like that I would have left town sooner. So we made a date. And in preparation for our date I went out and bought this sweet little leather slapper, finely crafted, that had a nice bite and made a delicious snapping sound when smacked on the flesh just right.

That night we ended up in bed watching a movie and snuggling. Before he had come over I had laid the slapper out in plain sight on my bedside table. I had hoped he would see the thing and instigate some spanky spanky on his own good time. No such luck.

As the snuggling got a little friskier I finally said looky here, I bought this for you to spank me with. He seemed genuinly touched.

Really? For me? he said as he picked up the slapper and admired it. He swatted his palms a few times and thoughtfully absorbed the sensations.

Then out of no where came this very authoritarian voice and he commanded me Stand up!

I jumped up quicker than a cat off a hot tin roof.

Turn around! he barked and again I instantly did as I was told.

(I should insert here that Spanky had been in the military as a young man and until that night I had always been confounded that he wasn't more in touch with his I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass-and-you-re-gonna-like-it side).

Then he said drop trou!

Huh? I said.

Drop trou! he said louder.

No, I heard you, I just don't know what that means, I stammered, truly confused.

Oh, it's Canadian for drop your pants, he explained in normal Spanky voice.

Ah. Apparently his previous girlfriend, a canook, had a bit of a kinky side herself. So down went my panties. Then he ordered me to be bend over onto the bed. As I did this I thanked the gods I had finally bought a frame for my bed that lifted the mattress up to a perfect spanking height.

Then, to my complete surprise, I felt the smooth cold leather against my skin as Spanky rubbed small gentle circles on the outside of my ass. I was starting to breath heavy. I began to wonder if he was ever gonna smack me with the damn thing when suddenly he lifted it up and brought it down on my cheek with a sweet thud. And then again, the gentle little circles on the other side, warming me up and preparing me for another whap.

He had this sort of rhythmical routine that went side to side, circle circle, smack smack. He never smacked me very hard... but it was just hard enough to make me squirm and moan and writhe about. Fuck but it was nice. Then he rolled me over, fucked me missionary style, and turned over and fell asleep. Meanwhile, I lay there staring at the ceiling with my ass all warm and glowing like sleeping embers ready to burst into flame if only someone would pour on some gasoline and light a match.

The Problem with Fucking

So sweet of Unfurling to ask about me. Really I haven't been anywhere. That's the fucking problem. Or the problem with fucking. You see, my papi lives far away and we only get to see each other on occasion. It usually involves vacation time and money for planes and hotels. All of which are in short supply sadly.

And Mr. D is fickle. He lives here, but once he and I started "partying" with Papi he seemed to lose interest in me as far as sex. Too bad too because he's a fucking great fuck. But ya know, he's also a sweet friend and if I had to choose I really would choose friend over fuck. Although it's best when you get both together.

And Prince moved away a long time ago. But I haven't gotten there yet in the story.

I do have a date tonight with Spanky. I'll let you know how it goes. It has been some time since Spanky and I have seen each other. I keep canceling our dates. I get headaches. A lot. But honestly, that old not-tonight-I-have-a-headache line is whack. Cuz when I have a headache what I really want is to be fucked into oblivion so the pain in my head is the last thing I feel. But with Spanky, well, I usually just take some Tylenol and cancel the date.

Five Untagged Sex Fiends... and One Curious Pussy

Flash backs of childhood - being tagged when I didn't even know the game had started! Then frantically trying to figure out the rules. OK. So, now that J has tagged me I guess I'm supposed to answer these four questions and then tag five more bloggers. I must say I'm a bit shy about tagging folks when they haven't even volunteered for the game. But then again, I guess all the kids are doing it so I might as well play along.

So, here for your reading pleasure, are my answers:

1. Total number of books I've owned? I have absolutely no idea. Hundreds. Probably thousands. Generally once I've read a book I pass it on or simply leave it somewhere for someone else to pick up and enjoy. Besides, I tend to move frequently and boxes of books are a pain in the ass to move.

2. What is the last book I bought? I prefer to get my books from the library (see above). But recently I was boarding a cross country flight when I realized I packed my reading material in my checked bag. DOH! So I shelled out the big bucks for a paperback edition of Best American Erotica of 2005 edited by Susie Bright. Go figure, right there facing forward on the shelves at JFK! I expected to be bored by it as I often find erotica dull and tiresome. But what I read of this was pretty good. But I seem to have misplaced the book so I don't know how it held up in the end. Some lucky flight attendant could probably answer better than I.

3. Last book I read? Well, I suppose the above one, although does it count if I didn't finish it?

4. 5 books that mean something to me? Gosh, I hate these questions where you have to narrow it down. I have a friend who always asks silly questions like "If you were stranded on a desert island and you could only have one book what would it be?" Those questions always make my lungs freeze and my palms sweat.

Let's see, I often think of Thich Nhat Hanh's Being Peace. That one has a lot of good common sense suggestions for living.

I enjoyed Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. That was a well crafted book and a darn good story. And I thought the main character was someone I would like in real life.

I like that book Cunt by Inga Muscio. It's all grrrl power. Silly. Smart. Original. Charming book design and an easy read.

An older one would be Beloved by Toni Morrison. Timeless.

And Dandylion Wine by Ray Bradbury. Primarily because it was my mother's favorite book. The meaning it holds for me goes beyond the book itself.

5. Tag 5 people and request they fill this out on their journals.

Hmmm. Seems all the sex blog bloggers have been tagged. Let's see, maybe I'll just try tagging five random people. That could be interesting. Good use of that "Next Blog" button. Here goes:

OK. Call me a sissy, but the first "Next Blog" I was sent to was a teenage Christian choir girl. I didn't have the heart to tempt her. You know she would have to read my blog and then surely I would go straight to hell!

So, the next one was in Chinese and the third was a dad posting pictures of his toddlers. So let's skip that idea.

Here, I offer you five untagged sex fiends:

Unfurling

Twiddly

Evan

Him and Her (Two in one, is this cheating? If you read my post of May 18th then you know I'm all about the twofers!)

The Yang to My Yin; or The Answer to Question #5

Finally, the answer to Kasey's final question (When was the first time you truly felt totally submissive and dominated, when it slipped into reality rather than play?).

When I was born and the doctor smacked my ass.

But seriously, I've never really had the experience of pretending to be submissive. It is just who I am.

And sex is the one time I really, really get to be myself fully and express the part of me that so desperately wants to give myself over entirely to someone else. It is just that it was relatively recently (starting with Prince about a year ago now) that I found lovers who were the dom to my sub, the yang to my yin, the head to my tail... so to speak.

Don't get me wrong. No one would mistake me for a push over or a wuss. I'm very strong willed and stubborn, opinionated and incredibly independent. I can be very bossy and I'm generally quite forthright. It is just that, when it comes to sex, I like to let someone else drive so I can enjoy the view. Or better yet, tie me up, throw me in the backseat and surprise me!

Thanks for all the great questions Kasey. I hope I didn't disappoint you. Anyone else up for playing?

Text Texts

Text messages are the best thing to happen to flirting since puberty. I swear I get wet just at the sound of a text message coming in. Here are some of my recent favorites (both sent and received):

#1 I need u 2 fuck me until i am reborn like Christ. Make me cum like Mary Magdalene. Make me fertile like the immaculate conception. Make my orgasms multiply like the parable of the loaves n fishes. Happy almost easter!

#2 You R 1 fine BBB.* U make this cracker so fuckin wet it's like u dunked my Saltine in warm milk and slurped it down. Got milk?

#3 Why is it that sticking my own finger up my ass just feels like I have my finger up my ass? But your finger up my ass feels like heaven?

#4 A girl is beyond wet when she feels the juices sploosh out her cunt even when she's in the bathtub. Fuk but u turn me on like a match 2 gasoline!

#5 I still smell you on my fingers!

* = big black brotha

The Ever Scheming Workings of Mr. D's Dirty Mind; or The Answer to Question #2

As per your second question, my Prince and my Papi are two very different people.

I met Papi many years ago. I had a big fat crush on him for ages, but I didn't have the nerve to tell him then. He makes no qualms about letting me know he holds those wasted years against me. Isn't that sweet? We were recently, uh, reintroduced through a mutual friend, Mr. D. The meeting was, shall we say, memorable. Actually, it may have been "the best thing that has happened to (my) pussy since meeting Prince."

It was one of those times when happenstance seems to exist just to prove the presence of fate. And Mr. D was the a priori proof.

It was only a few weeks after Mr. D and I had started dating, if that's what you would call it, when Papi came through town for business. I knew they were acquainted but I didn't realize yet that they were friends of sorts. So when Mr. D told me in passing that he would be seeing Papi that weekend I confessed my crush and jokingly said he should bring him along on our date. Right then the ever scheming workings of Mr. D's dirty mind silently kicked into gear.

Mr. D was supposed to join Rob and his new girlfriend and me for a movie. But he bailed right beforehand. I was disappointed because I'd been looking forward to groping his crotch in the dark theater while sitting next to my very vanilla ex and the woman he left me for.

(As an aside, the last time we had joined them for a movie there was a moment my worlds collided and even I had to wonder at my seemingly inexplicable sexual transformation. During the film, a dorkie romance kinda thing that had me all mushy and starry eyed, I turned to my right and saw Rob resting his hand on new girlfriend's knee. Ah, how sweet, I thought. I recalled how that had made my own heart sing when it was my knee with his hand on it just a few weeks earlier. Then I turned to my left and smiled like a smitten school girl at Mr. D with his leather jacket, his Harley t-shirt, and his beautiful black buff biceps covered in old faded tattoos. Purrrrrrrr. He shot me a sly smile and his eyes twinkled trouble the way they do. Then he reached out his hand and pinched my nipple really hard. Ouch!... how sweet, I thought.)

When I got out of the movie there were three messages on my cell phone. The first was from Mr. D saying I should give him a call after the movie and maybe we could get together. The second was from Mr. D saying I should give him a call after the movie and that he was hanging out with his friend Papi. The third was from Mr. D saying I should give him a call after the movie, that he was hanging out with his friend Papi at his hotel, and maybe the three of us could hang out and party. It occured to me that party was a curious word to use since Mr. D is in recovery, and Papi never touched drugs or alcohol a day in his life. Not to mention that both men are old enough to be grandpas.

Naturally Mr. D , ever the handy man, had already greased the wheels. He swore up and down he didn't tell Papi about my long held attraction to him. But I knew he was lying. Apparently when Mr. D suggested to Papi that they "party" with me he (Papi) insisted that they should ask me first if I was even interested in fucking the two of them. Apparently Mr. D, being the non-scenester dom that he is, said I'll just tell her. I guess Papi was able to convince him that was not the way to approach these things and later that night gave him a little first hand coaching which I will describe shortly.

As I parked my car I saw Mr. D walking from his van to the hotel. He had a brown paper bag in one hand and his "overnight bag" in the other. My pussy started purring like one of Pavlov's dogs. I caught up with him and we rode up in the elevator together. He asked me if I was ready to party and I hesitated to answer, mostly because I was so taken with Papi and kinda intimidated by him at the same time. I told Mr. D that I felt shy and he coaxed me along like he does, not pushing too hard but not letting up either. He gets this sorta Wile E. Coyote kinda sneaky bouncy devilishness about him then that can charm me into anything, like grabbing hold of a falling anvil or dancing naked on a feather bed with a crate marked ACME EXPLOSIVES for a boxspring and a mattress filled with Elmer's glue.

Once inside the hotel room Mr. D reintroduced me to Papi. He was leaning back all regal like on the bed with his back against a large padded headboard. He's a stately man, but he looked smaller then I remembered him being engulfed by that gigantic king size bed. I could tell by the sharp look in his eye and the sugar in his voice, like the powerful sweetness of ice tea in Memphis, that he knew precisely how much I wanted him. Mr. D opened the paper bag and handed Papi a root beer, me a single serving thing of wine, and took a long-neck bottle of non-alcoholic beer for himself. Clearly they each knew exactly what they wanted as well.

Mr. D began telling a lewd joke that involved his crotch in my face and an attempt to get me to undo his trousers. I laughed nervously and shoved him off me. I made a mental note: if I was gonna fuck them then they were gonna make nice nice with me first. Mr. D sulked off to the arm chair on the other side of the bed and watched me impatiently while I tried to get to know Papi a bit more. Finally, I got up, walked around the foot of the bed to Mr. D, and sat myself on the floor at his feet. I love to sit at his feet. I let my hand rest high up on his inner thigh, right against his cock, and laid my head in his lap as I looked Papi in the eye and continued with our conversation.

As it turned out they hadn't eaten so I suggested we go out for a bite. I wanted them to really want me, and to have the energy to give me what I wanted in return. At the sports bar I flirted some with Papi while Mr. D stared over our heads at the game on the tele and the young co-eds with their pert plump breasts spilling out their tank tops at the table behind ours. Such poor social skills, that boy! After dinner, once Papi had convenietly gone to the bathroom, Mr. D said well, you wanna party with me and my friend Papi? I told Mr. D that I was still feeling shy. But I didn't say no. And knowing Mr. D that was probably one hair short of a green light. Which is what I think I meant anyways. I guess I wanted to be led by the whiskers a bit.

Back at the hotel lobby Papi checked his email while Mr. D and I made ourselves comfortable on a trendy chaise lounge. Mr. D leaned in close and whispered in my ear are you wet? I readily confessed I was. With Papi's back still to us and the two desk clerks momentarily absorbed with checking in a late night guest he said let me see as he reached his hand under my skirt and rubbed my pussy outside my tights. I loved how he hummed mmm hmmm as he did it. Then he took me by the wrist and led me over to Papi. Mr. D. went up to the room first under some silly pretense and I went up a minute later with Papi. We were awkward and quiet with each other in the elevator. I think I made small talk about something or other the way I do when I'm nervous.

When we got inside the room Mr. D was waiting for us, sitting at the desk chair and sipping his beer. There weren't many seating options as the huge bed took up most of the room. Papi laid down, again with his head against that weird padded headboard thing. I crawled across the expanse and laid myself next to him, pulling his arm around my waste and interlacing my fingers in his.

He leaned in close to me and said OK, if we're gonna do this, what are your limits?

I looked blankly at Mr. D. No one had ever asked me this so frankly. I was momentarily stumped. What were my limits? Mr. D was watching me intently, taking in our interaction.

It's all good, right Mr. D? I said.

He looked at me, grinned at Papi, and said yeah, she's good.

Papi insisted I explicate. So, to appease him, I said One, no rudeness. You two be nice to each other. And two, no bruises my clothes won't cover.

Papi seemed satisfied enough by my response and he got up and went into the bathroom.

As he shut the door behind him Mr. D stood up, walked over to the edge of the bed, grabbed my ankles and yanked me to him with one swift motion. His knee pushed up my denim skirt as he climbed on top of me. While Papi brushed his teeth Mr. D pulled my tights down to my calves and started grinding his hips against mine. I could feel his cock grow hard between us. He leaned in toward my face and growled into my ear I'm gonna leave this for my buddy as he fondled my pussy through my damp underwear.

When Papi came out of the bathroom Mr. D said in this frat boy voice why don't you take this girl's panties off? And then, bless my soul, my Papi did exactly that without a moment's pause... with his teeth!

The rest is sort of an all night blur of fucking. What stands out mostly sharply was how sincere my Papi was; how somehow his presence brought out a sweeter side of Mr. D that I deeply craved. He kissed me. He held me. He looked into my eyes; really looked into my eyes. And there was also so much really hard fucking that at times I didn't know if I could take it. Hard up the ass. Deep vaginal thrusting. Slapping. Choking. Hair pulling. Biting. Hard words like suck his cock, you cunt and open your legs wider bitch.

Papi went down on me with loud slurping sounds while his hands kneaded bruises into the inside of my thighs and Mr. D watched quietly in the dark from the arm chair.

Mr. D held my face and chided you're going to remember my boy each time you sit down tomorrow as Papi fucked me up the ass. Papi used my shoulders to brace himself and each time he thrust into me my head would smash into that whacky padded headboard. I was glad it was soft and I thought surely it was designed by someone who had once been in this very same position.

Papi pinned my arms to my sides, pried my legs apart by wrapping his own around mine, and kissed my neck, watching my face intently while Mr. D fucked me hard and made me cry out and thrash about.

In general I hate to be the center of attention under any circumstance. But something about being in the eye of the tornado, at the mercy of their combined desire, was different. It made me feel like it was ok to be the naked girl dancing on top of the bar with a lampshade on her head.

All the laughter and screaming and moaning and hair pulling and nipple tweaking and kissing and sucking and everything was just so surprisingly easy and uncomplicated and right. Well, except for just once.

It was about 4 a.m. in the morning and they both wanted to be inside me at the same time. So I sat myself astride Mr. D's cock and rode his bucking hips while Papi tried to fuck me up the ass. That was just too technical in our exhausted state and a bit too sensory overload and I eventually toppled over in a fit of giggles gasping oh my gosh, you guys are just too much!

Little did I know then that Papi would take that as a challenge to recreate those oh my gosh moments for a long time to come.

Each time we'd all collapse in a sort of sweet spent pile of sweat and lust and flesh someone would start to rub or suck me again and then we'd all be off once more like greyhounds at the track chasing the elusive bunny. That pretty much went on until 6 a.m. until Mr. D's wake up call came and I stumbled around in the dark trying to find my clothes. Papi invited me to stay and I seriously considered it... but then thought better of it just because (silly me) I didn't want to risk ruining what was a perfectly wonderful evening.

In the tiny bit of morning light that filtered through the heavy hotel drapes I climbed on top of Papi's big tummy and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He looked at me sleepily and said you're so beautiful. I mumbled something incoherent and looked away. But when I turned to him once more his gaze was still fixed on me and we smiled at each other. Thank you, I said. And there was a new feeling welling up inside me, so new it almost made me cry. It was the feeling of believing him.

In the elevator down I thought about our little party. There was something about the proximity of all of us together - naked, skin touching, watching fucking, smelling fucking, hearing fucking - that was way more powerful then any combination of two.

Like how when Mr. D would thrust his cock deep inside me and then I would grab Papi's hand and squeeze it really tight while I looked into his eyes that were locked onto the expression of raw desire on Mr. D's face which was taking us both in. It was like some wild variation of the telephone game that was nothing short of transcendental.

As Mr. D walked me to my car I swear to god he had a skip in his step and a smile on his face like the kid who just shared his most best plaything at show n tell. Right before we parted ways he said Miss Pussy, I know how much you like to be fucked. Are you happy now? I laughed and said I'm very happy Mr. D. Thank You!

This So Called Awakening; or The Answer to Question #4

A while back I asked my papi how he defined kinky sex. He said simply "sex I enjoy." I laughed, thinking he was being his goof ball self, but actually he was being serious. I thought about it some more and realized that I had always thought of kinky sex as being something that other people did. Not me. I think of kinky as being anything outside "the norm." Therefore, if I do it, it is norm, at least in my world, and therefore decidedly not kinky. Ergo, I always have been and always will be vanilla!

Of course, most of my life someone or other would have considered one thing or another about my sexual proclivities kinky. Oral sex. Check. Homosexual sex. Check. Anal sex. Check. Afterall, it is all relative isn't it? But I really don't feel kinky at all. Sure, I like to be pinned down, tied up, gagged, spanked and have my hair pulled hard... but really when it comes right down to it I just want to be loved and touched and adored. What is so kinky about that?

But, to more accurately answer the question I think you are posing, it was only in the past year or so that I began to understand the depth of my need to be dominated. At its' heart I think it stems from my longing to give over my control and to trust someone else to take care of me. This, of course, harks back to my fucked up childhood where I never really had the experience of being cared for to begin with. I always had to be very much in control and look out for my own well being since no one else was gonna do it. Now, as an adult, I find it very liberating to relinquish that responsibility even if only for a brief moment. Of course I understand that ultimately I alone am responsible for myself. But, when I am surrendering fully, the weight of that huge burden is shared by another and then, just for a moment, I am not crushed by it.

As far as what made me "change my sexual behavior" well, I suppose it was a gradual awakening that was the result of lessons learned from each previous experience.

It was the need for clearer communication about sexual needs and desires that I learned when Elle left me after five years without ever confessing her sexual longings until it was long past too late.

It was the need for being "steered" that I learned when Rob would fuck me like he was driving the fuck.

It was the need to allow myself to feel completely vulnerable that I learned the minute Prince wrapped those ropes around me.

It was the need to be wanted for my fuckableness that I learned from Mr. B.

And of course the need to have every last cell of my body explode from the intensity of sensation that my papi has taught me.

Actually, I feel like I'm still in the midst of this so called awakening and I have no idea what my sexual desires will be in a month, a year, or ten years. Hence, the moniker: curious pussy.

Skinny, Bendy, Pretty Yoga Girls

This morning in my yoga class I was teary and emotional. It is so hard to be in this body sometimes, especially lately. I know someone else would be happy to have it but I can find only reasons to hate it. And sometimes, like this morning, it just feels like more then I can handle.

At the end of class I was feeling utterly defeated because there were poses I couldn't even pretend to do, and others that were possible but challenging. All the skinny, bendy, pretty yoga girls made it look so easy. But tack on 80 more pounds, twenty years and some bodily pain and then those poses are near impossible.

Anyway, we laid down to rest at the end of class and I was struggling not to cry. As I laid there with my eyes closed the instructor came over, wrapped his hands tightly around my skull and pulled it away from my body. Next he placed an eye pillow on my eyes and gently rubbed my sweaty forehead with his index finger. Then he placed a palm on the top of each shoulder blade, leaned in with much of his weight, and pressed my shoulders very firmly into the floor.

Is it normal to be so incredibly grateful for such small things?

So, What About Last Night?

Please forgive my absence. I'll finish answering Kasey's questions and fill you all in post haste. But, first things first - here are the five questions I promised Evan.

#1 In My Blue Heaven you lamented that "Old blue dong isn't quite as satisfying as it used to be." So, what pray tell, are you thinking of adding to your collection for solo romp purposes? Feel free to expand on the scenarios you envision.

#2 In your About Me section you reveal quite forthrightly that you are "somewhat obsessive compulsive and very addictive." I'm curious to know how these two traits play out in your sex life (other than measuring the amount of your ejaculate).

#3 In Feast of You you have a line that really made my pulse surge:

"...With delicate violence, I will pry you open..."

I want you to use this line as the opening and/or closing of another poem that uses this fragment as its' jumping off point.

#4 In Squeak you said your grandmother found your other blog and, discovering that you're bi, wonders how you are gonna tell your kids about your sexuality. You said you thought being "open, approachable and honest" should do the trick. So, my question to you then is, will you tell your kids about your nonmonogamy? What will you say?

#5 In The Anal Adventures you talk about your Full Disclosure posts and how you tell us the actual first and last names of partners you've had so that you can "completely air out" your closet. You go on to say "if they should find themselves googled perhaps these posts will help their current or future partners."

This tactic is so different from mine where, in order to air out my laundry, I work really hard to keep my lover's identity a secret. Even disguising my own identity is more about keeping their's concealed since I really wouldn't mind so much if people knew who I was.

There are two embedded questions here. One is how do you reconcile the ethics of disclosing other people's personal details without their consent? I know you've thought about the morality of other issues so I wonder how you've dealt with this one. Two is have you ever had anyone discover themselves in your blog and what was the result? Did it indeed help with their current or future partners?

10 Ways I Want You to Tie Me Papi; or The Answer to Question #1

#10 Just tie me up good and tight, with lots and lots and lots of soft and supple rope. Like I’m in a rope cocoon. Then hold me. And squeeze me. And touch and tease and lick and kiss and pinch the bits that are sticking out or exposed.

#9 I can’t really figure out the logistic of this one but somehow you tie my knees to something that spreads them apart and up… maybe prop them over the arms of a big strong wooden desk chair or something like that. Yeah, the kind with the soft red leather padding and the little round brass tacks. You know, like a fancy executive would sit in. My arms can be tied behind me as long as I’m not resting on them. You should probably gag me too, just to be on the safe side. And I’m thinking this chair would have wheels, which will make things more interesting. I wouldn't mind if you wore a suit and tie and really fancy dress shoes.

#8 Tie me to a beautiful big hard wood beam in the middle of an old barn. I want to smell hay and hear the goats bleat. I want warm rays of sun sneaking through the cracks and warming my bare ass. Suspend me, swing me, fuck me.

#7 Tie me however you want, as long as I’m completely immobilized. Blindfold me and do whatever is necessary to mute all my senses. Then make me want you. Then make me need you. Then give yourself to me.

#6 We wake up in the morning and you touch me and caress me until I have to have you inside me. Then you take a smallish softish rope, maybe a laundry line softened by the rain and sun, and you wind it across my shoulders, over my breasts, around my pussy, back up my ass, until it meets at my shoulders again. You tie it so that it’s comfortable, but tight enough so that with each step the rope tugs against my clit. Then you tell me to get dressed. We’re going out to breakfast. During breakfast you place your hand on the small of my back and gently pull the rope taught to remind me of how much I ache for you.

#5 We’re some place warm and tropical. I’m laying in a big wide hammock. You pull the sides up around me and rock me in sexy wavy motions. You lace your fingers through the mesh and stick ‘em in my mouth, in my pussy, in my cunt, all the while rocking me too and fro to the sound of the waves cresting nearby.

#4 We meet at some hotel in a big city neither one of us lives in. You take me to dinner in the hotel restarant… a nice one. You tell me how beautiful I look at dinner, how you like my dress, my stockings, my hair. You talk sweet and romantic and smooth to me until we get inside the hotel room… then you grab my hair at the base of my skull and force me down onto the bed. You take off my panty hose, cut them down the middle and tie my legs together with one half and my hands together with the other. The rest is up to you... but in the morning you order room service.

#3 Tie me up with something that ultimately locks with a key. Put the key where I can see it, but can’t get to it.

#2 Tie me spread eagle, arms likewise, and then lick me from ass to clit and drive me wild like you do. Then make me suck your cock. I won't be able to use my hands or move my neck much so you will need to rock your groin into my face and onto my tongue in whatever manner pleases you.

#1 Take me to a fancy hotel with a four poster bed and linen sheets. Have flowers waiting for me on the dresser and a card on the pillow. As I reach for the envelope push me face down into the fluffy comforter. Tell me “don’t you dare move a pretty little muscle.” Slowly tie my ankles and then my hands to the edge of the bed frame. Read me the card.

Tell Us Twiddly!

T. Bits – Please forgive me if my questions aren’t especially hot. As you may have surmised my idea of hot ain’t necessarily that of the average girl. If needed feel free to ad “under the sheets” after each question to spice it up. But then again, I suspect you won’t need such contrivances to make your words hot and sticky.

1) In “Smorgasbord” you described the outfit you wanted to wear to the New Year’s Eve Fetish Ball. You casually threw in that money kept you from buying the “spectacular and outrageous outfit” of your dreams… a “velvet cloak with green satin lining.” And, as an aside can I just say how charming the image of you in such finery is?

And in “Tired and Cranky…” D. Bits tells us how you delightedly exclaim “Oh, good, you’re gonna dress!” when s/he pulls out hisher tits and proceeds to put on hisher finest feminine regalia.

So, say I wave my magic wand and give you a $100,000 shopping spree and the probably extremely rare occasion where you get to dress D. Bits precisely as you desire. And then I say a spell and the world is the kinda place where you and Dangly could wear whateverthefuck you want to whereverthefuck you want. What would it be? What would you each wear? And to where? And if you are so inclined to elaborate, what would you do once you got there?

2) Also in "Tired and Cranky…" Dangly tells us "It's amazing the transformation that comes over me when I'm ‘dressed’. I become calmer, softer spoken, less hurried - more feminine, really."

My question for you is, how are you transformed when D. Bits is dressed and is fully himherself? If you don’t find yourself thinking/acting/feeling/relating differently, well, is there some remote tiny itty bitty part of you that wants to think/act/feel/relate in some entirely new way? If so, what would that be?

3) In “When Dangly Got Home…” you wrote about a particularly hot encounter when Dangly suddenly:

“got a cramp in his hip - a painful one & so we had to stop! I had him roll over onto his back & I lubed my hands up intending to fondle him to orgasm, but he said that the cramp had "taken the shine off".

I thought that was so sexy for its honesty and realness. We’ve all been there. You know, the fart when you’re being fucked or the time your piercing gets stuck to your lover’s pubes. Can you share with us one of the more ludicrous, farcical or embarrassing sexual encounters you have had? Or, if you are really feeling it, one of each!

4) In “Internet Cafes…” you shared with us:

“But it still surprised me when this lover .... grabbed my hair while I was going down on him. He grabbed it forcefully, yet gently. It's hard to explain. When Dangly is 'rough' with me, it's because I want it - there's his underlying gentleness right there. When this lover was 'rough' with me, it's because *he* likes it that way - but is sensitive enough to realize that there's a limit to roughness & stops short of hurting. I found it really really hot and stimulating, actually.”

So, in the safety of what-if and imagine-this, what is one of the darker, rougher, meaner fantasies you have that gets you off but maybe isn’t something you would really want to try in real time? And can you put your finger on why it is exactly that it gets you off?

5) I couldn’t help noticing that your blog was started shortly after you started the Atkins diet. Now, myself I have lost about 100 pounds in the past 5 or so years and let’s just say that my entire relationship to my body, to sex, and to the whole world is radically different now then what it was 100 pounds ago.

If you had to describe to someone who had never been “fat” (a relative term if ever there was one) how your relationship to your own body and your sexuality has changed since your body’s transformation how would you put it into words? Any additional comments as to the transformation, if any, of those around you and their response to you?

A Billion Distant Stars; or The Answer to Question #3

You might not have guessed this about me yet – or maybe you have – but I’m incredibly self conscious. Not just where sex is concerned, but certainly there as well. For example, when I step into a crosswalk I am painfully aware of all the eyes watching me behind the windshields. Or when I meet someone for the first time and shake their hand all my senses telescope to the strength of my grip, the sweatiness of my palm, and the duration of my hand shake. I worry they might find it uncomfortably long or too tight or grossly moist. This stems not so much from shame (although, if I were to be fully honest with you, I would confess that is indeed one facet too) but, more profoundly, from a very, very deep desire to please. My Prince understood this about me.

We had only known each other a short time before he became very ill. I wanted to be with him but he insisted he was too sick. I didn't realize then that this was not the exception but the norm in his life. He was a profoundly ill man. His body, mind and spirit were an ever present trinity of torment. Anyway, not knowing this yet, I begged him to let me come over and I even bribed him by promising to be his homeopathic nurse.

Now, as a rule, I don't do role plays or scenes. Given my hyper self awareness it is just a bad idea. The few times in my life I have done them (not even in any sexual context) have left me ridden with humiliation and a deep sense of unworthiness. I’m a lousy actress. But what I can do is to get in touch with the innate parts of me that are waiting to be realized by my lover. And this Prince astutely surmised.

I came prepared with three bags of supplies and an instinctual understanding of what he needed. He was conked out cold and didn’t move a muscle when I walked through his back door. It was thrown wide open and the last rays of a June sunset and the summer flies were streaming in. His kitchen was covered with the filth of a bachelor who had long been sick and poor. I set to work scrubbing stacks of dishes coated with a thick moldy film and salvaged pots from burnt on crud. I threw out rotting trash and took out the recycling. I poured sour milk and half empty cans of beer down the drain and scoured the sink with Comet. Once everything was clean enough to work in then I got down to business.

The first bag was for the kitchen. I pulled out a pile of groceries from the Asian market down the street and began preparations for a pot of spicy tom kha Thai soup. First I boiled the chicken to make the stock. I chopped fresh garlic, lemon grass, galanga root, and Thai basil. I added these to the stock and diced the chicken. I soaked some dried red chilies and mushrooms and threw those in once they had softened sufficiently in a bowel of boiling water. I placed a knit bag of fresh lychee nuts in the fridge to cool for later and poured myself a glass of warm sake.

The second bag was for the bathroom. I ran a hot bath seasoned with rejuvenating sea salts. I lit a few small tea lights and placed them around the room. I set a clean towel and a wash cloth on the sink. Then I went to Prince’s bedroom and woke him up. He followed me groggy and naked back to the tub. While the soup simmered I bathed him, rubbing his back with a soapy scrubby and wiping his forehead with a cool washcloth. I sat on the edge of the tub and gave him sips of peppermint tea. While he finished soaking away the dirt and grime from his aching body I added lime juice, coconut milk, bamboo shoots and cilantro to the soup.

After I pulled him from the tub and toweled him off I served him soup in the “family room” (that’s what he called the room that wasn’t the bedroom, the kitchen or the bathroom). We mostly ate in silence except for his loud slurping sounds.

The third bag was for the bedroom. While he finished eating I placed the bag next to his bed and set about changing his sheets. I lit a candle scented with lavender and placed it atop his footlocker. When he wondered in after me I suggested he take off his towel and lie down on the bed so I could give him a massage.

I started on his back, rubbing arnica oil along each vertebra of his spine and over his bruised ribs. I used my whole body and rubbed deeply as he needed that kind of attention. I massaged his shoulders and arms. I licked his wrists. I sucked on his fingers. I ran my thumbs inside the folds of his ears and massaged his scalp. I squeezed the muscles in his butt, his hips, his thighs, his calves until the tension released. I rubbed his rough and calloused feet, pulling gently on his toes and kissing his insteps. Then I rolled him over and began again, starting with his face, gently stroking his cheek bones, his temples and the bridge of his nose. I kissed his eyelids and his neck and that lovely space right above his collar bone. I pressed down on his biceps and pulled his arms alongside his body to adjust his shoulders. I ran my hands lightly over his rib cage and sucked on his nipples like a nursing babe. Later I would learn that he had never in his 40 some odd years had a woman suck on his nipples.

I was naked, so as I moved around his body my breasts and cunt would brush up against him. But he remained completely relaxed. I reached in my bag and pulled out the final remedy. I warmed the Astroglide in my palms and very slowly (because he was skittish about having his genitals touched) I began to caress his cock. He was surprised at the noticeable difference between the Astroglide and his regular Wal-Lube (yes, Walmart's lube is actually called Wal-Lube). He mumbled oh, that’s nice and instantly became incredibly hard in my hands. I asked him to show me how he liked to be touched, and he did.

He took my hand in his and placed my fingers at the base of his cock right above his scrotum and told me right here, this is where my clit is. I fingered his clit as I stroked the head of his cock tight and fast like he showed me. I lay my body down along the length of his and whispered in his ear my beautiful princess, cum for me until he came in my hand with the now familiar weeping and crying that turned me on so.

I was moved that he had accepted what I had to offer, and yet it seemed that I had received the greater gift. Alas, if only that were enough for us. It tore me up inside that he never once touched me or kissed me or looked into my eyes that night. It was as though he had buried the part of himself that beat my thighs and made me cry out in order to allow himself to submit to me, to give himself over to me.

I would have been content if only he would have fallen asleep in my arms, my stomach pressing into the curve of his back, his warm ass against my groin. But, as was now the routine, he instantly passed out snoring incredible earth shaking grunts, his body twitching and oblivious to mine. I snuggled up against him and gently placed his hand on breast, only to have him push me away even in his sleep. Then, as each night before, I got up, silently put my clothes back on in the dark and drove home in the middle of the night.

Somehow the feeling of being all alone again, speeding through the night on the empty freeway under a billion distant stars, was infinitely less lonely than sleeping next to my Prince and knowing he would always remain farther away from me than those stars would ever be. He never woke up as I left, even when I started the car up right outside his bedroom, headlights glaring into his open window and the radio blasting old school rock and roll. He never asked me why when he awoke I was already gone.

Blog-A-Thon-A-Rama

Well, I'm trying to figure out this whole blogworld. I never realized there was an entire interactive community out there. As part of the Blog-A-Thon started by Jay loves Kitty over the next few days I'll try to answer the following questions posed to me by Kacey of I'll Be fame (sorry, I haven't figured out this hyper-linking thing yet):

1. Tell us, what is your pussy curious about right now? What does it crave that it hasn't gotten yet?

2. Since you are working on "catching us up" can you tell us what is the best thing that has happened to your pussy since meeting Prince/Papi? Are they the same person or are we to learn about someone new?

3. In "silly little bruises" you say "I tiptoed out and snuck home just before dawn." Why, oh, why are you sneaking home? I have to know!

4. Your blog leads me to believe that "before" you led a pretty "vanilla" sex life, am I correct? What made you change your sexual behavior? Did you always fantasize about these things or are they totally new ideas and experiences?

5. When was the first time you truly felt totally submissive and dominated, when it slipped into reality rather than play?

Here are the instructions to the Blog-A-Thon if you are so inclined to play along:

It will be my pleasure to interview the next however many people respond to this post who want to be interviewed.

Here's how it works: Leave a comment saying "interview me" if you'd like to be interviewed. I'll respond by asking you 5 questions here. They'll be different than those above. Update your blog with your answers to the questions. When you do so, include this same explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same manner. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you'll ask them five new questions. So, if you'd like an interview just let me know -- and I will do my best to come up with some good questions for you.