Soon

It started out innocently enough. I believe I even mentioned him to you in passing - the guy who responded to my personal ad that was basically a rant against people who pick girls based on their physical dimensions as opposed to their character or intelligence or joie de vie. Anyhow, Mikel and I seemed to click, at least as far as you can tell through emails, and have been having great fun being flirty teases in the safety afforded us behind our computer screens.

He told me right off that he had a girlfriend. And when I asked why he was lurking around the personal ads he said that he had her permission to play with others. Hmm. He also confided that their relationship was strained and he was struggling with whether or not to leave her. It soon became clear that the part that was problematic was the sex bit. Apparently she's a very willing partner for trying out his kinks and all, but something about her just doesn't turn him on. Now, if that isn't the saddest thing? Here is a man who loves a woman, and a woman who loves a man, and they seem to have good, honest, open communication about sex... and yet, something just isn't flipping his switch. It made me thankful to be single for once.

So we met up one afternoon in the park. It was a beautiful summer day with crisp, clear blue skies. I got there before he did, or so I thought. He had told me to meet him on the bottom of Kite Hill, but it was such a lovely day I wanted to climb it to get a better view. So I walked a little ways up and stood there for a minute taking in the surroundings. Surprisingly there weren't too many people around for such a perfect day. But there were a few: a pair of lovers laying on a blanket, one resting her head on the other's tummy; a couple with two big hairy dogs and a small child eating a picnic; jet skiers and sailors out on the lake; and me, a middle aged chubby lady in a flowery skirt, halter top and flip flops.

I saw a tall, heavy set man start up the base of the hill and I somewhat recognized Mikel from the pictures he had sent me. He looked frumpier than I had imagined. And bigger, both height wise as well as girth. But other than that he was as I had imagined. Honestly, he reminded me of Shrek in that big, gentle oaf kinda way.

He had arrived early and was waiting in his truck when he saw me pull into the parking lot. He said he had watched me walk up the hill. It made me feel exposed, both in a vulnerable kind of way but also in a hot kind of way. We talked about his exes and his current situation and how he came to be where he is now - a middle aged guy unsatisfied with his sex life. And even though we had been indulging in over the top flirtiness in our email exchanges we both were quite reserved once face to face. But there was this: at one point he looked down at my bare legs and said "I like this arch." And he took his finger and traced from the top of my foot to the bottom of my ankle. And that was when I knew I would fuck him. Not today. Not yet. But soon.

The Way Nature Intended

This morning I went in for an ultrasound. As the physician's assistant rolled the condom onto the probe and lubed it up I lamented the fact that getting pregnant, for me, is so completely lacking of any semblance of romance or passion. She inserted it inside my vagina and began poking around up by my cervix for any ripe follicles. You would think, being shaped like a dildo and placed generally in the right vicinity, that it might feel a smidgen nice. But no. It was uncomfortable and impersonal. It hurt a little. She spied a bunch of unripe follicles in my right ovary and two close to ripe ones in my left. So, tomorrow night at ten I am to give myself a shot in the ass of a hormone that is supposed to make my body finish off the ripening. Then, Tuesday morning I will go in to be inseminated, my fourth time, where hopefully Mr. 556 will do his stuff and his fellows will swim on over to my girls and do their stuff the way nature intended them to... with a little help from Dr. Applehead and a syringe.

Fag Style

When I got home tonight from my day trip this email was waiting for me in my in-box from Mr. D:

"you are so gonna get it when I see you......yea, gonna give it to ya ... fag style..."

I'm sorry. Is it just me or is that not really fuckin' hot?!

What's for Breakfast?

Papi and I were mostly silent as we made our way through the airport terminal toward hourly parking. You would think that the whole world would be able to read the freshly fucked look on my face. But no one paid me any heed. Even the fecund smell that was wafting up from under my skirt where my sex was exposed to the humid summer breeze and the audible juicy slurping as my legs rubbed together with each stride seemed to go unnoticed by the passers by.

Relief washed over me when we finally got to my car and I climbed into the driver’s seat. We were alone now and no longer had to worry about navigating the throngs of people. As I pulled out of the parking lot onto the curly corkscrew off ramp Papi reached over and laid his hand on the inside of my thigh in a comforting gesture. It felt warm and firm. Nice. Sans panties his fingers made their way easily to my pussy. I concentrated on maneuvering my way around the sharp turns as his fingers parted my lips and found my clit. The ramp was lined with row after row of small concrete ridges intended to give your vehicle traction. The unintended result however was a wonderful vibration that traveled through my Papi’s fingers as he pressed his fingers against me.

As we pulled off the ramp the toll booths loomed before us and now I had new challenges to consider. Fortunately I had paid at the kiosk in the terminal, so we were able to cruise through one of the automated paid exit lanes without having to stop and pay the cashier. In the back of my mind I contemplated whether or not Papi would have removed his hand. Somehow, I doubted it.

Merging into the oncoming traffic required a new degree of concentration; I had to make sure my car would ease into any openings as well as try to avoid pulling up alongside the high seated vans and semi trucks that offered their drivers a clean shot at my lap. Just a glance in our direction would have instantly revealed that there was more than a lover’s reassuring touch going on here. My skirt hoisted up on my lap, barely covering my crotch, and Papi’s hand strumming away would have been quite a sight during the morning rush hour commute.

After a particularly challenging two lane merge to get onto the freeway we made it into the easy sailing of the commuter lane. Yes, the commuter lane! Home free. But damn if those fucking yuppie housewives in their SUV’s don’t drive like grannies on ludes. And I have no patience for that, even if I am being fingered by a sexy man in my passenger seat who knows the secret of making me cum. So, determined that nothing would interfere with my infamous offensive driving skills, I did what I would do any other day and wove in and out of the lanes like I was playing Tetris with my Camry on the freeway.

I should point out at this point that I had been running late to the airport to begin with so I had skipped a much need pit stop to the gas station. I had every intention of filling up on the way home. But now, in my zone, I couldn’t bring myself to pull off the freeway and risk interrupting this wonderful hand job. So between staring intently at the gas gauge willing it not to drop further, weaving between lanes, and avoiding pulling up along semi’s, I had my own hands full.

Papi continued rubbing my clit, sometimes in short fast strokes and other times in long, slow passes. I was moaning and mewling, as he would say, and when he got close I would arch my back and press myself into his hand as much as possible without interfering with my constant pressure on the gas pedal or my ability to reach the break should a luded up yuppie bitch dart in front of me. God I wished there was no traffic so I could put the car in cruise and ignore those damn pedals! Every time I got close to cumming Papi would pull back and stop, just letting his hand rest sweetly on my thigh; teasing me into a frenzy of need and desire. At these times I don’t dare to beg or bargain. I just accept his choices and resign myself to whatever will be. I know I have no control and the more I try to exert some the more likely he is to deny me. After all, he is a sadist. He likes to see me squirm.

I turned on the radio for distraction and got only static. And each time I considered pulling off for gas he would somehow intuit my intentions and his fingers would start working my clit again. I was so close to cumming I didn’t care anymore who saw what. A city buss pulled up close on my tail and I ran the geography in my head to figure out if the height of the driver’s seat would allow him a view of my crotch as he peered down through my back window. Doubtful. But then why was he tailing so close on my ass? I pulled into the slower lane as the buss passed on our left. I didn’t dare look out my window for fear of seeing an entire buss load of commuters staring back at me, the buss driver surely having announced over the loud speaker "Folks, if you look to your right you will see one of our city's finest sights, Curious Pussy being fingered by her Papi."

We made our way over to our exit. I purposely chose an earlier exit that would take us a little longer to get home and be less congested. It would also take us past a gas station, which I knew we were in desperate need of. Hopefully, if I had timed this right, there would be just enough time for me to cum before we ran out of gas.

Now that we were on the residential streets my anxiety peeked over the prospect of passing someone that I knew. It was morning rush hour after all and the odds were pretty good once we got into my neck of the woods. But fuck if his fingers didn’t feel so good sliding up and down inside me, coaxing out more of my juices and making my clit pulse with the need for release. By now my pussy was frothy and slurpy; each wiggle of his fingers made a loud wet sloshing sound that made me feel slightly embarrassed and incredibly hot.

As I approached my neighborhood Arco station I was startled to see that it was unusually crowded… with large trucks no less! "Fuck!" I mumbled, "this should be interesting" as I pulled into the entrance. I tried to yank my skirt down just enough but it really didn’t make all that much difference. Anyone looking in would see my Papi looking non-chalantly out the passenger window while his left hand was clearly messing with my stuff. Despite the fact that we were beyond empty I decided that I was just too close to cumming to allow him to stop and I cruised right through the station. I knew we were minutes from my house and just beyond that there was another gas station I could hit, assuming I didn’t need to call the Triple A guy to come help us out before I made it. To the gas station that is.

We rolled down the quiet tree lined street and I humped his hand while cruising quietly past my neighbor’s windows. We passed the Dugan house and I imagined Elisabeth and her daughter inside eating breakfast and peering out their window. "Look, there goes Curious Pussy! Wave good morning!" Elisabeth was surely instructing little Amelia.

I pulled up to my apartment building and turned off the ignition. With the engine silenced the only sound now was that of my heavy breathing and my juicy pussy. I felt a new kind of road rage creeping over me as I wanted to wail and thrash about and climb onto Papi’s lap. I wanted to put the pedal to the medal and shift into high gear. Fuck me right now. I need you to fuck me. Those words were forming on my lips when Papi abruptly yanked his hand away and asked casually “what’s for breakfast, Pussy?”

Bathroom Delight

In my fantasies it was always more spontaneous and oddly romantic. But real life is always more crude, isn't it?

When he stepped off the escalator the first words out of his mouth were "where's the bathroom?" No hello-darling-I'm-so-happy-to-see-you. Or look-how-delicious-you-look-I-must-taste-your-juices-immediately. Nope. Just "where's the bathroom" as though he was asking where I had parked the car. I said this way and started to walk in the direction of the family restroom I had scoped out over a year ago. The one I always imagined myself in every time I rehearsed this fantasy in my head. The thing is, I had never actually been inside this particular bathroom so I hadn't really thought out all the technicalities.

We got to the baggage claim area and there were your usual men's and women's rooms and then the one family room to the side. You know, the kind where you can lock the door behind you. As we approached the entrance a man stepped up to the door and went inside. I found it kind of humorous but Papi seemed exceedingly irritated at the lout for interfering with our Bathroom Delight, as he had dubbed our covert operation. He huffed and gave me a look, one of those looks that makes me kind of jittery and feel like I have to make everything OK, so I suggested we have a seat and just wait our turn.

We made our way over to the Eames bench seats just like the ones you find in every other baggage claim area at thousands of airports around the world. There was an older couple next to us who were too tired to stand with the baggage vultures at the carousel. We anxiously watched the door waiting for our gentleman friend to exit. Didn't he know that was our airport love nest? Papi seemed more agitated than excited. He grumbled something about what would happen if people saw us enter together. I had never noticed that there was a very busy baggage claim office immediately adjacent to the bathroom that shared a flimsy sheet rock wall. Sure, he was right to think of the possible consequences, which, were we to be discovered, would have impacted him more severely than I. I don't doubt the Transportation Security Administration would find a big old black trans man caught fucking a pasty white genetic girl in a public facility to be a great threat to national security. But right now his fretting and crankiness was bringing me down and what had started as a sense of thrill and adventure and arousal was fast turning into an ordeal.

Our friend was taking a long time, perhaps having his own personal Bathroom Delight, and we were now both equally impatient. I was nearly about to go knock on the door so I could just get the whole thing over with when a well dressed white couple with matching baggage walked up to the door and started their own line. Papi and I looked at each other wryly, both pissed that our turn in line had just been bumped by two yuppies and amused that apparently we weren't the only couple who wanted to use the family bathroom. Unfortunately for us, Bathroom Delight etiquette dictated that we wait our new turn in line or move on.

Before giving up altogether we decided to go check out the bathroom situation on the new wing of the airport. We followed the restroom signs until we got to what appeared to be just the usual men's and women's facilities. I really had to pee by now so I said I was going in. As I got closer I saw that there was indeed a family room but it was tucked away in the entrance to the men's room. Go figure. So I quickly darted in, the only thing on my mind being that I had to pee. A second later I realized that Papi may not have noticed that it was the Bathroom Delight door so I stuck my head back out to tell him. He scowled at me and snapped "I know!" I felt really stupid and awkward like a high school freshman trying to act smooth before losing her virginity to her senior boyfriend.

I went back in and locked the door while I peed and pondered whether I should unlock the door and risk some stranger walking in, or lock it and hope Papi would knock. I decided what the fuck, who cares if someone walks in and unlocked the door. There was a little metal bench kinda thing so I sat on there and fumbled around in my bag for some gum. A second later Papi walked in and I felt very relieved to finally be alone with him without all the airport people looking at us thinking "those two are looking for a bathroom to fuck in, I just know it."

Now at this point in the fantasy I had always imagined my lover overwhelming me passionately with kisses while backing me up to the sink. He would hoist me up effortlessly (well, it is a fantasy after all!) and my ass would rest comfortably in the cold porcelain bowl while he fucked me. But the thing about fantasies is they don't have to take into account the reality of lost baggage offices, disgruntled lovers and the physics of hefty fuckees. Not to mention automatic eye sink faucets and self flushing toilets.

Papi hung his jacket on the hook conveniently placed on the back of the door and stood in the middle of the room taking in the situation. He said "the one at the Philly airport would be better... it has lots of wall space." I guess in his mind the fantasy had involved wall space, something that had never occurred to me. Here we had a door, a sink with a large mirror mounted above it, a toilet with a long handrail running next to it, a changing table that popped down on the wall, a large used sharps container for needles, a paper towel dispenser, and that metal seat. But no free wall space. We spent a good two or three minutes just looking around and wondering what to do next.

I smiled up at him from the funny seat shelf thing, trying to convey my appreciation for the fact that he was doing something that made him anxious and uncomfortable in order to fulfill my fantasy, but I think what came across was probably more an appearance of naivete and thoughtlessness. I wanted so bad just to wrap my arms around him and kiss him and tell him thank you and I love you and let's just hold each other for a while right here in the middle of this airport family bathroom. But right about then he said brusquely "stand up."

I did so. I wasn't really sure where to put my body in the tight space. I saw myself in the mirror and quickly looked away. I felt awkward and was beginning to regret ever telling him about this fantasy. Suddenly it felt like a lot of pressure to try to live up to the expectations of my own dream.

"Turn around," he said matter of factly and motioned with a twirling pointer finger for me to rotate toward the changing table. His directions confused me, not knowing what would happen next, but were reassuring as well. He was in control. I could relinquish the responsibility to make sure everything turned out ok. As long as I did what I was told it would all be fine.

As I faced the wall he reached around me and grabbed both my wrists in one hand while he leaned into me. I relaxed face first into the changing table, which felt kind of silly and kind of sexy at the same time. The top edge made a nice ledge to rest my arms on. He slopped kisses and rough nips on my neck while his free hand slid up under my skirt. He kneaded my ass like play dough once or twice and then he was grabbing at me through my panties. I could feel the lacey thin fabric slide between his fingers and my pussy, already slippery and wet from my juices. A second later I felt a quick yank and heard a rip as he tore my panties off my body. I could hear male voices as they exited the men's room, and I knew I had to stifle my sounds as a loud gasp escaped me. I bit down on my own wrist, sounding like a snuffling horse as I began to breath through my nose.

Without any fanfare he stuck two fingers inside my cunt and began to fuck me briskly. I could still feel his breath on my neck and his chest heaving against my back. I arched my lower back and ground my ass into his groin. His hips automatically began to rock against me in a rough thrusting motion that pushed me up against the changing table with a slight thumping noise that we both knew would grow louder if we kept at it.

Suddenly he pulled his fingers out of me as quickly as he had shoved them in. He told me to turn around and I did. "Lean over" he said, nodding his head toward the bench. I bent over with my elbows on the hard metal and my ass sticking up in the air behind me. I felt self conscious since I had on a short skirt that certainly must have revealed every tiny freckle under those bright bathroom lights. And even though my Papi is most definitely an ass man I'm self conscious about that particular view nonetheless.

He placed one hand on my hip and the other he forcefully shoved inside both holes as my face was pushed down onto the cold stainless steal. He fucked me hard and fast and deep, and it hurt. It hurt and I didn't want him to stop. To the contrary, I wanted him to fuck me harder. But since I was restricted from saying so by the surroundings, I tried to convey this by pressing myself deeper onto his hand. He began to fuck me like a piston so fast and hard that I was forced to crawl up onto the shelf as I tried to get away from the very thing I craved. My arms were wrapped around my head now and my neck bent forward into the corner of the wall. I felt like I did as a small child hiding under my desk in an air raid drill: trying to protect myself from an unpredictable force that I knew I was powerless against.

The angle of his wrist that this position necessitated made each thrust sting as it pulled and stretched the sensitive skin around my asshole and cunt. My hands somehow found the wall mounted sharps container and then I was crawling up the wall until I was standing on the seat, face and hands pressed flat against the plaster. He continued to fuck me, pausing to gently kiss my bare ass. His lips felt soft and warm in contrast to the cold, hard surfaces touching my skin. I wanted them all over me, hot and sweet and sucking.

"Turn around," he commanded. This sounded simple enough until I realized neither one of us intended for him to take his fingers out of me. Slowly I twisted my body around counterclockwise until I could feel his scruffy beard pressing against the outside of my left thigh. Then I lifted my leg over his head while he ducked and then I brought my foot down on the handrail. Once again the ADA proved equally useful for the able-bodied. Hunching down slightly he began to suck on my clit as he continued to treat me like his own personal puppet. I leaned my shoulders into the wall and pressed my pussy into his face. I wanted to cum for him so badly. It was so nice to see him, to finally be with him, to finally be here, I didn't want him to stop. I entwined my fingers in his twisties feeling the soft lamby hair at the base of his scalp and held his head against me as I thrust my hips back and forth. I was feeling woozy and dreamy and light headed when suddenly he turned to the right and bit down on the soft skin of my inner thigh. He sucked in my flesh and I gripped his hair; I wanted to scream and pummel him but I could only whisper "ouch Papi, you're hurting me."

"You like it when I hurt you," he replied with an a priori understanding I would nod my head in agreement.

I looked down into his eyes for a long while. He looked back at me dispassionately. And as long as he kept his fingers inside me I felt anchored and immobilized; tethered to this man who I was powerless against.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled his fingers out of me. The blood rushed from my head and I swooned. "Let's go home," he said.

"OK," I said and stepped down onto the floor. That must be what it feels like for a bird to land on the earth after soaring in the sky I thought. Everything looked so close and grounded.

As he washed his hands I thought about how handy it was to have a sink right there. We gathered our belongings and I picked up my panties, torn asunder and smelling like my pussy, and wrapped the lacey pink fabric around his neck.

"Nice ascot," I said.

"Why thank you Miss Pussy," he sassed back.

Then we walked out into the stream of men exiting the men's room and headed home.

I Do Also Still Butterflies

I found a short note in my in box this morning (doesn't that sound so sexy?) "congratulating" me on my great blog and inviting me to exchange links. When I clicked on the link I found a blog called Dark Obsession... in German. Which I don't read. Then I noticed a little clickable bullet where you could select English. So I did. What then appeared were these wonderfully odd little stories that are poetic and lovely and creepy and sexy all together. There are untranslatable German words scattered throughout that make the whole thing darkly mysterious and humorous at the same time. I Blog Rolled it even though I have no idea what it means. I just liked the sound of the words.

"there are moments on which I is pleased moments probably in everyone lives particularly is, not only in mine. I be pleased drauf to say to you sometime perhaps times that I am more schwanger I now already gladly would know, how you then kuckst. and whether you are then pleased. God - actually the straight is unbelievably a little embarrassingly also however probably knows you eh that I am a small kitschmaus I hope times, you find not further badly. and me each day auf's new fall in love -, whom I do also still butterflies still completely large cinema believe not yet completely can, which is actual you with me which you me to have wanted me small, pinpointed, I. madly, greatly, you. I love it you to look at. believe to :)"

Isn't that beautiful?

Something More

Seems the stars are telling me that there is something about lovers and availability I need to work out. There's Doc, the married guy I went out with the other night. Who, by the way, wrote me when he got home that he told his wife "how cool I was" and she is "really looking forward to meeting me." Then the next morning there was this really hot guy at my gym who flirted shamelessly with me, something that rarely happens since I am quite shy and not most guy's cuppa tea. We established quickly that I am single, childless and bi and then that he was partnered with three children ranging from 2 1/2 months to 12. And then he continued to flirt. So go figure. Then there is this guy who sent me a reply to my ad just saying hang in there, good luck, not all guys want a skinny Barbie type. So we've been having fun emailing but then he tells me he has a girlfriend. Erg. What is it with the world? I'm fine dating poly people... but when do I get to be with someone who thinks I'm so swell that they want to wake up next to me every morning?

I've been meaning to apologize to all you fabulous bloggers out there. I confess that I haven't been reading your blogs recently. The thing is, it has just been too painful. I started to read Twiddly's account* of having Monk over, or Sanyu's story of being tied up for shopping. And, well, it just made me feel so lonely and sad that there is no one in my life to play with. Sure, I have papi, but he lives far away and our visits are few and far between. And even though he is really special to me and I like what we have together, I really crave something more... well... more. But I do promise to catch up with all your blogs as soon as I get my sea legs back. Cuz it looks like you all have been having too much fun lately!

The exciting news in my life is that I'm buying my very first home. It is small and funky and in an "undesirable" area... but it will be mine and I like it! No more upstairs neighbor to hear me scream fuck me harder baby, harder! Sure, there's no basement for a dungeon or beams for suspension rig... but there is one large living room space where maybe I could put a St. Andrew's Cross disguised as a plant hanger or something. Any decorating suggestions? Oh, and there is absolutely no storage area so I need advice about where to stash any sex toys. Where do you all put em?

*Sorry T-Bits and Dangly, I couldn't get the linker to work here. I'll try again later.

Pet My Bunny

I believe I mentioned a few posts back that I recently placed an ad on Craigslist. The subject line was simply "How about a sweet, subby, chubby, femmy, silly, smart nice girl?" The body of the ad just said "Well, how 'bout it?" I know you all must think I am painfully verbose, but really I hold to the adage that less is more when it comes to personal ads.

After deleting all the respondents who could not construct a sentence, bother to use spell check, or think their way outside a box I had about three people worth talking to. One turned out to be 19. Another turned out to be a fatphobic dom just looking for a fuck. And the third, well...

His response was odd right off the bat because he sent me a copy of an ad he had recently placed. He said it was written by his wife. I gathered he was in an open relationship but it was sort of unclear, as internet communiques often are. The post did appeal to me because it was real and frank and friendly. There was a line that sounded sweet and silly and slight kinky, which of course reeled me in. Something about if I had bunny or a kitty for him to pet that would make him very happy. Then he inserted something about especially a black bunny or a stripy kitty and his wife chided beggars can't be choosers. Anyway, I wrote back and just said hello and such. His next response said something about an ex wife so I was confused and asked for clarification, was he currently married or divorced? Turns out he has both an ex wife and a current wife, and is indeed currently in an open marriage with a kinky bi woman.

So. What to do? The one interesting prospect and he's married. But you know, I'm lonely and horny and he's lonely and horny and we seemed so like minded. So I told him that I was open to meeting and just seeing what happened. He seemed somewhat ambivalent at first. I guess he hasn't really taken his wife up on this open thing much, or at all, because he hasn't really clicked with anyone. That was reassuring that he wasn't simply looking for an easy fuck. Or was it? Maybe I would be better off with easy fucks since I always seem to get sprung on people that don't want the same things I want from a relationship. Still, it seemed a shame to not even meet the fellow.

So, I went on a date with a married man, something I never really pictured myself doing. We arranged to meet tonight after work. He suggested dinner and a video at his place (with a subtle insinuation of the possibility of having sex), but I declined mostly because I really don't have that much free time right now but also because I really didn't want to jump into bed with a stranger. I'm horny, but I'm not desperate.

Anyhow, long story short, he was really sweet and quite a nice guy. We had dinner and went for a walk and then sat in front of the lake and chatted. We talked about health stuff and the merits of the city we live in and his family. As we got more comfortable we talked about poly relationships and kink and dating. I ended up telling him how I'm trying to get pregnant (which, by the way, I'm not at the moment... in case you've been following this blog) despite the fact I try not to tell people that on the first date. By the time we parted he said he didn't want to be presumptuous or tacky or anything but that he would be willing to consider being a donor. He added I could use a doctor for insemination and he wasn't just trying to get laid. Now, I know it may sound odd to some of you who aren't in my shoes, but I thought that was just the sweetest gesture ever. I mean I've asked two close friends who both said no and here's this guy who doesn't know me from Job and he makes such a generous offer. Geez. I just may let him pet my bunny for that!

Anyway. I gave him a hug and told him I would be up for getting together again in the future. And that was it.

Girl for Girl Revealed

Trax and I drove over to a fairly industrial part of town and headed down a dark, clean alley. There wasn't anyone else around so we knocked on what was supposedly the entrance to the party. It was a large stainless steel door fronting a totally nondescript edifice. It looked as if we were about to enter someone's basement garage, which turned out to be true.

Inside we were greeted by two women, both of whom Trax seemed to know from previous parties. I was relieved to have her as my Virgil for the evening since she knew her away around this scene. I should say here that I met Trax about the time I met Mr. D when she responded to a personal ad that I placed. We've been hanging out for a while but have never really delved into anything sexual. I was curious to see if that would change tonight. Although, admittedly, one of the reasons I had come was because she made it clear when she invited me that she was just going to watch tonight.

We paid our entrance fees and chit chatted with the two leather dykes at the door for a bit. They were both very friendly and welcoming. I was glad I had femmed up a bit rather than wear jeans and a t-shirt as Trax had suggested. I should know better than to ask a butch dyke for fashion advice. Granted, I'm not a high femme or lipstick lesbian by any stretch of the imagination, but I like to think I have my own thing going on as a middle aged chubby woman in teenage girl hand-me-ups I get at the Goodwill. I had on a short denim skirt all frazzled at the edges, a black hoodie a size too small for me with glittery monkeys on the chest, and my favorite black heels that I stole from Princess. And, of course, shiny pink lip gloss and sparkly eye shadow.

We made our way deeper into the dungeon which turned out to be much smaller than I had expected. As we entered there was a handsome woman about my age sitting on a small love seat. She was dressed casually in a t-shirt and shorts. One of the leather dykes who had greeted us at the door was rubbing some sort of ointment onto her calf while they bantered on about the merits of the salve. The room was pretty small and empty save for a large old fashioned gynecological table with leather padding and shiny metal foot stirrups. I should say this was the first time that a gyne table looked alluring. Especially lately since these inseminations have been about as sexy as a pap smear by your family doctor.

At the other end of the room two doors were flung open that led to a larger area maybe 20 x 40 feet or so. Inside I could see a very pale skinned chubby lady with flowy red hair tied to another medical table. Her arms were bound to her sides and her wrists were bound together and resting in a sort of prayer position on her abdomen. Her breasts were bound and her nipples were taped, maybe even pinned (I couldn't see all that well). Two plain looking butch dykes were attending to her. One at her side was rubbing and twisting her nipples and whispering menacing things close to her ear that I couldn't make out. The other woman was gloved up and fingering her.

As the scene started heating up Trax and I got up and went into the room to watch. The two tops seemed pleased with the attention and started to ratchet things up a bit. The powder white subby girl started whining and moaning quite a bit as her tops got nastier and nastier.

To their left was a nice brushed stainless steal cross about eight feet tall. A tall athletic bodied woman stood holding onto it, leaning in face first, naked save for her sports socks. I, of course, giggled at the socks, which I found incredibly charming. A shorter woman who was very femmed up in a skin tight slinky dress with a low back and a high slit up the side was gently flogging her. She seemed like she knew what she was doing, switching from floggers to canes to bats in a seemless premeditated fashion. But compared to the scene going on right next to them they seemed very tame and casual, like they were just goofing around on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe because the bottom was so stoic and never once made a peep or flinched a muscle.

Meanwhile the threesome had escalated into some rough finger fucking and the pretty redhead was cumming over and over. The top at her side ripped the duct tape off her mouth and ordered her not to scream. She tried her best but eventually started screaming these high pitched girly screams that seemed all too familiar to me and irritated the fuck out of me. The top pressed down on either side of a layer of rope that ran across her neck and started to cut off her wind supply. That stopped the screaming, as did the hand that was then quickly clasped over her mouth.

Two tall, slender women came in and checked out the eye hook on the ceiling above where Trax and I were seated. So we got up and let them set up their stuff. The top was a woman in a black bra and panties under one of those mesh one piece body suits without a crotch. She looked like she stepped out of a leather dyke calendar and it did absolutely nothing for me. Her bottom was clad in a simple leather halter and panties which showed off her perfectly toned and fake bronzed figure. I'm sure everyone would concede she had a nice body... but she did absolutely nothing for me niether. I was much more taken with the chubby sub on the table who was now starting to hyperventilate in between high pitched giggles.

When I say taken I should clarify that none of this turned me on in the way you might think. Rather I felt kind of flustered. The sub on the table was getting on my nerves in her demeanor, and yet I recognized myself most strongly in her. The closest I came to being turned on was more a feeling of envy in wanting to take her place. Not because I was attracted to the women fucking with her. Rather, I was attracted to what they were doing to her. And I knew I would respond just like her, even though it grated on my nerves so. Thankfully, it didn't seem to bother the tops one iota.

Trax and I stayed for a while more while all the scenes climaxed and everyone started cooing and snuggling and doing all that fun after care stuff. It was sweet to see all those mean tops get all mushy and gooey, but I still felt slightly irritated with everyone there. Jealous? Bored? Ashamed? I dunno. All I know is I think I learned I'm really not a voyeur at heart. And I would be one hell of a mean top if I had to listen to all that high pitched subby screaming myself.

Girl for Girl

Well, it appears I am going to go to a girl for girl sex party tonight. Hmmm. We'll see. I'm really not into the whole public sex scene. And there ain't much voyeur in me. I'm the kinda person who gets nervous sitting in the first few rows at the theater. Mr. D says watching fun. I guess I'll have to see for myself.

Why Is That?

A couple of weeks ago I got a nasty nasty spider bite on my ankle. I can go for a day or two not itching it, but every time I scratch it just a smidge it flares up into this raging horrid thing that itches like a mutherfuckingbitch. Why is that?

I've gone for years... yes, YEARS... without any sexual contact other than my hand (this was before Wanda came into my life) and I swear I didn't miss sex one iota. Now... well, you've seen me. I'm climbing the walls here people. Tell me, why is that?

So last night I posted an ad on Craiglist. Two ads actually. You gotta get creative when you're bi. I usually scan the ads on occasion but I think I'm gonna give up on that. Honestly, they depress me no end. It seems 99.9% of the ads are looking for the same thing: a thin woman. Petite. Fit. HWP. Slender. Thin. Svelt. Athletic. Inevitably there's some code for not fat. I might be everything else they want - smart, submissive, employed, childless, disease free, fun loving, poly, ethical... you name it - but the bottom line is am I thin?

It drives me nuts because I'm not even all that fat anymore. At a size 16 I feel pretty average really (I used to be a 28 or something... I stopped counting because they stopped making clothes in my size even at the plus size store), which makes it crazy because then all the people who want the fat girls don't want me either because I'm not fat enough.

Really, I don't want to fuck anyone who wants to fuck me simply because of my body type. I don't want to be someone's fetish. I know this girl who is a quadriplegic and guys are always hitting on her. She and I have talked about this conundrum - where is the line between disturbing fetish that doesn't see the whole person and just some bloke who happens to like a girl who has no arms or legs? She met a guy recently and when she asked him straight up "are you a perv for cripples like me?" his response seemed pretty much as honest as you can get. "I like you, and you don't have any arms or legs." So, what's a girl to do?

So, my ad just put it out there that I'm chubby and subby and all that. Actually, I almost always try and put it out there just to head things off at the pass. The problem is, then I get all the chubby chasers... and I've already told you the inherent problems there. One guy replied to my ad that he thought I sounded great and then sent another post moments late that said "just how fat are you?" Well, my mama taught me to return all correspondences so I wrote back "If you have to ask, I'm probably too fat or not fat enough for you."

Anyway. Some of the people who responded seem decent enough. The thing is I'm just so tired of the dating thing. Granted, I don't have years and years of dating behind me, so I shouldn't be burning out just yet, but it is just so exhausting. Don't get me wrong. I like meeting new folks and I've met some great people through on-line dating. Afterall, I met Mr. D, Prince(ss), Rob and Spanky through the internet. But in my heart of hearts I'm ready to snuggle in, you know?

On Waking Up Alone

Gosh, it sure would be nice to wake up next to someone wanting to fuck me. Geez, at this point it would even be nice to wake up next to someone who didn't want to fuck me. I really wasn't meant for a solitary life.

My bruises from papi have all faded now. The frequency and duration of our time together is so miniscule and paltry compared to the enormity of my craving. The sight of my pale unmarked skin just leaves me feeling empty and alone. Ghostly.

Thanks for all your thoughtful comments yesterday. I'll leave the anonymous feature on for now. So have at it!

Anonymous or Not?

I've noticed that, for the most part, when people post anonymously to this blog their posts leave me scratching my head. Why did they say that? Who is that? Have they read all my posts or do they have no idea what I'm talking about? A few times anonymous posts have nagged at me and caused me consternation. I've been contemplating resetting the site so it doesn't take anonymous comments. I haven't done so though because I want to allow folks the option to remain anonymous, if that's what they need, to speak their truth. But so far seems like the folks who go out on the limb and identify themselves somehow are the ones who have something more interesting and relevant to say.

What do other bloggers think? I'm curious if others have had experiences similar to mine.

I Am An Island

Anyone else ever terrified by their own longings? I used to think of myself as a completely self sufficient person... I never allowed myself the luxury of needing anyone or anything. That old Dylan song with the "I am a rock" refrain described me to a T. But these days I just feel so lost and lonely and in need of companionship. Maybe it stems from the prospect of having and raising a child by myself. Maybe it stems from the reality that I am nearing 40 and I'm still basically single. Maybe it stems from being flooded by years and years of repressed desires and longings. Whatever it is, it sucks. I feel so lonely and fragile and afraid.

Maplewood Spoon from Crate and Barrel 

Bare Assed and Happy

This weekend I went to the mall with Mirva. We took a short cut through Crate and Barrel and I fell in love with this spoon. It was so sexy: thick and smooth and solid. It seemed more like a paddle than a spoon. Just touching it made me want to make a big batch of something or other and then bend over bare assed and happy. It was the only thing I coveted in the entire mall. And even though it was under ten bucks I couldn't bring myself to splurge for it.

By the way, I inseminated again on Saturday. Cross your fingers and your toes I get knocked up good.

When the Bruises Ache

This morning as I bent over backwards trying to approximate a back bend on my balance ball my t-shirt rose up and Mirva got a glimpse of the bruises scattered across my belly. Her eyes got big and she blurted out with great concern in her voice what happened to you?!

Oh, those are, uh, hickeys. Papi likes to bite.

She looked at me like I was a battered wife making excuses for my abusive husband. They look like they hurt, she said.

No, they don't hurt, I replied.

And I thought to myself no, sadly, I can't feel them at all now.

For me the bruises are mementos of our time together. They help me remember the feeling of his mouth greedily sucking on my breast, his fingers grabbing and twisting my belly, his teeth clamping down on my inner thigh as they work their way over to my pussy. And when the bruises ache deep down in the muscle, making my flesh feel raw and tender, I am reminded of our passion and in those moments the distance between us doesn't feel quite so far.

What's In a Name?

Twiddly asked a while ago my thoughts on the difference between gay and queer? Well, in a nutshell, I think people who self identify as "gay" or "lesbian" are more likely to want to assimilate into mainstream society. And people who self identify as "queer" are more likely to want to change the rest of the world. Yes, a sweeping generalization I know, but still just my take on things. Keep in mind this is also a generational thing as self identifying as "gay" 20 years ago was very different then it is in today's context.