Thursday, January 26, 2006

HNT #4






Took myself out for a pedicure the other day. Don'tcha know I just had to go with Holy Pink Pagoda. Visions of the Boy Wonder kneeling at Batman's feet, brushing on a top coat of paint, when the nail polish bottle inexplicably spills over and he exclaims... that's right: Holy Pink Pagoda, Batman!

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Please bare with me.

I'll be back soon no doubt. It's just this mother fucking rock. It is so damn... heavy.

Saturday, January 21, 2006

40

Today I turned 40. That was the best gift of all.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

HNT #3


The puss and the monk

went out to play

on a big pink nipple one day.

They thought it such a lovely stunt,

they asked another puss and monk.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Sisypus

Well, you know that moon watcher thing I put down there? I did it more for my own benefit; so I would have a heads up as my lunartic time was approaching. I thought I had evaded her this month. I was just saying to Papi the other night that hey, I snuck under the lunar radar this month. Well. No such luck. Last night it hit like a two ton boulder dropping blap right in my path again. Unlike Sisyphus I never get the damn thing to move an inch so I don't even get the satisfaction of making it to the top and the pleasurable agony of being mowed down by it. Nah. It just sits there and shove as I might I can't get the fucker to budge. And the fucker is my mood. It gets dark and despondent and nihilistic and downright nasty. Not good nasty. Bad nasty. Like soggy grey rainy nasty. Like no sunshine for months nasty. Like your car won't start and your bank account is hurting and you stubbed your toe and it's bleeding nasty. Like why bother trying any more and why am I alone and where is my tribe nasty. Like the mortgage broker got pregnant even though you started inseminating before she did and your dream house is turning out to be a nightmare and you're turning 40 and you still don't know what you want to do with your life nasty. Did I say soggy grey rainy nasty? And, like the rain, I know it will blow over. But, for now, I'm just sitting here staring at this mother fucking rock.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Charon and the PusSybil

In the day's last rays you could just make out the hull of the boat slicing through the wet mist and the captain's profile, just a dark shadow really, steering the craft toward the shore. The PusSybil stepped out to the end of the dock so as to indicate another passenger awaited. It had been a long day of ferry rides - back and forth, back and forth - and Charon was in no mood for another whining, sadsack soul. "Oh please, don't make me go Mr. Ferryman! Pul-eeeease! I promise to repent. Never again shall I..." And here Charon had heard it all. To steal. To kill. To watch TV. To buy Nike. To fornicate. The list was endless. But one thing was certain, regardless of their sin, their passage to hell was all but paid for - and as soon as the PusSybil handed Charon the coin their journey began.

Charon lifted his oar to stable the boat against the pier and, seeing the PusSybil alone, he sliced the oar through the air and demanded "Where is you fare? I see no one!"

"It is I, Charon. I would like to take a ride with you."

"Don't tempt me woman! It has been a long day and I am in no mood for your shenanigans. You know as well as I that only the sinfully dead shall pass over to hell."

"Ah, my friend, why just today you ferried over a nurse who had the compassion to assist a man in interminable pain, a homeless lad who stole a pair of Nike's to pay his mother's rent, and young woman who stabbed the man raping her. If the very image of so much goodness moves you not at all, well, here is your damn bough." She tossed an olive branch, shimmering and golden in the light of the setting sun, at his feet.

"Alright. Have it your way. Climb in," Charon grumbled as the PusSybil lowered herself into his craft. He arched his oar high up into the air and swung it back around, pushing them off of the pier and into the churning currents of the river.

They sailed along for a bit without speaking. The PusSybil sat herself down on the seat in the bow and leaned over the edge studying her reflection in the murky depths. Her grey hair and wrinkled hands betrayed her years, but she thought she looked pretty good considering everything (and here the last ray of light vanished below the horizon as if Apollo himself was reminding her of the price she paid for her purity).

The PusSybil let her fingers trail along in the black waters. In the darkness the sound of Charon's oar slicing through the waves sounded menacing. With each stroke the water warmed degree by degree until soon the waters were boiling and the PusSybil pulled her hand out. She lifted the back of her palm to her face and inspected the red blush on her otherwise pale skin and smiled serenely.

Charon arched an eyebrow and announced, "We are very near the shore now. You must take care not to fall into the river as you climb out or your ass will be toast."

He then pushed his oar into the sand and hoisted the boat as far as it would go onto the shore. With surprising agility for such an old man he jumped from ship to shore with one leap. He reached for the PusSybil and gripped his hand around the fleshy part of her arm. Her skin felt cool and silky. As she leapt toward the shore she stumbled and landed thigh high in the river. "Ouch" she squealed, and then giggled.

Charon raised another eyebrow and roughly yanked her toward him.

"You stay in that water a minute longer and you'll be a puddle of..."

"Oh, hush, a little boiling water never hurt anyone," retorted the PusSybil.

"Well, here we are. What's your pleasure?" Charon asked.

"I was thinking it might be interesting to check things out a bit. I hear level two is the place to be on a Friday night."

This time he raised both eyebrows. She was one curious PusSybil indeed.

---------- to be continued ----------

Anybody wanna tell me how the stroy ends? It seems the next page was torn out of my version and I can't find my Cliff Notes.

Sicko HNT


I've spent the last 36 hours in bed. And not in the fun way. Seems I just can't stay up any longer than is required to get another cough drop. Or look at my site meter. I feel so accomplished that I even managed this HNT.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Fragment Pussy?

Slightly over a thousand visitors in four days. Interesting. And here I thought I was just baring my soul to the void (and the fabulous few of you who stay long enough to say hello). I guess it only stands to reason since my title includes the word "pussy" and that seems to be a very common word to search by. Probably explains why most seem to land on my site and then quickly click away (since they are more likely to be greeted by words then beaver shots - although they may get those on occasion now too thanks to Citarre). The most amusing part of this tracking stuff is seeing how people stumble upon you through searches whacked out. Here's a recent example of phrases that linked to me (bad spelling/grammar not mine!):

smallest pussy
ouch papi it hurts
I sat on my grandpa's hard cock
autistic lover
sploosh
eat pussy cp
dykes hardwood dowel
ragged out pussy
pussy rope pull
ways to praise your pussy shirt
fragment pussy
what does a pussy supposed to look like
what to loop a pocket pussy with
strong cunt

And my personal favorite:

webster's definition of tofu

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Pouty Brat's Cumuppance

Well, Charon kinda beat me to the punch line there. Oh, I'm so witty! But I have to tell you the long, drawn out version of the end of the story just because, well, that's what I do.

Let's see. Where were we? Oh yeah, Papi had just ordered me down on the bed and there I was with my naked ass up in the air and my face smashed into the mattress of my own accord. I had just gotten out of the bath and the chilly air in my bedroom smarted my flushed skin like a whispered hint of what was to come.

Papi started teasing me by slinking the tails of the flogger over my ass. Their soft, icey kiss made my skin shiver. I swayed from side to side a bit and made a yummy groan. Papi let the tails tickle along my hips and down my thighs. Then up between my legs, slowly, taunting me and making me squirm. He lifted the flogger off my skin and let it come down with a soft swish and tapping, testing the handle and the weight. He began swinging it in what sounded to my ears like infinity loops so it smacked first one cheek and the the other. Gradually he increased the tempo, the intensity, the game until he was really beating me quite hard. What I recall is this: it fuckin hurt!

Those stingy rubber tails bit into my skin like a switch. But the weighty thump of leather immediately following each stinging bite was like a caress that entreated me to forgive the stroke and pusuaded me to welcome another. My mind kept trying to figure out if I was enjoying myself while it scrambled to recover from each stroke, but Papi increased the pace until I had to give in and accept it without the comfort of the answer to that question. Acceptance wasn't really the word. More like resignation.

It's kind of a blur really (maybe Papi has a better recollection of what transpired that morning). I remember hearing my cries echo off my bedroom walls in an unnerving kind of way; I remember scrambling to the edge of my bed trying to crawl away and then backing up until my ass was up against Papi's body, pressing into him in a posture of a bottom in supplication - an appeal for forgiveness for not being able to take it with more composure; I remember his cool lips kissing my hot branded ass; I remember feeling very, very wet; I remember giggling inexplicably; I remember begging him to fuck me, please, fuck me.

He brushed his hand across my cosita from behind me and it felt like... I don't know... like the electricity of your very first kiss. Like velvet. Like the scent of wild roses. My insides quivered and waves of energy shot through me. He continued to caress me with his hand, his fingers, until I couldn't take it anymore. "Please Papi," I said, "please put your fingers inside me." He obliged (I think I may have groaned an oh god yes thank you sir groan right then) and started to finger fuck me rapidly. "Shhh, shhh, shhh. Slow, Papi, slowly please!" I gasped. And again he obliged. But still it was too much and I was crawling across the bed and he was scrambling after me trying to keep up and not slip out. I think he had his hand on my ass - whether he was stabilizing me or himself I don't know - and he was saying "geez, all this from one finger!" That must be the problem, I thought and I asked him to put another finger inside of me.

Now, normally one or two fingers is enough to slightly irritate me and make me slap your hand away. But somehow this morning it was like each finger had morphed into one of those fucking rubber tails and was biting the inside of my cunt. I felt like crying and screaming and wailing. Not because it hurt but because I so wanted to be fucked and I couldn't understand why my body was betraying me.

"It hurts papi. It hurts," I cried and he pulled his fingers out and wrapped his arms around me. "I don't know why. I don't understand," I said and he kissed me softly. "It's ok," he said. "It's ok. It's just not the right time." And he held me and rocked me and kissed me while I wept. Papi thought perhaps the flogging caused my body to react that way. But I suspect that my cunt sabotaged the fuck since she knew that Papi had to leave momentarilly if he was to make his flight. My cunt and my heart must be in cahoots; neither one will really let you in if they suspect you will leave me.

I needed to have him inside me one way or another so I reached for his cock and surprisingly he let me. I didn't think he would, but he did. He gasped that gasp he does when I first touch him that I love so much. I stroked him slowly at first. It didn't take long for his cock to harden under my touch. I love that. Somehow we moved about and then he was on his tummy. I pressed my face between his strong thighs and started to suck him into my mouth. I licked and sucked and rubbed until he came strong and hard, squeezing my face between his thighs like a vice so hard I couldn't escape.

Then we raced like the devil to the airport. But it was too late. He missed his flight. Too bad the next one wasn't sold out!

Monday, January 09, 2006

Salty or Sweet?


This is just such a lovely shot I had to share it with you. It makes me think of ripe fruit and sea life. It makes me wonder if she tastes salty or sweet. If you like it you should check out Citarre's The Genital Arts site for other lovely lady landscapes (and a few sweet cock shots as well, which are always appreciated).

Sunday, January 08, 2006

TwiddlyBits Where are You?

Does anyone know where TwiddlyBits and DanglyBits went? Did I miss something in the blogosphere? It seems their link expired and I miss them terribly.

Site Meter

It is no secret I am a slow learner. I finally installed a site meter this morning. From the time it took me to install it and then go check it out I'd already had peekers from the US, Denmark and Spain. All this time I've been blogging I knew that anyone anywhere could have a looksee but I really didn't believe many were since I generally get relatively few comments (as compared to other blogs I read). I love the feeling of being "watched" by all you anonymous eyes all over the globe. Makes me feel so small and huge at the same time.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

HNT


Way, way back - or what seems like way, way back anyway - when I first started this blog, I was encouraged by our dearly departed Unfurling to post pictures of myself. The thought alone made me faint. Sure, there is the pesky little issue of anonymity - which I've said before is more for the protection of my partners than myself - but as long as I'm being honest with you all I might as well confess that the real underlying issue is that I just don't feel like anyone would find my body sexy or beautiful.

I've always been a big girl. Ever since I can remember my boobs were more droopy than perky (they're on a slow migration to my arm pits as a girlfriend in college once described them). And my tummy is lopsided and droopy too. I'm covered in stretch marks and I don't even have big tits or a plump ass to make up for my lack of curves. I've always struggled to love my plump droopy self. My smart brain gets it - that there are no "good" bodies or "bad" bodies - but my dumb brain doesn't. On the surface of it I come off as confident and comfortable in my body. But it doesn't take much digging and poking to see there's a lot more to the story just under the surface.

This past year has been an interesting one in that I've both gained a lot of self confidence in myself as a sexual being and I've also lost some as well. It has been wonderful to find that there are lots of people out there who enjoy having sex with me. But it has been heart breaking as well to realize that it is indeed still true that the majority of folks would never consider a fat chick beautiful. Sure, they might fuck me. Sure, they might like fucking me. They might even like me. But chances are they don't like fucking me, or like me, because they think I'm hot.

Now, before you go and correct me, before you reprimand me for my self doubt, consider this: I have had exactly two lovers tell me that I am beautiful. Papi and Chico. And we all know that Chico was lying like a rug. So that leaves Papi. Now, I know that other lovers have loved me. And even enjoyed having sex with me. And perhaps found me attractive. But the fact that I'm turning 40 in less than a month and I've only heard "you're beautiful" from one qualified lover, well, that says a lot. It is kind of hard to tell yourself you're beautiful, and to believe it, when you're (almost) the only one saying it. The irony is that I find chubby chicks to be really hot. Just not myself.

This stuff goes way back. To play grounds and buss stops and best friend's backyards. Back to the boy I lost my virginity to. My highschool sweetheart. He was skinny as a stick and grungy and sort of funny looking but I adored him and thought he was incredibly sexy. After we made love for the first time, my first time, he turned to me and said "don't you think it's special that I love you even though I don't find you attractive?" Uh, yeah?

Anyhow, a few weeks ago I was thinking about all those bloggers out there who post on HNT and wishing for the life of me that I could find one plain, middle aged, chubby chick joining in the fun. Fuck but I would love to see a plain, middle aged, chubby chick HNT webring! I considered posting a picture of myself, but then I thought better of it. I figured those of you who read my blog might get more into the stories when you can imagine me to be in the body of your liking. But you know, the whole point of this blog is to be able to share my struggles as well as my joys... and there are times when the things that bring me joy are the very things I struggle with. Like my body.

Then tonight, peeking around at new blogs through linking to links on the sites of those of you who have left comments here, I came across Dave's pictures of Am in her maid outfit and I thought "finally, a body I can relate to!" And when I read Dave's comments on Am's comments the disconnect resonated deeply. When Papi looked into my eyes and told me I was beautiful the first time we made love I thought surely he was lying even though he had absolutely no reason to. I had already given myself to him without a struggle, as he likes to point out, so what was there to gain? But it is so deeply ingrained in me, this feeling of ugliness and unworthiness, that I couldn't imagine that he could simply be speaking his truth.

Occasionally I have moments when I feel sexy or beautiful or even just acceptable. But they are few and far apart. I would like some day to have a whole hour of feeling beautiful. Then maybe a whole day. A whole week. A month. A year. But for now I would settle for a few minutes every Thursday.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Confessions of a Pouty Brat

It was almost noon and I was feeling like a pouty brat. I knew I had to take Papi to the airport in an hour or so but I wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. Silly really, since I had already scored an extra day with him due to some nasty weather necessitating a flight postponement. I felt like a greedy, selfish child. But I just wanted more. I'm that way. Chocolate. Wine. Sex. You give me a little and instead of being satisfied with one square, one glass or one fuck I'll eat the entire bar, drink the whole damn bottle and suck you until I make you miss your plane.

The night before I had fallen asleep in his arms already wanting wanting wanting. His head was resting against my breast, cradled in the arc of my arm, and he had been rolling my nipple between his fingers like an absent minded writer chewing on the end of his pencil until he inadvertently nips off the eraser. His finger tips gradually ratcheted down their grip until he was squeezing so hard I could feel it in my clit. Literally. I wanted him inside me so badly then, and I told him so. "Later," he said. "Later." Then he fell fast asleep as I laid there in his arms waiting waiting waiting for sleep to douse my desire with her darkness.

When the alarm began squawking at 6:30 the brat in me let it buzz a bit longer than usual longing for him to bolt upright and ravish me for hours. Instead he slept like a rock all morning. The brat tried snuggling up to him and pressing her icy toes between his calves... nothing. She tried scratching his back hard like he likes with her stubby nails... nothing. She turned on the reading light and loudly flipped each page as she finished it... he just pulled the covers over his head. Finally she resorted to the sure fire trick of rocking the bed and moaning while she masturbated next to him. She even got out Wanda, who, as you know, has seen better days and is quite the loud lucy of vibrators. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Right about then I went from bratty to pouty. Surely a girl had the right to feel sorry for herself when her papi wouldn't even wake up to fuck her before leaving her for days, weeks, months? Although, in the interest of fairness, I should say that he has certain health issues that render him unconscious in the blink of an eye like that guy who slept under the tree for years and years. Plus, something about the four pieces of toast and plum jam I had given him the night before acted like some weird psychotropic drug that put him in a thick fog for the remainder of the evening.

When he finally did stir he giggled and mumbled something about "Johnny Carson was driving with no windows."

"Oh yeah," I said. "Then what happened?"

"What are you talking about?" he said, squinting and trying to get his eyelids to unzip the sleep that was sealing them shut.

"You said Johnny Carson was driving with no windows."

"You're nuts. I don't know what you are talking about," he insisted.

Clearly he was still under the influence of the plum jam and toast.

Papi's not a morning person - noooooooo sir eeeeeee! - and all of my machinations to get him aroused were just serving to irritate him and make him crankier. So I threw in the towel, or picked it up rather, and went to run a hot bath to warm my toes and get my blood flowing the way I do most mornings. Alone. Just as I lowered my pouty self into the gardenia scented suds Papi appeared in the doorway and said sternly "get out."

"But I just got in," I pleaded.

"Get. Out." he said and disappeared.

I was a little befuddled and confused - but giddy inside. Like when the teacher calls you to the front of the class on the last day of school and you're nervous thinking you'll be humiliated in front of your friends for failing the quiz... but inside you know that you're really about to get a big gold star because you're teacher's pet. I stepped out of the tub, dripping wet, and hurriedly wrapped the towel around me without drying off.

When I got to the bedroom Papi was standing there in my jersey bathrobe and pink bedroom slippers, flogger in hand. How could you not love a man like that? I breathed a sigh of relief before realizing my reprieve was going to be short lived. We had already played with the flogger once before and I found its stingy rubber tails quite hard to bare. But the soft thuddy leather ones had enticed me enough to beseech him to use it on me again. I was hoping to get to that place where nothing else matters that Red described so well.

"Assume the position" he said like some kinky track referee. I tossed the towel aside and threw myself down on the mattress, face first and arse up in the air.

(to be continued...)

Spanking Ripples


Papi found a series of pictures by some guy who figured out how to rig up his camera so the sound of impact triggers it to snap a picture. They are really quite marvelous.