Curious Pussy

High-Capacity Player

2007-12-06T10:03:00.000-08:00

When I was girl, perhaps of six or so, I would go for walks in the summer rain. Without shoes. I would splash in puddles, the steaming hot concrete melting under my skin thick soles, and luxuriate in the sensation of the water washing over my feet and soaking into the cuffs of my Tough Skins. I was in the street, alone, and alive.

After the rains washed the gutters clean I would wander the allies and sidewalks, running my knuckles along cement walls while I imagined walking and walking and walking until I was far, far away from my childhood. Casting my eyes downward in supplication and submission - which is to say in owning my strength, my instinct for survival - pride and power and perseverance rushed through my veins as I watched my bare feet walk over sharp shards of broken glass and the refuse of humanity without flinching or failing.

And when I read your words my friend, "you're a high-capacity player," that same pride and power and perseverance was reborn in me as the image of my tender toes tripping along the hot summer streets flashed through my mind like the flash floods of my California childhood. Thank you for helping me to remember who I am, and where I come from.

Self-fulfilling prophesy or just bad timing? Either way it hurts like hell.

2007-10-21T11:33:00.001-07:00

Truthfully, I knew all along what she would do with me. Break my heart.

What am I gonna do with you?

2007-10-17T22:52:00.000-07:00

Her eyes were steel blue and locked onto mine like wrists cuffed to a bedpost; like cool black leather, tanned dark from sweat and spit, scarred and scuffed from a life of hard living, but lined with the softest sweetest fur this side of Texas. We kissed lightly on the lips, briefly, and as we each pulled back she gave me one last firm look and asked, more to herself than to me, “What am I gonna do with you?” A sweet Texas drawl that slowed down time lassoed the “with” and it fell to its knees like a helpless calf. “Mmm mm” she mumbled as she turned and slipped down from the cab of my truck.

It was only a few hours back that we first laid eyes on one another. We had been exchanging email for a few weeks but I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that there was a certain quality of persistence in her, a determination to grasp life by the horns, that pulled me in her direction.

**********

I was careful when I posted that ad. I wanted someone who matched my intensity, my longing, my desire. I wanted energy that would accompany mine like the eager lead in a waltz. I wanted it all; the sweetness, the hardness, the grip and the caress. And I wanted someone who knew what I was looking for, what I needed.

I want to be your girl.
The one who brings you breakfast in bed on Sunday morning, just the way you like it.
The one who falls asleep with her head on your chest and her arms around you.
The one who grabs your arm when the movie turns scary.
The one who purrs and arches her back when you scratch that one spot.
The one who buys you the right kind of underwear for Christmas.
The one who gives herself to you with absolute trust and abandon.
The one who's softness yields willingly to your hardness.
The one who feels honored and moved when you cry in her presence.
The one whose wrists go limp in your firm grip.
The one who adores your quirks and accepts you as you are.
The one who's heart flutters with pride and joy when you say "that's my girl."

“What is your name? What do you drive? Where do you live?” I looked at
the return address and noted the name. Tex. For a moment I wondered if
Tex was a man or a woman and then I hit delete. A few days later another
message appeared, “What does it take for you to respond?” I felt the 
back off stir in me and replied “Someone who is willing to share something
of themselves before asking me my name and where I live.”

“Ah, I got your attention. SWEET!” came the reply, and the blinking red
light of warning in my brain changed to green. Go. We chatted back and
forth for a few weeks until a date was set. We would meet at Margaritas
and then go for a stroll in the park.

**********

When Tex walked in the first thing I noticed was that she had on more make up than I, and damn if it didn’t looked better than mine! I felt my mind strain as it tried to comprehend a butch in Ralph Loren and Lancome. But there was something about her confident swagger and the way she smiled at the waitress that reassured me she was indeed the one who had demanded my attention.

We ordered. We chatted. We looked at one another, sizing each other up. The dance of getting acquainted was smooth and easy. Comfortable. Familiar. That is until she interrupted my friendly “date chatter” with “Your eyes are so beautiful.” The “so” sounded like a cowboy calling his dog to his side. As she pinned me down with those piercing blue eyes I could feel my pulse beating and the perspiration gather on my upper lip.

As our lunch went on my heart rate returned to normal, but I remained alert and ready to bolt. It wasn’t that I was scared, or even uncomfortable, but the tension of pursuit vibrated in my body like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. We ate our lunch and then walked in the park. The familiarity of the bronze Botero sculptures grounded me in place and body. Tex had never seen a Botero, which I found refreshing and appealing; I imagined she could look upon the rotund figures with eyes unjaded by theory and critique, with a freshness and openness that I found lacking in most. We got some waters and sat for a bit in the sun, Tex conversing with strangers and me drinking in her easy way of making them smile like a sip of sweet tea from the south.

She walked me back to my truck and, not knowing how I was going to say good bye just yet I offered to give her a lift back to her car - despite the fact it was just a few blocks away. She gracefully accepted and was gentlemanly enough not to embarrass me for asking.

It was then, as I idled next to the curb in front of her car, that I leaned in and kissed her. A soft, hesitant, I’m not sure if this is a good idea kind of kiss. A polite, I’m a good girl, I’m a sub kind of kiss. A quick, impulsive, I want more of you kind of kiss. Our lips parted and that is when she said it. “What am I gonna do with you?”

I watched her as she slipped down and stepped away from the truck, closing the door behind her. She disappeared but my eyes remained fixed to the spot as my mind wondered what would she do with me.

The Science of Lonliness

2006-11-15T08:37:00.000-08:00

I did indeed wait. What else does a girl like me do?

Besides, I knew my anger and hurt was, in large part, coming from inside me. True, he hadn't returned my calls or texts. True, he hadn't reached out to me since the night I arrived. True, it was a shock to discover him sitting on the couch with another lover when I had no idea she would even be at this event. But the pain I was feeling was coming from some place deeper than all that. His actions were just fueling it.

It was an awful weekend. Dark and lonely. The kind that makes you want to disappear. To just check out. After trying, unsuccessfully, to meet new people, or even connect with old ones, I gave up. Perhaps my energy was repelling people in some energetic fashion. It's possible. Maybe every electron in my body was spinning out a negative force pushing away all the happy, positive protons in everyone else. Or maybe it was my bad hair scaring people off. Who knows? All I know is I was lonely and sad and felt like a loser around all the happy people having fun with each other.

On the final day, the day Papi was to come to me, I just couldn't stand to be in my own body anymore. I went for a long walk but when I got back my room was still empty. I forced myself to take a nap and when I woke up I was still alone. I tried calling and texting and still nothing. I was in so much pain I just wanted to be gone. Asleep. Unconscious. Dead. Anything not to have to feel so lonely - so unimportant - another minute.

Will I?

2006-11-12T17:30:00.000-08:00

post deleted after sobering up

Just Poppin In to Say Hi

2006-09-12T07:57:00.000-07:00

It has been months since I've posted. I just wanted to drop by and say boo; let folks know I'm still alive and kickin. I had to say good bye to my beloved Diva a while back. She was truly my soul mate. I doubt I will ever meet another being like her. I miss her like crazy.

Papi and I are still together in our own special way. He was here a week or so ago and we caught up on snuggling and spankings. I was sick so we didn't get to fuck around much. We did have one wonderful morning of caning and flogging and fucking that will have to last me a while. At the moment our next plans to see each other are a few months away.

My sister Peaches came for a visit last weekend. I miss having her nearby to share stories and questions.

S'bout it for now. Hope y'all are fabulous.

Fuck On!

C.P.

Creepy Sexy

2006-06-02T18:51:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been drawn to sexy ugly. You know, the Mick Jagger, Sandra Bernhardt and John Turturro types. I like the ones that snag your eye from across the street. The ones that make you stare even though you know it’s rude. I remember having a crush on a boy in grade school who had a club foot. When he walked his whole body would fall jerkily over to one side like he had tripped and then slowly, with great effort, arch back the other way as he righted himself. He had a twin brother who was really hot (all the girls swooned for him). But I found his brother to be snide and full of conceit. They were both whip smart and sassy and funny as fuck, but I was just a sucker for the one with the swanky stride.

But I think I recently crossed the line into creepy sexy. And that just seems like asking for trouble.

A few weeks ago during yet another excruciating bout of middle of the night loneliness with empty in-boxes, I placed an ad on Craigslist:

Tying the Knot?

I want strings attached. Lengthy lengths of cord tethering me to your heels; thick ropes wrapped round and round our trunks; thin threads of tinsel dangling from our toes and fingers. Like seaweed floating in the sound. Like roots joining trees in a subterranean twine. Like nothing can cut us apart.

Amazingly most replies were still your typical “hi i’m bob you sound nice pic 4 pic” variety. One reply was from a sweet sounding artsy type, let’s call him Red, who sent a picture of himself standing at a campground. The picture was great because you could tell he was handsome and smiling despite the fact he had his hand over his face shielding himself from whoever was taking the picture. I like people who send pictures that tell a story. He and I wrote back and forth a bit, spoke on the phone once or twice, and ended up going out for sushi, after which we mutually acknowledged the lack of sparkiness and that was that. And the rest of the replies I deleted.

Well, all except for one:

like blackberry bushes, spreading, sinking roots, sending up shoots, even as thorns bite ?

Could it be that someone had actually picked up on my subtly suggested penchant for bondage? I knew it was subtle because I had even asked Red if he’d picked up on it. He said he hadn’t, and that despite the fact he had some experience with ropes.

Now generally I refuse to respond to people who don’t put much effort into their replies. But Mr. Thorns here had managed to do what no others had – match me. His reply was as cryptic as my post, and yet it put it all out there really. It was luscious and suggestive, and still mysterious. And, furthermore, it tapped into a thing I have for blackberry bushes. Tapped right into the very heart of the thing.

So I wrote him back. And, since it was anonymous and therefore whatthehell, I put it all out there. My kink that is. And my desires. Passion. Companionship. Paternity.

So he writes back, and I write back, and so on. Him not really telling me much, but pressing me for more. He tells me his procreation days are over. He tells me he’s a dom. Actually, he tells me he prefers sensualist, but he’s "been called master, dom, owner, yada yada yada. . ." It’s the yada yada yada that gets me.

Each time he writes I have this strong attraction/repulsion thing going on. The fact that he tells me so little about himself (and never shares a picture) and uses words so sparsely makes me suspect. I need extreme honesty and forthrightness. I can’t tell if he is just a man of few words or actually hiding things. And I tell him as much. At the same time the few words he does use hook me like a fish. Words like theology, wrists, honored, whips, fingertips, faith, desire, relentless, wanting giving taking.

Even now recalling his words puts me on that edge again. It was like each time he wrote I had these clashing compulsions to both tear away fast and to turn myself over without a struggle.

I was unusually cautious. Not giving out too much information. My location. My phone number. But I did share my first name. And I also shared a picture. Basically, with those two pieces of information, anyone who really wanted to find me could. It wouldn’t be hard. So I felt vulnerable and exposed. And yet still curious.

I was cutting blackberry vines again, a long green pliable tendril with thorns not quite hard yet made me think of your wrists and ankles

Of course it didnt take long to imagine that long vine pressing into your breasts, ................................ pressing between your thighs

So coffee is suggested and then I catch myself before saying yes and request a phone conversation first. I just needed to verify something. Anything. His phone number. His voice. His cadence in conversation. Something. I just needed more information. A sign he was safe.

So I pick up the phone and dialed.

He answered and without missing a beat he says “When we meet I want you to be wearing a skirt with nothing under it. Even if we don’t touch I want to know your body is as open as your mind.”

Gulp.

I had to admit that was a great line. And yet, it totally squicked me. I mean I’m a sub, but I’m not a plaything. A person has to know me and respect me and care for me, to be trustworthy and safe and loving, before they get to tell me what to do. So I backed off. I said I would probably wear jeans and a t-shirt. But there’s that damn curiosity so I don’t hang up. We talk for a bit. And I note he has a slight slur to his words. A stroke? Is he drunk? I don’t know. But I notice it. And the space between the words. And I notice he doesn’t tell me much more about himself, and yet he wants to know about me. Where I walk my dog. Where I grew up. It just doesn’t feel right, you know? The balance.

The thing about me is I will give and give and give. I will. And I will give happily. But, as I get older, and indeed wiser, I realize that those who take and take and take will just keeping taking. They will never give me what I really need. And now that I actually know what I need, well, I don’t think I can settle for less one more time.

So, I thanked him for his time and I hung up. But not before he reiterated “when we meet I want you to be wearing a skirt and nothing underneath. I want to know your body is as open as your mind.”

Fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing to say to a girl like me.

On Why I'm Agnostic

2006-05-28T15:38:00.000-07:00

Theism is a deep-seated conviction that there's some hand to hold: if we just do the right things, someone will appreciate us and take care of us. It means thinking there's always going to be a babysitter available when we need one. We all are inclined to abdicate our responsibilities and delegate our authority to something outside ourselves. Nontheism is relaxing with the ambiguity and uncertainty of the present moment without reaching for anything to protect ourselves.

from "When Things Fall Apart" by Pema Chodron

I guess this is just what being human is all about. You long for that hand to hold while secretly suspecting that ultimately there is none and all that is left is to submit to what is. I know it sounds sort of new agey and woo woo, but for me being a sub touches on that mystical experience. When I'm naked and exposed and at the mercy of my lover I can't help but to think that it is in the act of giving myself over to the unknown that I am part of something bigger than me, something that will care for me and make sure my needs are met even when I don't know what they are.

A Year in the Life

2006-05-28T10:57:00.000-07:00

It was a year ago April that I started this blog. Odd, it seems such a long time ago. Usually, these days, time goes by so quickly; like I spin slower and slower with each passing year so everything else around me appears to whiz by that much faster. But I feel as though this blog and I have been going at it for ages.

I started this blog in an effort to get to know myself better; as an outlet to explore my desires, my needs. And I've found, when it comes right down to it, what I want is this: to love and to be loved. That's pretty much it. Sure, I want honesty and passion and adventure. Challenges and edginess and intensity. Companionship. Sex. Sensations and sweetness and silliness. But the thing under it all is love.

The thing is, I have most everything I want except the companionship part. That's what has been missing. When Papi is with me I feel so grounded; like this is what has been missing. It isn't even the sex. It's more the joy of having someone to share things with. Share my food. My thoughts. My body. My joy. My pain. My life. That's what I long for. That's what I need.

Is that so bad? I feel guilty for wanting companionship so intensely. The message I grew up with is that I should be enough. I should never need anyone besides myself. And for all these years I pretended that was true. I was like a rock. Even in my relationships I never allowed myself to need anyone or anything. To need affection. To need respect. To need to be loved. That's why I like being a sub so much - it is a safe place for me to get what I need and not feel guilty for it. Even now, with this confession, I feel like if I were more mature, more advanced, more enlightened, I wouldn't need anything except myself.

Anyway. It is hard to be 40 and just figuring this out. I think most people go about it the other way around. They just jump into the whole love/relationship thing when they are young and then as they get older realize the need to individuate and be more independent. Hence, lots of the people I meet now are interested in NOT being in a relationship just when I'm interested in the opposite. It sucks being a late bloomer.

On Stress and Sleeping Alone

2006-04-30T07:12:00.000-07:00

When stress rolls in I get this craving, this urge, this need, to be bound tightly and teased and tortured.

The feelings start to creep in late in the afternoon, like the fog gradually inching forward from the bay, and you look around and suddenly it seems the entire city has been engulfed in a matter of mere moments. It's a foggy grey that turns cold and dark once the sun has set and I'm alone, in my house, by myself. The worst is when I climb into bed, lights out, laying there with my eyes closed but unable to sleep. Thinking about you. Missing you.

I imagine you at the foot of my bed. You start with something soft and wide, perhaps it is a very long Ace bandage. You wrap it around my ankles, tight, and up over my calves. My muscles tighten, then relax. Still. Then, to move things along, you graduate to something bigger for my bigger parts. Maybe a long swath of raw silk. You bind my thighs, my groin, my hips and, arms at my sides, you continue up my torso to my breasts and shoulders. You tuck the silk inside itself down along the length of my neck, and roll me over onto my stomach. A soft bandana is tied across my mouth, gag style. It smells clean, freshly washed, and wicks the saliva out of my mouth leaving my tongue dry and cottony.

That's the beginning. I imagine you humming and speaking to me in low, slow, languid tones throughout. I'm mostly quiet. Perhaps a moan here and there. But mostly quiet, tranced like, present. Unknowing, and trusting.

The middle is something heavy. I'm not sure what. Maybe heavy ropes bound around the encasing. Maybe six wool blankets piled on top of me. Maybe the weight of you, laying across me. Something heavy pressing me into my core, grounding me, grinding me, holding me, containing me.

And then the pressure somehow builds. Is it torque? Have you suspended me? Pulled one rope taught or twisted something, say my feet, just enough to cause the dull ache building in my muscles? There are hands at my throat, thumbs digging into my clavicle, lips pressing against my mouth. Energy restrained, like friction and fusion and fast fucking, but not yet released. Impending implosion. I'm screaming, and it sounds like a gravelly whisper through the gag. And I'm crying, but the tears are instantly absorbed by the mattress my cheek is pressed into. And inside I'm writhing and bucking, but outside it looks like a gentle rocking. Because of your hold on me. I'm tied to this earth. I'm weighted down. You are my anchor. My gravity. My tether.

Suddenly there is release. Was it electricity? Vibration? Frottage? Friction? Frisson? But we're spent and limp and wet. You start where you started, at my ankles, and work the blade inside the fold. You cut upwards along my middle, where the scissor slips into the seam easiest, where the pressure valve was hidden all along, and slowly unzip me. With each torn tooth the air rushes in like a gasp and a sigh and I expand again. Not like a balloon. Or a vacuum packed sweater. Or a stressed out woman trying to fall asleep alone in the dark. Like a moth in the moonlight. Like a butterfly. I fall out and unfold and feel reborn.

On Being Special

2006-04-06T20:12:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about putting this blog to rest. I seem to have lost the drive that spurred me on. The past few months I come here, draft a few words, but rarely post. I'm not sure if has served its purpose and I'm ready to move on or if something has dried up. I don't feel stuck as much as just empty. Not depressed empty. Just empty. The bowl is empty. You know? I'm not ready to quit just yet though. I keep thinking my enthusiasm just might get renewed once again. We'll see.

A few weeks back I hit a rough spot with Papi. He went on a date, two dates with the same woman actually, the last time he visited. It wasn't so much the jealousy that got to me . Jealousy I can deal with. Like a bitchy neighbor I just smile and nod and say have a pleasant evening Ms. Jealousy. But when I learned that Lilo, a perfectly sweet and wonderful woman, wanted to continue seeing my Papi as his new submissive I was thrown for a loop. It isn't that Papi and I have an exclusive thing. I'm under no illusions there. Nor did we have any kind of agreement he wouldn't have any other lovers in my town, or other lovers in general who were submissive. But something about the combination of Lilo being in my city and being a sub, well . . . I just felt deflated and washed up. What can I say? It was as though my specialness was gone. Here was a woman who was offering what had heretofore been my special offering and she was all shiny and bright and new.

Anyway. I guess we've sort of worked it out now. But I must say I still feel all old and tattered. Maybe that's a good thing. Like a favorite pair of tattered old sweat pants that you always come back to. But right now I feel like the thing that's gonna get shoved in the back of the closet and ignored until one day he stops to ask himself where did those comfy old sweatpants go?

HNT #11: Spring Thaw

2006-03-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

I don't come here much these days. I'm not sure why. I feel things shifting, like tight little buds straining toward the hard crust of frozen earth. All around me people are blossoming and I hold myself back for fear of what?

My rutabaga boy left these little purple petals on my spine. It brings tears to my eyes to think of it just now. Not because they hurt. But because the tenderness and sweetness and love with which each kiss was given feels like the hyacinth blooming in my back yard.

Spring. Doesn't it make you wanna cry happy tears too?

Snuggle Me

2006-03-17T07:35:00.000-08:00

On our last night together Papi asked me what I wanted to do and all I could think of was snuggle in his arms. It was his longest visit to date and we had yet to use a single toy. That expensive flogger hung unappealingly on my wall. A basket full of spoons, clothes pins and rope sat quietly in the corner of my bedroom. A plug of unpeeled ginger root sat on the kitchen counter ready for the compost bin. Papi had even lugged all his cocks and a special pink (pink!) vibrating butt plug all the way here just for my benefit. And all I could think of was snuggle. I want to snuggle. Could there be something wrong with me?

HNT # 10

2006-03-17T07:17:00.000-08:00

I know it's Friday, but does this still count? Happy Half Nekkid Friday!

HNT #9: Word Picture

2006-03-16T19:45:00.000-08:00

I wanted to post an HNT picture last Thursday, but I never got the chance to take it cuz Papi was here. Ironically, had I had the opportunity you would have seen a picture of my pale gringa hands with my newly painted nails, pink and girly, resting on top of Papi's chocolate brown manly manos. He says his hands are girly. I suppose because they are not much larger than mine and his skin is smooth and soft. But I find them very masculine and strong and guapo. I love looking at the way our different skins complement each other. I think his rich chocolatey shade brings out the pink tones in my flesh (and not just when he smacks my ass either). I wish I could show you with a picture. But I guess words will have to do once again.

HNT # 8: Ass Slapping Good Time

2006-03-02T22:10:00.000-08:00

This is not my butt, but I wish it were. Since I'm usually on the other end of this view let me ask you: do our asses really look like this when you are done with us?

Love Bugs of the Undesirable Kind

2006-03-02T12:25:00.000-08:00

Turns out Tea Boy's std test came back positive for HSV 2. Which wasn't a big surprise. He warned me he suspected it would. It was still a hard thing to take in. I felt sad and cheated and irrationally pissed off. But the good part of it is that it has forced me to better educate myself and take my health more seriously. I've learned so much already. Here I thought I was being so safe, but really I was more focused on HIV. I had no idea you could contract HSV even if you were using a condom, and I was only vaguely aware that you could contract it when the infected partner was asymptomatic. And I didn't have a clue that having herpes when you are pregnant can be quite serious, particularly if you have an outbreak during labor (in which case you get an automatic c section).

But Tea Boy has been great. We've been talking a lot and being very careful not to do anything risky until I've made a clear decision about what level of risk I'm willing to accept. If I weren't wanting to get pregnant it would be less of a question since HSV isn't that big a deal save for the social stigma you have to deal with in the dating scene. But it sounds like the majority of the population is already infected anyway - they just don't realize it and probably wouldn't bother to get tested to find out for the sake of their potential partners. God, people are such idiots. I was saddened to learn that Tea Boy had had unprotected sex even after being (knowingly) exposed to HSV. I guess he wasn't really thinking. But it makes me sad that even the ones who are thinking (like myself) sometimes don't think enough (like myself).

Anyhow, do any of you have any experience with this? I would especially love to hear about experiences being pregnant with HSV or just about dealing with dating and HSV. Or if you've struggled with the decision about what level of risk you were willing to accept when having sex with an infected partner.

And, for those of you who don't know, here's a few important facts to know:

You can get herpes even if you are using a condom. You can get herpes even if your partner has NEVER had a symptom (like Tea Boy). HSV 1 and 2 can present either orally or genitally (ie, cold sores either place means it could be either HSV 1 or 2). You can spread HSV 1 and 2 both orally and genitally (ie, you can spread either kind of herpes through oral sex). Lecture portion of this post over.

Oh, by the way, Tea Boy and I are going to the coast this weekend. The beach, a rustic cabin, a fire place, and Tea Boy - what else could a girl ask for? And then Papi is coming next week and I get him for almost a whole week. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world right now!

Oh, and furthermore, Diva is coming to the coast with us. Yea for the incredible indestructible mutt!

Once Upon a Time...

2006-02-26T20:07:00.000-08:00

Something about my tea boy leaves me without words. Like I can't tell you the story just quite yet because I don't know how it ends. Which is ironic, since he and I are all words. He tells me he fell in love with my words first (since our first meeting was a prolonged back and forth through email and then IM) and then with the physical me when we met face to face. But I've forbid him to use the L word, for now, so he hedges around it and makes up all kinds of ways to tell me he loves me just the same. Puppy love. Infatuation. Rutabaga.

And, since we aren't in love, we certainly aren't a couple just yet. Nor are we partners, or boyfriend and girlfriend, or even dating. I've committed to "getting to know each other." We're getting to know each other. But that's about as far as I can go.

And, by way of getting to know each other, we decided we need a certain amount of face time to offset the virtual time. So we spent last weekend together. And you know what? It was really nice. Not crazy bacchanalian fuck fest nice. Just really rutabaga nice. I woke up Saturday morning all the way scrunched over on my side of the bed, almost falling off, with him all hot and sleepy and snugged up against me. I had to butt shove him back to his side so I wouldn't fall out of bed, but not before I made note that he's the first person in a long while to reach for me even in his sleep.

It turns out he fucks not unlike me: sort of bitey and thrashy and switchy. He knows what to do with me when I go all limp and subby, and yet without so much as a word we can switch places; me pinning him beneath my weight, grabbing his balls and biting into the thin skin above his collar bone while his eyes roll back in his head and a beatific smile spreads across his face. He instinctively grabs my wrist when I rest my hand in his, and yet he follows my lead when I grip his hair and guide his mouth to my breast. And when all is said and done we fall asleep in a puddle of sweat and a knot of limbs where it is hard to say exactly where one of us begins and the other ends.

And speaking of knots, he's gonna be one fine roper one of these days. I don't know if he is just so darn eager to please me or if he truly is a natural (I think maybe a little of both) but he picked up that 30 feet of nylon and started tying and wrapping and looping like he knew instinctively what to do with it. He was like a brainy kid with a Rubik Cube, turning and tightening and twisting until the thing magically fell into place. As we watched a video (Alfred Hitchcock's Rope, appropriately enough) he absent mindedly fiddled with the lengths of cord until I looked down and found my feet bound together in these funky stirrup kinda things. Then he stood up, smiled at me devilishly and went out on the porch to have a cigarette leaving me to hop about the house dragging 28 feet of rope behind me or figure out how to get the things undone myself so I could go out and join him for a smoke.

And if that wasn't enough I knew we would get along just fine when he emailed me this after our first night together:

"The little ache when I walk is a pleasant reminder in a twisted way, though. As were a couple of bruises I found when showering."

The funny thing was that I had found bruises in exactly the same spots on myself that very morning and wrote him an almost identical email.

So, as I said, I have no idea how the story will end. But with any luck there will be lots of chapters and a happy ending one way or another.

Just Checking In

2006-02-24T07:39:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are curious about Pussy here are a few updates:

Diva is still alive and hopping. That Metacam stuff seems to be doing the trick for now. Her appetite is good, she walks on all three legs, and her spirits are still high (if a little drowsy at times). I still don't know if we're talking days, weeks, or months, but I guess I never did before either (I just thought I did). There's a lesson here somewhere. But I'm too busy snuggling my dog right now to think about it.

Tea Boy did indeed come over and stay the night with me. We had sex and it was fun. Maybe even more fun than I expected it to be. I had told him up front that I'm a kinky sub with some switch potential in the right situations. And even though he isn't kinky per se he seemed fairly familiar with the terminology and concepts. He explained that it's a geek thing somehow, which I had never known. But now that I think about it there are a lot of gamer types on bondage.com.

At this point I should say I'm still trying to figure out what I feel comfortable saying here about this tea boy. I'm still struggling with that. My thoughts are all muttled. I want to respect his privacy. I don't want to say anything that would hurt him in any way should he ever read my blog. And I don't want jeopardize Papi's anonymity either. And since tea boy knows of Papi if he were to read my blog he would probably be able to put two and two together. At the same time I love having this place where I can share my life and my discoveries about myself and the world. Where I can write freely and get feedback from others about my thoughts, my experiences and my words. Plus, well, I just miss you all. I miss the support, the flirting, the insight, the affirmation and acceptance that I get here and I'm not ready to give that up.

HNT #7: Butterfly Kisses

2006-02-23T18:33:00.000-08:00

I felt silly despite the fact that no one could see me. Even Papi was hundreds of miles away. But I still jumped at his voice growling "work it out" into my ear when I complained that putting the clothespin directly onto my nipple would hurt too much. So I did as I was told until I looked like a funny kind of porcupine with pink and blue plastic clothespins for quills. I made a mental note that the next time I was in China Town I would think twice before buying the cheaper bag of clothespins.

I had pins on both nipples and surrounding my areolas. Then a few on the outsides of my tummy just above my pubic bone. And finally two on either side of my vulva and one at the top of my clit on the edge of my Venus Mound. That last one pinched like anything and I howled and cried but he wouldn't let me take it off. He told me to focus on breathing deep. I did so and after what seemed like a very long time I got to the place where the pain was acceptable, even welcome.

Then he told me I could touch myself. Honestly, I really didn't want to. But I knew he wouldn't let me take them off until I had cum for him. So I tried to reach my clit but each time I did my arm would bump some goddamned clip and I would flinch away. I asked him if it would be alright if I used Wanda figuring at least with her I could avoid bumping clips. Thankfully he let me and it wasn't long before I came for him quite loudly.

After all was said and done I was allowed to take the pins off one by one. Oddly enough the ones that hurt the least going on hurt the most coming off. The ones on my nipples left these tiny little dents that looked like someone put butterfly bandaids on my tits.

Cautious

2006-02-19T19:26:00.000-08:00

This thing with tea boy is unlike anything I've experienced. And I don't know why I call him tea boy. He doesn't drink tea. I do. He drinks beer or diet coke or coffee. But I haven't wanted to say much about him or give him a "real" blog name because, well, I'm just being cautious. But this is a good cautious.

As you have probably figured out I'm not known for being a tease. I have no problem sleeping with someone on the first or second date. If I like them. But I've been consciously holding out with this guy. Getting to know him. Trying to decide if he's the person I think he is. Or, more accurately, if I like who he really is and not just who I think he is. And so far I have to say I do. He's sweet and thoughtful and gentle and smart and geeky. And he's silly and considerate and tells me repeatedly just exactly how fond he is of me. And that he wants me.

So I invited him to come to my house and have me. Tomorrow. And even though I'm crazy horny I must say I'm mostly just really looking forward to falling asleep in his arms. And waking up next to him.

A Minute at a Time

2006-02-19T07:26:00.000-08:00

Thanks all for your sweet comments and support. They have really meant a lot to me during this difficult time. Diva dog is still by my side (quite literally at the moment). Things were looking grim there but right now we have a brief respite from the storm. Friday evening we drove along the beach. She lifted her head a bit from the back seat and sniffed the salty the air. Just the night before she had stood up to see the beach. And a mere week before she had jumped from front seat to back repeatedly while emitting her characteristic high pitched aren't-you-gonna-stop-the-car-NOW shriek.

I told her (yes, of course I talk to my dog) that if she could show me she was able to enjoy the beach I would know she wanted to stay around, but if she couldn't even frolic just a tad I would know she was ready to leave this place. I lifted her out of the back seat, not an entirely easy feat since she is not the smallest of dogs, and set her down on the grass. She toppled over. I helped her stand up again and then she skipped on two legs over to a shrub and tried to pee. She's only got three legs to begin with and now she was lifting her rear leg off the ground to avoid putting any weight on her cancerated hip. I had to support her hind quarters in order to keep her from falling into her urine. But we managed and then she skipped along quite fast (I had to jog to keep up with her) to a new spot where we repeated the ritual for a poo. You can bet the people jogging by thought I had one pitiful canine. I brought out a padded fleece and we sat in the grass for a bit watching the waves and shivering in the cold. She was exhausted and seemed defeated and I knew I would have to say good bye very soon.

But not at soon as I thought. Because that night I gave her a new pain medication, one that was supposed to help with any inflammation and therefore might help her walk. A tiny bit of my heart held out for the magic drug but I was still on the phone making the arrangements with the vets in the morning. But I'll be damned if that drug didn't work a small miracle. By morning she was walking on three legs again, albeit somewhat gingerly. Her eyes lit up again and lost their sunken, hopeless haze. She even frisked about the back seat as we drove down to the beach for a test drive before calling the vet to cancel our last visit.

So, as I said, she's by my side and we are taking it one day at a time. Actually, more like an hour at a time, a minute at a time. I trust she will let me know when she is ready to go and I will rub her belly one last time and kiss her sweet dog lips and say goodbye. But I'm cherishing every single second we have together until that moment arrives.

HNT #6

2006-02-16T20:07:00.000-08:00

For the past eleven years only one being has been by my side loving me unconditionally, always forgiving my shortcomings, and adoring me whole heartedly. My dog.

The past few months she slowed down a bit. But this morning she fell out of bed. Then all day long she kept falling and tripping and moaning, looking at her backside questioningly, like she sometimes does when she farts and then tries to figure out what invisible thing just ran past her butt. By the time the emergency vet saw her she had collapsed on the floor. Her head in my lap she looked up at me with her big, brown, loving eyes imploring me to help her. It turns out the cancer we thought we had "gotten" has come back. And this time there isn't anything we can do. Except wait for the inevitable. And love each other desperately every minute we have left.

Happy Valentine's Day Lovies!

2006-02-14T18:29:00.000-08:00

So tea boy went and got an HIV/AIDS test today. Is that not the sweetest Valentine's Day present ever? Still no nookie though. I've been holding fast to that three date rule. But tonight is our fourth. So who knows...

Email Whore

2006-02-12T20:26:00.000-08:00

It isn't right that I should go for so long without getting fucked. It just isn't right.

I'm still taking things slow with this tea boy. I dunno. His words on the screen make me adore him, but then face to face he's still just a stranger. Silly me. Maybe I'm just an email whore.

Rules were meant to be broken, right?

2006-02-10T19:56:00.000-08:00

Just dropping in to say. I'm off to go have dinner with tea boy. I'm wearing my favorite thong undies even though I've told him I'm sticking to my no sex until the third date rule.

By the way, I finally succumbed and ordered myself some Monk rope. I couldn't resist this month's special color: dirty pink! It came today and I'm sooo crossing my fingers that I get to find out just how fabulous it is very soon! Ooh, I even stopped at the library and got myself some books on knot tying. Best to be prepared you know!

HNT #6

2006-02-09T22:04:00.000-08:00

This one's kind of cheating since I took it last week and it is rather similar to the one I posted last week. But I'm just so very sleepy I really must get some sleep. I have a second date tomorrow night with the tea boy and I don't want to loose my umph you know?!

Puppy Love*

2006-02-07T09:14:00.000-08:00

OK. This tea guy rapidly turned into a full blown crush on both sides. The internet just works that way for those of us who are wooed by words and ideas. We've only met in person once for a scant two hours and it wasn't any crazy love at first site kinda thing for me. But you know, those love at first site things never worked out so well so why continue to believe they're a good thing? So I'm saying let's just take this slow - my god that is a challenge for me - and see where this takes us. If we play our cards right at the very least we'll each make a new friend.

So the deal on the kinky is he says he's never really had nary a kinky thought. Mm. Yeah. I didn't buy it either. Then he says he'll try anything once. Which I believe were my famous last words. So then I ask him if he were to try something kinky what would it be and he says he might be interested in taking a class at [insert name of local sex club which he obviously was aware of here] on working with hemp rope. At this point in the conversation my eyes turn into those big googly spiral eyes in the cartoon when the girl is struck by love. But we're on the phone and thankfully he can't see my goofy grin. So I just calmly say "nice" in a very nonchalant way and we move on. He proceeds to tell me he's up for giving ropes a try - he'll tie me up or I can tie him - and I make a mental note to self to work on tutoring that inner switch a bit more.

The interesting thing is that I have to confess a pattern I've now seen as a pattern and not just a random collection of coincidentally similar occurrences. The more someone likes me the more stand offish I get. This guy likes me. He has told me so. Quite honestly and openly. And each time he does so I feel my feet inch backwards towards the exit ready to bolt. Actually, it is more my brain. I start thinking disparaging thoughts that I'm sure are meant to protect myself from getting hurt but really serve to just, well, almost ensure it.

Oh, by the way. I told him about Papi last night. So today we get to see how that one goes over. Ooh, and on the Papi note, I have a visit coming up and I am very much looking forward to it! Perhaps he'll grant me the birthday spanking I requested.

* Yes, the tea guy actually used the phrase puppy love. It's quite apt.

Nice to meet you. By the way, I'm kinky.

2006-02-06T13:19:00.000-08:00

So, I mentioned that I had tea with one of the few worthwhile responses to my ad, right? We've been having a lovely email exchange. The kind that is fun and exciting and sweet, that makes you a little giddy when you see something in your in box... and makes you anxious when you don't. Last night I told him that I wanted to have a baby - soon - and that went fine. Then this morning I told him that I'm kinky and now I haven't heard a peep. It's probably just nothing. He probably works when he's at work (unlike me). But I hate the suspense.

It's so hard to know when to tell people these things. If I put it in the actual ad I get all these creepy responses. Or guys who think just because they're doms that's enough. But then when I don't specify in the ad the stress of knowing when and how to tell them is just so, er, stressful. Oh well. I guess we'll just wait and see.

Are u fat?

2006-02-05T20:29:00.000-08:00

I've had insomnia lately. And often when I have insomnia I end up writing a personal ad on Craigslist just so I can get some email. I'm not one of those mean teases though who never writes back though. I do write back if there is a nugget of appeal in the response. Anyway, here's what my last one said:

HWP? Who gives a flying f*ck?! - 40

I may be HWP. I may not. But the guy for me doesn't really give a rat's ass.

What he does care about is that I'm creative and adventurous in all things; laid back and easy to talk to; would rather read a book than watch crap on the boob tube (unless I'm watching it snuggled up in the arms of someone who enjoys said crap); enjoy food, both the cooking of it and the sharing of it; am passionate and loyal, once I trust you; enjoy being in my body; I'm not afraid to make the first move, but will appreciate it if you do, even I don't follow your lead; I follow my own moral compass; find beauty in all things, all people, and all bodies.

One thing though, I abhor lazy writers. Sure, it's just a silly Craigslist personal. But please, use your Webster's and your Strunk and White if in doubt. I don't mind a little e. e. cummings like creativity but I won't respond to "are u fat?" or "pic 4 pic" and the like.

Of course I got lots of replies. Anyone can post an ad under women seeking men and just say "hello" and get oodles of replies. Here are some of the ones that made me wince and hit delete:

"Hi my name is jerry and i realy would like to meet you. wana go for a cup of coffie or something........jerry"

"Are u fat?"

"What man would want to be with a fat cunt like you?"

"Male 52 6 foot, 225 would love to meet you. Professional and unhappily married."

And I wonder why I'm depressed about the whole dating scene?!

There were a few thoughtful replies though. And I had tea with one of them today!

HNT #5: Two Buttons

2006-02-02T20:01:00.000-08:00

Word of the Day

2006-02-01T11:24:00.000-08:00

I've missed you all, but I haven't had anything to say. So rather than come here and blather on I stayed away. But today, on a hunch, I looked up Webster's word of the day and once again it was like someone was reading my palm.

abulia • \ay-BOO-lee-uh\ • noun : abnormal lack of ability to act or to make decisions

I must have a prodigious quantity of mind," Mark Twain once wrote. "It takes me as much as a week, sometimes, to make it up." The indecision Twain laments is fairly common; only when inability to make decisions reaches an abnormal level does it have an uncommon name: "abulia." The English term we use today comes from a New Latin word that combines the prefix "a-," meaning "without," with the Greek word "boulē," meaning "will." "Abulia" can refer to the kind of generalized indecision that makes it impossible to choose what flavor ice cream you want, though it was created to name a severe medical disorder that can render a person nearly inert.

At times I'm somewhere between the slack-jawed lady staring at all of Baskin Robbins 31 flavors (I swear it looks like more!) and "nearly inert." I just never knew there was a name for it except indecisive.

HNT #4

2006-01-26T19:56:00.000-08:00

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!

Please bare with me.

2006-01-24T12:47:00.000-08:00

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

40

2006-01-21T19:58:00.000-08:00

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

HNT #3

2006-01-19T07:05:00.000-08:00

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.

Sisypus

2006-01-16T20:43:00.000-08:00

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.

Charon and the PusSybil

2006-01-12T22:04:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-12T11:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Fragment Pussy?

2006-01-11T14:11:00.000-08:00

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

Pouty Brat's Cumuppance

2006-01-10T23:52:00.000-08:00

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!

Salty or Sweet?

2006-01-09T18:00:00.000-08:00

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).

TwiddlyBits Where are You?

2006-01-08T18:55:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-08T09:03:00.000-08:00

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.

HNT

2006-01-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

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.

Confessions of a Pouty Brat

2006-01-02T21:08:00.000-08:00

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

2006-01-02T19:31:00.000-08:00

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.

Spanko Bouquet

2005-12-29T21:47:00.000-08:00

Pez and I took a mini vacation the other day and while I was strolling around the Chinese markets I found not one but two stores that carried thin ratan switches about 30 inches long with a little loop of cord on one end for hanging it on the wall. The store I bought this one at - for under a dollar no less! - had it in a vase with the fly swatters. You would have to be one fast handed mutha fucka to get a fly with this puppy. What in God's name could this be meant for other than caning? When I asked Dex she suggested it was for "poking." Poking or spanking. That's all we could come up with. How about you?

In other news, Papi arrives tonight and I made him this pretty spanko bouquet. Martha Stewart look out!

Curious Pussy's Good Things

2005-12-22T20:08:00.000-08:00

OK. I confess. When I'm really randy, which, as you know, is just about always, I can't go shopping without drooling over the oddest things. I recently bought a house (did I tell you all that?) and I've worn a rut between my door and the hardware store. Every time I go out for nails or caulk or whatever I inevitably wind up in front of the rope section or the chains and locks or the wooden dowels just standing there dazed and wet and scheming. Not long ago I went out for drywall putty and I came home with this brush. I have absolutely no idea what it is for... or supposed to be for anyway. But it sure feels nice on the inside of my forearm.

Worse than the hardware store is the cooking store. Ooh, those spoons and spatulas and gigantic chopsticks just send me. Even better is walking around the utensil isle of a market that specializes in goodies I'm not familiar with. Tonight I went out to buy some pac choy and tofu and I came home with this:

It's my new favorite thing. It says "ART" on the handle. And ooh, if only you could feel how yummy it is. The handle fits perfectly in my hand and the paddle part is solid and cushy at the same time. It's some kind of hard thing like plastic on the inside padded by fabric and elastic on the outside. The colors are the sexiest part of all if you ask me.

There were some directions on the packaging that just added to the mystery of the thing. Maybe I'm just a sicko, but I think the graphics are sexy and alluring in the same way that tampon and condom directions always intrigue me and make me want to see the next page of illustrations.

Webwashing

2005-12-21T22:38:00.000-08:00

Whoaaaaaaaaaa! Maybe this was here all along but I just now noticed the "flag" button on the upper righthand side of the Blogger navigation bar. Has this always been here people? Or is Blogger jumping on Alberto Gonzales' webwashing attack? My lord! Where is the justice? Where is the morality? When you can sell weapons and drugs on the internet but you can't write about sex between two (or three or more) consenting adults!

Spankos

2005-12-21T20:12:00.000-08:00

I saw this painting, again, last year and was rather shocked that I had never realized before that Max Ernxt was a spanko. I did a little research and indeed it turns out he was quite the kinster for his time. Anyway. It got me thinking about the role spanking plays in my psyche.

I was peeking around some sex blogs this morning and somewhere, god help me I can't remember where, I saw a post about the need for a good stress relief spanking. It spoke to the impetus for my craving so succinctly. I wish I could find it again... I would link it here for you.

I've always doubted my credibility as a full fledged spanko since the idea (or act) of spanking doesn't really get me off sexually. I read about people who cum just from spanking alone and I'm so envious. I wish! No, for me spanking is just like good foreplay. But mostly I just experience it as a form of grounding. Not being one for meditation or guided visualization or any of that other new age woo woo stuff, spanking is my preferred mode for centering myself.

When I'm tense or anxious or despondent I have this primal urge that is experienced in a very physical way - like the need to scratch an itch or stretch a sore muscle or yawn - to be backside up and have my ass soundly whacked. I feel the need deep within my flesh, somewhere about the outside of my upper thigh. If you were to take your hand and cup my ass, then just let your hand drop a bit and slide out, that is where I feel it. In the muscles there. It feels like an aching tooth, a sore muscle, a bruise, that just needs the applied pressure of an outside source to provide relief.

Something about the sound and the sensation and the complete surrender allows me to release everything that is balled up tight inside and causing me discomfort. Some days I just wish I could come home and say "hey lover, I had such a crummy day and I'm so tense and anxious and wound up" and then s/he would say "c'mere baby and bend over my knee and let me spank that sweet ass of yours."

Anyway, I always thought I was alone in this. I figured most spankos liked spanking cuz it got them off. Until I read that blog posting today.

The Last Time

2005-12-18T18:16:00.000-08:00

I woke to the feeling of Papi's whiskers bristling against the thin skin on my neck and his hoarsely whispered words, "wake up, sweet Pussy." I snuggled closer to his touch, like a cat waking from a nap as her master chucks behind her ears. "Now, wake up Mr. D cunt!" My breath caught and my eyes snapped open at his command. I reached over and laid my hand on Mr. D, the tips of my fingers tracing the cord of scar tissue that cinches his chest up taught and firm. He stirred and mumbled "huh, what?"

Papi had his arms around me now and his top leg hooked in the crook of my knee effectively prying my legs apart. He was rhythmically grinding his hips into my ass. The heat of his breath on my neck sent shivers across my cool skin. I purred and arched my back into him, feeling my muscles pull and stretch and limber loose as they warmed up. Suddenly I gasped and exhaled as he tightened his arms around my breasts and throat, binding us together tighter than any ropes ever could.

Involuntarilly I gripped down on Mr. D's upper arm. His body was hard now. He was awake. Listening. Waiting for his cue.

"I think you better fuck this Pussy, Mr. D," Papi said.

"You think so, do you? Well, I better see about that." He rolled over and wedged a hand between my thighs. He fingered me quickly, just long enough to feel how wet I was. "Mmm hmm, yeah, that's it, that's a good girl," he cooed to me in his monotone voice. Then he said to Papi, without looking at him, "hold the bitch down." He hoisted my calve onto his shoulder and pressed himself into me.

I had always loved how Mr. D kept his cock on after fucking. I remembered how, after the first time we fucked, we sat and chatted in my brightly lit kitchen while he nonchalantly played with himself. You know, the way guys just sorta knock their dicks about when they're soft and in the way? The only difference being that his dick was always 10 inches long and hard and ready to fuck again... even if he wasn't.

But tonight he was. Albeit, unbeknownst to each of us, it would be our last time.

He fucked me good and hard while Papi held me tight and whispered sweet and nasty things into my ear. And even though it was Mr. D who was deep inside me and Mr. D who's eyes were locked onto mine; Mr. D who was rocking my body with the force of his own and Mr. D who had pried my legs apart as far as they could go, his right hand gripping my ankle high above his head and his left knee restraining my other thigh; somehow it was really Papi who was fucking me. It was Papi's pulse who was beating in time with my own. Papi's breath pacing mine. Papi's kisses comforting me and letting me know I was loved. Papi's arms I drifted back to sleep in afterward.

In the early, early morning Mr. D and I took the elevator downstairs together in silence leaving Papi sound asleep in the hotel. We walked across the deserted lobby, Mr. D two steps in front of me. We stepped out into the chilly morning air. I motioned to my car parked half way down the block to our left and said "I'm just over there." He said "ok, see ya" and turned to the right.

Licketty Split

2005-12-17T22:10:00.000-08:00

In a few days my friend Pez is coming to visit for a spell. You may recall she's the one who brought me La Cuchara. These days La Cuchara lives in the nightstand next to my bed. I figure most of my friends wouldn't really think to ask why I have a wooden spoon in my bedroom. The ones who would get it wouldn't bother to ask and the ones who wouldn't get it wouldn't bother either. But Pez, she might bother. And I don't know that I'm ready for that conversation with her. So I've been wondering if I should put La Cuchara away for her visit.

In general most of my friends don't know about my subby, masochistic leanings. And honestly, I think most of them would be quit surprised. I've heard this is true of many a sub. And for those of you who are reading who are subs I would be interested to know if this is indeed true for you as well. For me it isn't a question of shame as much as not wanting to deal with their misinformed judgments. I think many of my friends would see my subbiness as anti-feminist. Of course, to my thinking, there is no contradiction. I find that being true to my subby ways makes me feel more empowered as a woman, not less.

The day I drop Pez off at the airport is also the day I pick Papi up. So, if I do remove La Cuchara for a spell, you can bet she'll be back where she belongs licketty split.

Saturday Night

2005-12-17T21:54:00.000-08:00

Well, it is Saturday night and I have managed to end up back at home feeling kinda mopey. But actually somewhat appreciating that at the moment.

After a series of unfortunate events I ended up being an hour late to the art opening tonight. I had no way to reach this guy I was meeting to let him know I would be delayed so I was somewhat surprised to find him still there when I got there. He, of course, thought I was just another internet no show, which of course made me feel awful. Apparently he had consoled himself by partaking of the free wine because he was quite drunk. We munched on cheese and crackers for a bit and then I politely said I was ready to go. Standing in front of his car he invited me over to his place for more wine and I declined without a moments hesitation. It was nice to be asked even though I hadn't the slightest desire to accept his offer. Don't get me wrong, he seemed a nice enough guy, and he looked like a cross between David Bowie and Lyle Lovett, which was not entirely unappealing. But between being drunk and being a punner I had absolutely no desire to torture myself any longer.

So, here I sit, home alone on a Saturday night, somewhat mopey that I can't seem to find a sweetie to be with, and equally pleased to be home by myself instead of out with the wrong person.

Mr. Yucky

2005-12-16T19:46:00.000-08:00

Mr. Yummy is now Mr. Yucky. Petooyee! Blechy! Ick! I spit him out and wash my mouth out with soap!

This is getting rediculous people. I seem to go from bad to worse. Am I just at the dregs of the barrel at my age or what?!

I don't even have the energy to go into it dear reader. Like many a preadolescent child this time of year, I want to believe that "he" exists, but apparently believing with your heart and believing with your head are not always compatible.

Two Strangers on the Horizon

2005-12-16T12:08:00.000-08:00

So, looks like I'll finally be meeting Mr. Yummy - the guy I met on Craigslist a few months ago. The one who wants to be a father. We've been emailing and talking a bit on the phone and generally feeling each other out. We agree that the other one drives us each a bit nuts. But still there is something there. And it just so happens I will be in his city and state toward the end of January for a week so we have a date set for coffee. Most likely nothing will come of it (I have very low expectations these days). But, who knows? I believe I will be there right about the time I'll be ovulating. You never know, you know?

In the mean time, I'm still waffling back and forth between giving up on dating altogether and giving it all another chance. I made a date to go to an art opening on Saturday with this guy who emailed me from a personals site I have a profile on. Usually I get the most lackluster emails from that site. But this guy seemed like he had a brain at least. We chatted a bit on the phone yesterday. Nothing really stood out except that he likes to makes puns. I'm not much of a punner myself and I get on punner's nerves because I don't laugh at their, uh, jokes. Anyway. At least I won't be sitting home all mopey this Saturday night.

Just curious...

2005-12-15T10:37:00.000-08:00

Hmm. No one commented on my "Cunt" post or the "Be Mine" one. Are the longer posts just too tedious to read? Or is there something about them that turn people off? Just curious.

That Lunar Lady

2005-12-13T19:10:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how the moon exerts control over my emotions and libido. I swear I looked at the moon last night and she looked less than half full. I was confused because I was weepy and horny, always a sure sign of a full moon. Then tonight I look up and sure enough it looks like she is just one hair's breadth away from full. That lunar lady does it to me every time and I'll never understand how. I suppose since the moon controls our tides, and our bodies are made up of mostly water, it stands to reason she controls my tides as well.

When Mr. D and I were, uh, friendly I would leave my back door unlocked on full moon nights. He would sneak around the back of the building by the light of the moon and come in after I had gone to bed. I would wake up to the sound of him shushing the dog and tip toeing into my bedroom. He would say something about how I should be careful leaving my back door open like that because some strange man could come in and have his way with me just before he would have his way with me.

Word of the Day

2005-12-12T09:59:00.000-08:00

Webster's on-line word of the day is:

chatoyant • \shuh-TOY-unt\ • adjective : having a changeable luster or color with an undulating narrow band of white light

As in: Her clit glistened like a chatoyant jewel waiting to be purloined like pirate's booty.

Those frenchies sure come up with some good words. Mais oui! Non?

Cunt

2005-12-11T21:43:00.000-08:00

I felt as though I had been hit, hard, in the face. Not an open handed girly smack that smarts like "bitch!" No. More like a full on manly punch that pushes you off your feet and sends you reeling backward wondering what-the-fuck-just-happened-to-me? Had he really just called me a cunt? Did he really say that? How could he possibly think that was gonna turn me on?

I could take all the grabbing and hair pulling and pinching, all the shoving and choking and biting he dished out without so much as batting an eyelash. But that one word knocked me out cold like a fist. It made me feel beaten down and degraded. If words could leave bruises I woulda looked like Jake La Motta's wife right then.

As a child the only time I heard that word was when my mother was irate. Livid. It was reserved for moments of utter contempt. The boss who fired her was a cunt. The landlord that evicted us was a cunt. The friend that lied to her was a cunt. I knew, without being told, it meant the person was beyond redemption. They were no longer welcome in our lives. And only women were cunts. Men were just jerks. Or assholes. Or bastards. And that was pretty much to be expected. And readily forgiven. But a woman who was a cunt was a traitor to all. She was worthless and debased. She was to be ostracized. Alienated. Banished.

Unwittingly, unwillingly, I had inherited my mother's vernacular, just as she had surely been handed the torch from her mother, and so on and so on. Vernacular, from the Latin vernaculus, from verna, a slave born in the master's house. And the truth of the matter is that women have a long history (doesn't that word just say it all?) of being the slaves of men, sexual and otherwise, since forever and that legacy is built into the very fabric of our beings. Our language. Our thoughts. Our desires. What made that word sting so much was the subtext; that my entire being, my intellect, my soul, my body, could be reduced to one word: cunt. And not even my cunt. His cunt.

And here was my lover, this man who is so sweet and gentlemanly, who had been so careful to establish clear boundaries and respectful limits before any salacious words were spoken or bare flesh revealed, who surely knew firsthand what it was to be reduced to a cunt himself, even he found some satisfaction, some thrill, some power in using the one word that rendered me powerless. Or so it seemed to me at that moment.

But, as it is with all things that hurt at first, there was a lesson to be learned. An opportunity for transcending the pain, for personal transformation.

cunt (noun)
1 the female pudenda; also : coitus with a woman
2 usually disparaging and obscene

Now, intellectually speaking, I know that there is nothing inherently evil or "obscene" about my cunt or about sex. God gave me both, right? And it seems to me that God meant for me to celebrate his/her gifts, not to snicker and sneer at them like I'm the victim of some unfortunate white elephant gift exchange. That's what my head says anyway. But, if I am to be truthful, there are voices that say yes indeed, my cunt is icky and smelly and shameful, and my desires are something I should be ashamed of. But I know in my heart that I should tell those voices to shut the fuck up. They are the same voices that tell me I'm too fat to be sexy, or too stupid to be president, or too weak to kick your ass. And we know whose voices tell that story, right? His story.

Rather than buy the "disparaging and obscene" definition of cunt any longer from here on out I'm gonna opt for the new improved unabridged Curious Pussy definition:

cunt (noun)
1 the female pudenda - a sexy, splendid and sacred part of the female anatomy that is gifted with the power to give joy and pleasure to the owner and the person(s) with whom she chooses to share her cunt
2 an expression of praise and reverence of the sensual and sexual powers of the cunt, often uttered during moments of passion inspired by the cunt; as in "yeah, that's so nice you cunt, you're gonna make your daddy cum for you."
3 one who possesses the powers of the cunt

So now, whenever someone calls me a cunt, I'll take it as the compliment it was meant to be.

By the way, if you haven't done it already, you really should read "Cunt" by Inga Muscio. It's a beautiful thing.

Speechless

2005-12-09T12:28:00.000-08:00

Are you caught up on the latest witch hunt brought to us by the Bush (mis)administration? Oy vey!

Thud or Sting

2005-12-08T20:14:00.000-08:00

The thing about being a sub and, yes, I admit it, a bit of a masochist, is that most of your toys don't work so well without a little help. I mean heck, have you ever tried spanking your own damn self? The thwack really loses something at your own hand.

Papi is coming to visit for New Year's and he suggested, well, ordered me actually, to get a couple new toys. So I dutifully went shopping with my pal Magda. She browsed the vibrators while I found the flogger section and pulled out three versions of the particular flogger he requested. I was a bit nervous about the rubber bits - seems like they might bite more than I've bargained for - so I opted for the one with medium tails for more of the thud then the sting. Plus, honestly, those things are pricey and the smaller one was cheaper. I didn't go for the very smallest though. That just seemed, well, for ninnies. I may regret thinking that come Jan. 1st though, eh? I also bought this little rubber thingy that seemed like some hokey tupperware sex toy thing. But Papi insists it is better for more sensitive areas like nipples and whatnot.

Magda left empty handed and I left almost $90 poorer and really cranky, once again, about going home to an empty house.

Tuesdays

2005-12-06T20:27:00.000-08:00

Uncle Mike emailed me today. Said if it wasn't too forward could we get together tonight. We used to have a standing date every Tuesday. But I ended that after he ran out just before his girlfriend's nightly ten o'clock call because he didn't want to talk to her while he was still at my house. "She might hear the train in the background and wonder where I am." So much for his "open relationship." I told him to call me after he had a few more talks with his girlfriend.

Anyway. I almost said sure, come on over. Good thing I had to work tonight. I've just been so lonely and cold and craving human touch. I fucking hate being single. I don't want to come home to an empty house and a cold bed. It would be nice to have some company, even if it is just on Tuesdays.

Be Mine

2005-12-02T22:01:00.000-08:00

I've never been one to pay much mind to Valentine's Day. The way I see it it's just another greeting card industry scam with the florists and chocolatiers in close cahoots. But last year was different. Last year Cupid grabbed his pistol and aimed straight for my heart.

I just happened to have a free pass to see Beautiful Boxer on Valentine's Day. So I invited Mr. D, not really taking into account the significance of the day until the evening of the show. He is generally quick to accept a free pass to just about anything, being such a cheap bastard, so naturally he said yes.

When the evening came I remembered what day it was and thought I would dress up a bit. Play the part. I was feeling amorous and I figured what the heck, maybe I would get me some lovin if I played my cards right. It hadn't been too long since he and I had our first tryst with Papi, and even though he had definitely cooled his jets with me the flame wasn't snuffed out just yet.

It took longer than expected to change out of my jeans into a girly girl outfit because I couldn't find the right match of shoes and skirt. After countless variations I ended up with a short black skirt, a pink top, black thigh high nylons and three inch fuck me pumps. But now I was running late. I called Mr. D and told him I would meet him at the theater instead of picking him up at his place.

I found a parking spot a few blocks from the theater and was rushing to the show when Mr. D pulled up along side me in his creepy child molester van, complete with tinted windows in the back, and said, "Hey little girl, want a ride?" Of course I did since I was wearing a pair of heels that made me wobble like a drunk drag queen. I jumped up into the front seat and said "Thanks Mr.!" He looked at me and smiled. Something about his grin reminded me of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

The movie was great. Up there on my list of favorites really. It's the true story of a young Thai girl who was born in a boy's body. She becomes a really good kick boxer to earn money for her family, her sex change operation and to fulfill her promise to her mother to stand up for right to be herself. At one point in the movie she is walking down a path in her boy's body and she sees this lovely girl sitting on a bench. She walks up behind her and I was confused. "Who is that?" I whispered to Mr. D. He leaned into me and whispered back "It is the moment you meet yourself." My heart skipped a beat with his answer and a feeling akin to humility passed through me. How many people ever truly meet themselves... and then take the step into uncertainty to become themselves? Few, in my experience. And yet here I was sitting next to someone who had bravely done just that.

After the movie we walked out into the cold, rainy night and stood around dazed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of heavy paper rolled into a tube and tied with a ribbon. He handed it to me and said "Happy Valentine's Day." I pulled the ends of the bow and unraveled the paper. There was a ragged heart torn out of red constructions paper and in his nice strong print it said "to the very good girl." The word "good" was scratched out and he had scrawled above it "bad." I looked at him and he said "because you were late." I should have known right then I could never please him.

We decided to go pick up some burgers and head back to his place to watch tv. He had that skippy air about him and I felt giddy with anticipation.

Back at his apartment we danced around his living room, figuratively speaking. He passed by me and grabbed my wrist, pinning it behind my back, nibbling my neck and making me squirm until I went weak in the knees. Then he abruptly let go and walked by me to go to the bathroom. On the pass back through the living room he leaned into me until he was pressing me against the wall and then, as soon as I gave in and stopped fighting back, he walked away into the kitchen. I was beginning to suspect I was gonna have to fight hard to get his affection tonight.

I turned the television on and laid down on the floor to watch America's Funniest Videos. There was only one seat in his livingroom and it was reserved for him. He came over and stood above me for a second before leaning down and switching the channel to CSI. He loves that show a bit too much, if you know what I mean. Then he mumbled something about something and lowered himself onto my back. The next thing you know I feel his hand pressing on the back of my head so my cheek was smashed against the carpet. He was grinding his cock on my ass, humping me hard and reaching between my legs with his free hand. I tried to push myself off the floor, laughing, and he pushed me back down and said "Where do you think you're going girlie?" The more I resisted the more he insisted. God, he felt so good. He was playful and rough and responsive to every twitch of my muslces.

"Ouch, the carpet!" I complained. He went into his bedroom and brought back a fuzzy synthetic Harley blanket. He threw it down on the floor and then rolled me over on top of it. Then he kneeled between my legs and yanked down my tights, using them to bind my feet together while they were still on. He pulled on my panties until they were wedged up my ass and pussy and then tugged them aside, all the while murmuring "mmm hmm" the way he does that drives me wild.

He ordered me to lay still and stood up to slip on his big black cock. As usual he sort of stumbled into the harness; his old back injury always throws him off balance. I smiled at him and he looked at me puzzled. He assumes I'm laughing at him and I've never had the courage to tell him no, I love him most when he stumbles.

He knelt down awkwardly, like an old man, between my feet and lifted my hips up into the air so I was on my knees, face still pressed against the floor. One hand on my ass and the other guiding his hard 10 inch cock past my panties and into me. He loved to fuck me with my panties on and it turned me on to know it. As he began to thrust inside of me I just couldn't take the size of him. "Shhh" he hissed as I begin to howl. "The neighbor will hear you." His upstairs neighbor is his landlord's daughter. I couldn't help myself, the feeling of him inside me was just too much, and soon I was moaning loudly and begging "yes" and "no" in the same breath. He reached into his pocket and shoved a hankerchief into my mouth. "There, that's better," he said. I spit it out and snapped "that better fucking be clean!" and the moment was suddenly broken. "It's clean as a whistle baby," he said. I bit back down onto it and willingly gagged myself for him.

He's got his hands on my shoulder blades and he's ramming himself into me, hard. I collapse to the floor like I had been hit by a wrecking ball. I'm bucking up and down, trying to escape the weight of him and simultaneously get as close to him as our bodies will allow. He's telling me "Spread you legs wider! Take my cock baby. That's right. Squeeze my cock tighter." I can't escape him and even if I could I wouldn't want to.

He wraps his arm around my neck and my face is now pressed into his hard bicep. I can't breath. Up close the earthy red brown of his skin and his faded tattoos make me salivate. I feel his breath on my neck and the sound of him "mmm hmmming" in my ear and I feel dizzy, light headed, like I'm gonna pass out.

Then he pulls out of me. I spit out the gag and cry "NO!" and thrash about. He shoves me to the floor one last time, pulls off his harness, and mounts my hip. He humps me hard and fast, really fast, like a dog, until he cums. He doesn't make any noise when he cums. He just stands up and goes over to his chair. He sits down and silently takes the remote and turns up the volume.

After a few minutes I crawl over to him and lay my head in his lap. I want him to stroke my hair or rub my back, but he just puts his hands behind his head, leans back in his chair, and watches tv until he drifts off to sleep.

Have I become my own cat's paw?

2005-12-01T15:37:00.000-08:00

Not much going on in my world as far as sex and love and all that. I'm still feeling pretty disillusioned by it all. Mr. D. Uncle Mike. Chico. I think it is time for this pussy to slink away and lick her wounds for a while.

Flash Flood

2005-11-14T13:55:00.000-08:00

Seeing Papi is sort of an excruciating and exquisite torture. I go for so long craving his touch, his kisses, his smile, his love and affection that expectations and desire build like magma boiling underneath the surface of my skin. When we are finally together the slightest pressure of his finger tips on my spine or the tingly tart taste of his tongue in my mouth pries open the tectonic plates of time and denial and I feel my body and my heart explode open with a force that overwhelms everyone in its way, including even me.

Like the earth and the heat and the flesh and the gases and the bones and the water and all the unnamed things that flow through the molten veins of the volcano so is my body. The need and the love and the disappointment and the hope that gurgle and bubble and sploosh out of me can be like a fresh water spring at the side of the road on a long dusty drive. Or like a torrential downpour that flash floods your home leaving you confused and distraught in the middle of the night.

He comes to me late, if he comes at all, and I want to scream and cry and thrash about just like a little girl until he holds me tight and comforts me and tells me it's all right, he's here now, he won't leave me again. But instead I try to act my age and sublimate my feelings as best I can like Dr. Freud instructs us is the sure sign of maturity and adulthood. To some extent I succeed and I can be grateful for what I do have, the time I do get to spend with him, the energy that he does have left over for me. But he and I both feel the red hot sea surging inside of me, threatening to blow me wide open at any moment. Perhaps it is just the intensity of a year's worth of desire compressed into a few days every other month or so; the power of this pressure holding the possibilities of gems as brilliant as any star or obsidian as deeply dark as the darkest night.

Still waking up, trying to drag himself to one last meeting, he rolled over and laid his head on my tummy. The sweetness of the gesture always takes my breath, ever since the first time he laid his head there and told me weeks later how he relished that moment. I laid still and felt his pulse beat in rhythm with the rising of the breath in my belly. I wanted the moment to stay frozen in time and all the responsibilities of the day to vanish so I could keep him there with me.

I surreptitiously slipped my hand under the covers and felt the fullness and warmth in my cosita. Like an over ripe fruit, juicy and sticky sweet. His touch always hastens my ripeness like that. I pressed my fingers into my creases and the warmth spread to my abdomen. I wanted to feel pleasure in my body, in his presence, before he left. I thought maybe then I could hold it there, that feeling, until we were together again. As the slow languid movements of my hand and my hips warmed up I could sense his rising alertness and attention. Not wanting to disturb him I sucked in my breath and held my ass firmly to the mattress.

I felt his fingers lightly caress my tummy and then his hand whipped down and jerked the covers off of me, exposing the sight and the sound of my self soothing. The boldness of the gesture made me want to take him inside me and swallow him whole. I held him tight and pressed him into me. I allowed my hips to rise up to meet him just ever so and when he slipped his arm under me and cradled my ass, letting his fingers brush along the bottom bits of my pussy and my cunt... right then that's when the plates parted and it all came flooding to the surface.

From there it was a flash of my bucking hips and begging him to fuck me and thrashing about as he quelled my beseeching with his fingers deep inside me. It was all an early morning blur that ended too soon with his sweet lips on mine and the alarm screaming it was time to say good bye again.

Cake

2005-11-07T20:03:00.000-08:00

I get to see mi papi next week. I'm a little anxious, as always, but also very eager. I just want to feel him next to me. Anything else will be icing on the cake. Mmmm. Cake.

Big and Sweet

2005-11-02T21:15:00.000-08:00

Well, I just got back from a perfectly fine dinner date. In person this guy reminded me a bit of Forest Whitaker. He was big and sweet, handsome in an unassuming kind of way, and didn't strike me as too complicated or troubled. Not that I know anything about Forest Whitaker personally. Just saying is all.

We ate pho and drank bubble tea and talked about blogging and music and life. It always gnaws at me, the desire to tell people about my blog. But I think it wisest I keep it to myself with most. Anyway, I had to cut the date short as I got an emergency call relating to work that I had to go deal with. But it was kind of nice to have it be short; it didn't leave any room for awkward good byes or time for me to make any stupid snap decisions relating to sex.

No Intention

2005-11-01T21:48:00.000-08:00

I have a date tomorrow night to eat pho with a handsome bloke in his forties. And I have absolutely no intention of fucking him anytime soon. So there.

Doors

2005-10-29T20:31:00.000-07:00

At least I have Chico to thank for giving me a wake up call. Well, him and Papi and Elle. Papi and Elle were just willing to say what I already knew to be true is all. It's true, some of my choices in the past year have been less then wise. I haven't had unsafe sex in terms of HIV and other STDs, but there are plenty of other ways I have. I've had sex with people when my feelings were at stake. And my pride. And even my physical safety. I've invited people into my house, my body and my heart who disrespected my invitation. Just came in and tramped mudd all over the place and left the door open on the way out. But I think I've about had enough. I don't want to go back to the deadbolts that kept me locked away from people for so many years in the past, but at the very least I'm gonna look into a better peephole so I can see who is at the door before I let them in.

Yummy!

2005-10-26T23:56:00.000-07:00

Geez. I'm so horny and there's no one around to mack on. I don't see Papi for another 13 days. Uncle Mike and I are taking a break until he gets the green light from his girlfriend to have "play dates" on the side (I hate that term, whether it is being used for fucking or toddler romps in the park, it just sounds so suburban-housewife-and-wanna-be-scenster). Spanky moved back home to Memphis. And Mr. D is in la la land with his new petite straight biker chick. I guess it's just me and Wanda for another night.

Ah, but of course there is another boat on the horizon. One night a few weeks ago insomnia led me to cruise Craigslist in other cities. I found this one dude in a city I visit frequently and often consider relocating to who was saying he wants to have a baby with someone and was willing to consider the different ways that could look. So we started emailing and have been slowing sussing each other out. But then it started getting interesting after I sent him a picture of me sitting by a waterfall in the town he lives in and he said I looked yummy. Yummy. How's that for a sexy adjective?

We spoke by phone this morning and I liked what I heard. He's candid. Says what he's thinking. Appropriately inappropriate, if you know what I mean. Like me. I insinuated that I'm a tad bit kinky, he reciprocated, and soon we've established that he's a dom and I'm a sub. Crazy how life works. And Craigslist. Anyway. No expectations. Just potential.

But still. Tonight it is me and Wanda and my three legged dog. Good thing a three legged dog is a superior snuggler without that extra limb to interfere with things.

Waiting for the Solstice

2005-10-25T10:55:00.000-07:00

Well, for those of you who may have been following my saga: I'm not pregnant yet. My last insemination, my sixth, was the last of Mr. #556, the donor I had bought in bulk so to speak. And I did indeed buy a house... with my life savings. So now I'm left exhausted - financially, emotionally and physically - to take stock of things. Consider my options. Explore the possibilities. Wait for my third boat to drift on by.

November and December will be my winter. Come January I expect to rise like a Phoenix with a new perspective, a new vision, a new season.

No pressure or anything though. Nah.

Grrr

2005-10-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

I woke up alert and heart racing. I knew I needed to go work out to rid myself of the panic, but I knew the gym was bringing on the panic as well. Because I would most likely see Chico. But fuck him. I refuse to let him fuck with me any longer.

Half way through my workout I saw him enter. I looked away so I didn't have to think too much about him. I switched from Beck to Hole and ran away from it all to the sound of "Hit So Hard." That has become my theme song of late. Then I switched over to Atomic Dog and worked my way to winding down with Hot Topic (by Le Tigre). That song always makes me proud to be a woman. Jumping off the elliptical I saw Chico in the back pulling weights. I went over to him and sat myself down right next to him. He turned and smiled his cute little smile and said "grrr?" and grimaced at me. He was either asking if I had worked out hard or if I was mad. I said "no." Then I handed him a note that said, in Spanish, "your wife called me Friday night and wanted to know who I was and why I had been calling your cell phone. Please explain."

"She was using my phone," he said.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a wife here?" I asked.

He thought for a minute then said, "You asked if I had a girlfriend, not a wife."

This was bullshit as I had indeed asked if he had a wife. And he had told me yes, in Mexico. And I had asked if he missed her and wanted to be with her, and he said no. And I asked if she missed him and wanted to be with him, and he said no. Regardless of whether I had said girlfriend or wife or whatever he fucking lied to me and to her. And lying I just can't tolerate.

I told him he was a bad man and he said "no malo."

I said "Si. Malo. Adios." And turned and walked away.

The only good part that came out of this is that maybe now I'll get so pissed when I see him at my gym that I'll work out twice as hard. I always work out harder when I'm pissed.

On a side note, this whole experience has made me reconsider my pledge to keep the names of my partners anonymous. You know, I have the right to tell my story and if it happens to include you... well, maybe you should have thought of that before you fucked me. But, for now I think I'll continue to keep their real names to myself simply because I don't want some crazed pissed off wife that I never meant to hurt gunning me down in front of my Y.

Poo Poo

2005-10-24T12:44:00.000-07:00

When I started this blog I was curious. Curious about desire. Curious about sex. Curious about subs, and doms, and switches. Curious about pain. And pleasure. And love.

But now; now I feel sated. And disillusioned. And humbled. It took me a while, just about 40 years now, to figure out what the rest of you probably learned long ago. People suck. They lie. They cheat. They fuck you every way they can.

I don't know what the answer is. How do you find the gems buried beneath the plain old stones? I suspect it starts with not falling for fool's gold.

I've never been one to blindly accept the status quo. Never. But these days I'm beginning to think that the stereotypes I've poo poo'ed for years have some basis in reality. What I've been able to verify so far is that:

1) Most men think with their dicks and feel perfectly justified in doing so simply by virtue of being men.
2) Most men really do fall for the madonna/whore story. If you do what they want and fuck them on the first date then you are a whore and therefore deemed worthy of being treated like trash. And if you hold out, well, then you are a prude and are worthy of being treated like trash.
3) For most men it means nothing if you are a good person, a nice person, an intelligent person, a giving, loving, creative, compassionate person. What matters is that you have a nice ass and a good pair of tits.

Breaking the Rules

2005-10-23T18:43:00.000-07:00

Today I went and hung out with this tattoo artist hippy dude I met on Craigslist. I responded to an ad he posted. I broke my rule about spelling and punctuation and grammar actually (it has to be at least as good as mine because, hey, if I could teach myself how to write decently so can any bloke). His ad was short, but something about it was appealing. It was unassuming.

Anyhow. I met him at his boat, where he lives. It is actually moored about three minutes from my office. It was this sweet little 29 foot sail boat with beautiful old hardwood details and a homey interior. I met his three legged cat, which of course made me feel like we had a connection since I have a three legged dog. We went and wondered around a nearby flea market where I found a funky little kitchen table for ten bucks. Then we went back to his boat and I looked at pictures of work he's done. A lot of it was on girls' tummies and pubic area. He said he is short on work and would do some inking for me for reduced rate. I would actually take him up on it if I could only fricken decide what I want. I would have to have it on my ass though since I don't think my droopy old lady tummy would make a good canvas.

Anyway. It was fun. He reminded me of men from my childhood in the Haight in the 60's.

Then I went and hung out with Trax and her friends. We carved pumpkins and drank wine. I told them my Chico story and the conversation pretty much stopped. I guess not everyone fucks married men from their gym in their spare time. My bad.

The Thing About Earthquakes

2005-10-22T14:33:00.000-07:00

Chico called me last night about 5:30 but I didn't catch the message until later. Actually, there was no message. I just saw that he called. That's odd, I thought. I thought he was at work. At ten I texted him buena noche and climbed into bed. A few minutes later his number was ringing my phone. I ignored it. I was too tired to try and converse in espanglish. The phone vibrated a bit and then flashed at me that I was to page his number. I don't think so, I thought and rolled over.

Minutes later it started to vibrate again and I grabbed the phone.

Hola? I said, kind of perturbed.

You've been calling this number? a woman's voice said, in perfect english.

I'm sorry I said, perplexed, I must have dialed a wrong number. My sleepy head was trying to make sense of things, like when you're standing with the sidewalk rolling under your feet and buildings swaying all about you and your brain just keeps asking is this an earthquake?

Who were you trying to reach? she asked.

Chico, I said.

Who are you? she demanded.

I'm his friend from the Y. Who are you?

I'm his wife! she shot back.

Silence. On both ends. And then she hung up.

The phone rang one more time about 30 minutes later but I didn't answer it. I was on the phone with Papi trying to make sense of everything. I guess that's the thing about earthquakes - they don't really shake you up until after they have passed and you're left standing there trying to figure out what the heck just happened.

You No Cum?

2005-10-21T15:07:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up with a sore throat and a headache so I slept in longer than usual. I knew I should get up and go work out, but I just didn't have any energy. But then I remembered Chico. So I threw on my workout clothes and headed over to the Y.

As I drove up he was climbing into his car so I swung my Camry around next to his Montero and jumped out. It took about twenty minutes for him to convey that he had to go to work today for a few hours but then he would be free in the afternoon. I explained I had a house guest coming tonight so I wasn't really free later to hang out. Throughout our conversation he would take his fingers and touch my tummy as if he were trying to pick a toothpick out of a small jar. Tickley. Sexy. I gave him a hug good bye and he put his hand on the front of my breast as though he was cupping a football or something. Silly men.

I had a decent work out and then I went home to shower. As soon as I stepped inside my phone rang and it was Chico. "Donde esta?" I asked. "At the jeem," he said. "Por que?" He said something about his boss telling him he didn't need to come in till 4. "Entonces, venga a mi casa," I told him. I wasn't sure if I had said it right or if he understood me. But after five minutes or so there he was coming up my steps.

We chatted and kissed a bit and then he asked if I wanted some beer. I said I didn't care for any but we could go get some if he liked. So we did. We came back to my place and drank beer and ate chicharrones and tried to converse. He said "you no cum, sexo con mi?" and said no, I didn't cum when we fucked last. "Why?" he asked and I tried to explain it is "dificil para mi cuerpo." But he just looked perplexed. So I told him he fucked too quick. That he needed to spend more time fucking me. We laughed. "Pero..." and then he said something about all the noise I made when he was licking my pussy before and he gestured that his face was all wet from my cum. I tried to explain that me making noise and being wet didn't necessarily mean that I had cum, but it proved way too difficult for my limited Spanish vocabulary.

I motioned for him to come to me. He looked confused and I wiggled my fingers again. He stood up and came over to where I was lying on the couch. I took his belt loops and pulled him to me. We kissed. Again, those funny nippy kisses with no tongue. Kind of like how Mr. D used to kiss but without the implied disgust that my mouth was contaminated or something. More just like he has a small mouth. He reached down and lifted up my skirt. He put his hand inside my panties and started flicking my clit with his fingers.

Now, I gotta say, that flicking thing really does nothing for me except make me irritable. As far as I'm concerned, if you're gonna touch my cosita then you better be ready to work it. So I pulled his hips closer into me and ground myself against him. He bit at my neck and then stood up and took his pants off. I took the opportunity to jump up and grab his hand and go into the bedroom. The bed would be more comfortable and besides the condoms were in there.

Chico climbed onto the bed after me and was immediately asking for a condom. I laughed and reached over and grabbed one. Then I held it in my teeth while he kneeled between my legs and began rubbing my clit again. I told him yes, si, and pressed his hand more firmly into me. He rubbed feverishly but without any responsiveness to my body's cues. I thrust my hips into his hand to build more rhythm and let the inside of my thighs rub up against his hard cock. He kept saying "el condon" and I held it up indicating to him that I would put it on when I was ready.

Finally I rolled the condom onto his cock and began stroking him, firmly and slowly, and pressing him against me. He began rubbing my clit with the head of his cock, which felt nice but still he wasn't really matching my rhythm. Then he put a single finger inside of my cunt and began to finger fuck me fast like he was poking a hole or something.

After a few minutes of this I took his wrist and pulled his hand away from me. I pushed his cock aside and began rubbing my own clit, Chico still kneeling between my legs, and showing him how to do it. Slowly. Firmly. Matching the movements of my hips. He watched intently, hopefully learning or thing or two.

I pressed up on my heels and lifted my hips, pressing myself into him, lining his cock up with my cunt. He entered me and then laid down on top of me and kissed me frantically while fucking me quickly. He fucked like a teenage boy: quickly and quietly and wide eyed. He came and then, once again, jumped up instantly from the bed. He pulled on his underwear and asked if he could take a shower. "Si," I said. "No problema." While he showered I lay in bed and pondered what the hell is wrong with this guy. He's 44. Hasn't he learned how to fuck a girl?

After his shower he comes back into my bedroom, fully dressed and babbling about going into the other room and listening to music. I told him fine. But I stayed under the covers. I was cold. And my throat still hurt. And I was irritated. He came back in and said "entonces?" I told him to come sit next to me, and he did. I took his work keys off his belt loop so they wouldn't dig into my face and threw them on the floor. I laid my head in his lap. He placed his hand on the small of my back and we snuggled. He motioned toward the Virgen de Gaudalupe votive that was on my dresser and I told him yes, I know who she is. He looked at her and the "El Corazon" prints sitting next to her and stroked my back. "You no cum?" He asked and I told him he fucked me too quickly again and that he needed to spend at least two to three hours if he wanted to fuck me right. "Mi? Tu? You no like el sexo?" I tried to explain it wasn't just about cumming, that all the parts of sex were important. And he agreed. But he still was concerned I didn't like the sex. I told him he needed to practice a lot more so he could please me and he said ok. He would practice.

The best part was afterwards when I stood around and did a sink load of dishes while he stood next to me and talked about life. At least I think that's what we were talking about.

Before going he whipped out his translator and typed in "happy" and shot me a quizzical look. I took the translator and typed in "content" and it translated "contento." I handed it to him and asked him "content?" "Si," he said. "Contento."

More Please

2005-10-20T22:14:00.000-07:00

All day I've been imagining those little sharp teeth biting at my neck. Funny, it was a lousy fuck... but it left me wanting more.

Peaches

2005-10-19T17:14:00.000-07:00

My sister Peaches is leaving on Saturday. Going back home. I'm gonna miss her something fierce. Now I'll just be my own family here once again. Well, it was a gift to have her here as long as she was. Maybe we'll live near each other one day again in the future. In the mean time, maybe she'll say hi on my blog on occasion. Maybe she'll even have a story or two of her own to tell since she just cashed in the gift certificate I got her for her birthday at our locally owned women's sex toy store.

Fuck On Sis!

Gone Fishing

2005-10-19T16:23:00.000-07:00

Today was the day Chico and I were going to go fishing. Or so I thought. It is hard to know exactly what we agreed on, or if we were agreeing to the same thing at all. But as I understood it we would meet at ten after working out and go down to the beach where he would show me how to fish.

At ten he was nowhere to be seen and I figured we had gotten our wires crossed. Not speaking the same language was beginning to seem a formidable barrier to hooking up. So I went home and jumped on the computer to translate a text message into Spanish: Where are you? I thought you were going to catch a big fish for me and cook me dinner. Meet you at 11 at the Y?

Then I turned around and drove back to the Y. As I pulled into the parking lot he pulled in behind me. I got out and we both started laughing, him babbling on in Spanish and me in English and both of us having no clue what the other was saying. I asked him if he wanted to go fishing still and he pointed to the sky and made his fingers wiggle like rain falling. I guess fish don't bite in the rain. I guess. Or he is sneakier than I give him credit for. But I insisted the rain wouldn't bother us so we got in his car and headed toward the beach.

On the way he asked where I lived and I indicated just around the corner from the beach. "Do you want to see my place?" I asked. He shot me look of am-I-understanding-you-correctly and said "yes." So we detoured a few blocks over and went around to my house.

Inside I gave him the tour and then I showed him how I translate from English to Spanish on the internet. We messed around with that for a while and I was able to get some of my questions answered. He's 44. He moved here from Mexico because it was too hard to make ends meet at home. Now he works in a large factory here making donuts. As we passed the laptop back and forth he would rest his hand on my leg, or my arm, or my shoulder. And it felt nice. He has a son who is in his twenties and two grandchildren who live here as well. The mother of his children is still in Mexico. I didn't find out any more details about her. Anyway, it became tiring typing our conversation back and forth, and frustrating how poorly the translation program really works so we stood up and awkwardly gathered our things to leave. After some small debate in my head I decided what the fuck and just leaned in and kissed him.

He was a tentative kisser who seemed to nibble my lips more then kiss. He had sharp ragged little teeth that, along with his scratchy face, made it feel like an animal was biting at my neck. He took his small hands and held my head back a bit and chewed on my ears, then, turning me around, he nibbled on the back of my neck while his hand almost covered my mouth, but not quite. His hands wandered down my neck until he was grabbing my breasts and mumbling something about my heart. I laughed and moved his hand up and towards the center of my chest so he could feel my heart beat.

I really wasn't planning on fucking him. I just wanted a kiss. And to go fishing. But as soon as he started to be the slightest bit controlling I changed my mind. I took his hand and led him back to my bedroom.

He pretty much immediately dropped his jeans and motioned for me to sit on the edge of the bed. We kissed some more, still those funny nibbly little kisses, and then I pulled him on top of me. I could feel his hard on pressing into me through my jeans. We kissed some more and then I pushed him off so I could take my pants off and grab a condom.

He pulled me back to the edge of the bed and lifted my legs in the air so he could take my panties off. Next thing I knew he was rubbing my clit with his fingers and getting down on his knees to go down on me. He began licking long slow strokes from my cunt to my clit. But somehow, despite being slow, he still managed to be rushed and hurried. Then he abruptly stood up with his cock in his hand and was handing me the condom. I'm really not all that skilled at putting those things on but I obliged anyway. He stood at the edge of the bed and entered me and fucked me like he hadn't fucked in years. Our bodies slapped together and he panted from the exertion. I teased him since I regulalry do an hour of cardio while he just spends the whole time lifting weights. He came quickly, very quickly, and quietly, and then pulled out and stood straight up. He had my juice all over his face and he wiped it off on his shirt. I handed him a towel, which he used to wipe off his cock. Then he put on his jeans and went to the bathroom.

Huh, I thought. That was it? After all that lead up? Oh well. Maybe we really should have gone fishing.

The Caning

2005-10-19T04:25:00.000-07:00

I guess it started when I asked Papi if there was anything he wanted to do to me that he had yet to try. He said beat my ass with a switch. It turns out he once saw a girl being caned and he liked it. Quite a bit. And he wanted to try it.

Periodically he would share with me some piece of information he had garnered about canes and caning. What kind of wood worked best. How to flick it with your wrist just so. Where to hit. At first I couldn't imagine enjoying being hit with a switch. It just seemed so barbaric. Cruel. Too stingy. But the more he talked about it, and the more I heard how intrigued he was, and thoughtful, and methodical about his education, the more it seeped into my fantasies and I wanted it too.

I wanted it for him. And for myself. I wanted to know what the sensation felt like. I wanted to know if I could endure it. I wanted to know how he would take to it. Would he beat me hard? Gently? What words would he use? I wanted to be his first. I wanted him to trust me enough. I wanted to be special to him. And I wanted to transcend the stinging, rage-filled, flyswatter beatings of my childhood at the hand of my mother that left me feeling humiliated and worthless. And ironically, to have reparations for the beatings I didn't get from my father. For he would send my siblings down to the irrigation ditch to pick a switch of birch. He would command them to pick a long one, a strong one, a green one, and then to strip the bark off of it. Then he would holler biblical passages while he whooped their asses red hot for some small childish offense. Of course this terrified me, and the humiliation quotient was exacerbated immeasurably by the fact that here all was witnessed by a brood of snot-nosed, snickering siblings, but I knew that the fact that he never lifted his hand to me forever separated me from my siblings, and from my father himself. Even in my own family I was an outsider. The way I saw it, now was my chance to come out the other side of a beating strong, proud and loved.

Papi applied himself to finding out everything he could about caning. He wanted to make sure he wouldn't injure me. I reassured him that I was willingly offering myself up to be his guinea pig. I would harbor no animosity if we tried it and I didn't like it, or worse, it was more painful than I could appreciate or went awry in some way.

As our trust in each other solidified we eventually chose a date. What can I tell you? I was excited. And anxious. And the anxiety made me more excited. I wanted my questions answered. But more importantly, more deeply, I wanted the experience to be something we both would cherish. That would leave us each transformed. Afterall, it isn't every day you get to be a virgin again. Or to take a virgin for that matter.

Prior to his arrival (you may recall he lives a plane ride away from me) I went to the various sex toy shops in town and sussed out their equipment. The first place had acrylic canes that looked too ouchy and impersonal. I needed something that once breathed.

The second place had canes too posh and attitudinous. I needed humble. Simple. Something with a Quakerly aesthetic.

The third store was just right. They had a jug of canes whittled from dowels like some home enterprise collaboration with Home Depot and Martha Stewart. They were smooth. And light. And cheap. Perfect!

When the weekend finally came the waiting was tortuous. And delicious. Like Christmas. And when the night finally came and we stopped by store number three on the way home it was nothing short of perfect. I darted over to the bucket and pointed out the switches. As I saw it it was his job to pick one. I busied myself looking at a certain pair of leather cuffs I've been coveting, but inside I was all anticipation, waiting to see his selection. There was a woman standing on the other side of the bucket and she eyed us curiously. When Papi started picking up canes she was like "Oh no! I don't think so" and we all laughed. Me, somewhat sheepishly... since I did indeed think so. Comedy Central was on the tube and the normally sleazy downtown store known for peep booths and porn was magically transformed into a cozy den of friends.

Papi selected two possibilities, one from the thin camp and one from the thick, and asked me to inspect them. I leaned toward the thick one for its thunkiness, but the thin was straighter, more pleasing to the eye, and made my choice difficult. Torn between two ideals. I eventually chose the thicker because I intuited the thump would be more satisfying. And perhaps more comfortable in his hand.

Once we got home the cane hung out on the dresser in my bedroom for what seemed like forever. Papi had the whole weekend with me and what was only a matter of a day or two was beginning to seem like eons. The suspense, the fear, the longing, kept me in a constant state of arousal. We spent the entirety of his last day here in bed, groping and kissing and sleeping. It was so delicious. And still, I was on edge the entire time as I knew, eventually, he would reach for the cane.

Finally the time came. He asked me which I wanted first, a caning or a fucking? Usually I can't make on the spot decisions about anything, but this time I answered without hesitation: first cane me, then fuck me, then cane me again. I brought him the cane. And some peeled ginger root. And I waited patiently for his instruction.

He told me to lay face down on the mattress. "Yes sir," I said as I laid down with my cheeks pressed into the flannel sheets and my ass bared in the air. The flannel was soft. And comforting. I felt him stroke my ass, lightly, with the side of the cane. It felt smooth. And cool. And I savored the sensations, knowing it wouldn't feel that way for long. He brushed my cheeks and dragged the tip of the cane between my legs, up my spine, tracing the lips of my cosita. The feeling was delicate and sharp. Like a tickle and a pinch.

Tap. Tap. He swatted at my ass. Tap. Tap. Tap. Again, a little harder. I moaned and my ass involuntarily rose, just slightly, to meet him.

THWACK! He came down hard on the fleshy part of my ass. The warmth spread instantly from the wood to my flesh. I was surprised that I immediately wanted more. I needed to feel the heat on my flesh with the same desire that makes you run your hand through the red hot flame of a candle. Papi eased back. And made me wait. He gently worked the ginger plug into my ass as he softly traced my thighs with the switch. At first there was only the sensation of hard and cold, but gradually that turned to warmth and then to a fire that burned inside me from my core out. I writhed and moaned as the heat began to burn throughout my body.

It started in my loans and worked its way to my gut. I felt panicky and ill, queasy and sick to my stomach, until SMACK! the cane came down on my ass and grounded me in reality. Papi instructed me firmly to hold still and take it, to stop resisting the sensations. To go with it, not against it. It stung. And it hurt. And I felt alive. And I wanted more. I wanted to be brought to the edge and held over by strong, capable hands. I wanted to be dangled, fearful, yet trusting I would be pulled up and saved. And this I was granted.

He pulled the ginger from inside of me which made me thrash about and scream I don't know what. I've always responded more intensely to withdrawal than to insertion, and this time was no exception. I suspect it's some sort of sexual separation anxiety that taps into deeper stuff I have around abandonment.

Then Papi took the cane and let loose a torrent of crackings like rain beating down on my cheeks, and my thighs, and my hips. He played my skin like djembes, like bongos, like bata and ashiko, and kenkeni. Like goumbe, like danunba, like kpanlogo and like congos. I was his talking drum, his big band, his string section. My ass felt like music as I moaned and shrieked; like rhythm and voice woven together. And sweetest of all I could feel his eyes upon me, tracing his caresses, his passes, his presence. His appreciation. His fascination. His powerful desire.

As I scaled higher and higher, reaching a crescendo, he then quietly tapered off until his smacking turned to tapping turned to stroking turned to teasing. And I felt his stick between my legs, coaxing me, tickling me, threatening me. Menacing and loving. That's what he felt like. A divine combination. Then, he leaned over and I felt his cool lips kiss my ass. He laid down beside me and wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.

A short while later he fucked me so hard with his thick cock I begged him to stop. And then we fell asleep in each other's arms, both of us too exhausted to finish the final act of my request.

And in the morning I took him to the airport. And he went back home. It will be just over two months when I see him next. But it feels like years. The bruises are gone, but my body remembers his touch deep down in my core.

Three Dates and a Flirt

2005-10-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

So, date number one was, well, just sort of dull. I figured there weren't gonna be any sparks, but I went out with him anyway just to check him out. It wasn't bad per se. We ate chowder and walked along the beach. I asked him questions about himself and didn't offer much about my life. But he was droll and soft and had no spark. I don't care if you work in a warehouse or wallstreet, but I want to see that something drives you beyond the status quo. We parted with a handshake and a "take care."

Date number two was more interesting. He showed up wearing a purple, velvety turtleneck and a man purse. I figured he had to be bi or European... he was both! He was a renaissance man of sorts and had done all sorts of fascinating things. So the conversation was interesting and we both talked fast and jumped from thought to thought, always winding our way back to tie off unraveled threads. He told me how his parents both had on-going affairs outside of their marriage and I told him about my adventures trying to get myself knocked up. We were like minded in our world views and neither one of us hesitated to put it all out on the table. Our date ended with him blowing me a kiss in a trans-continental fashion (i.e., with more flare than the typical open palmed American gesture) and saying he would ring me up later.

The third date was what I would call comfortable and sweet. I met her at a coffee shop and we sipped on lattes and caught up. I did most of the talking, as I am wont to do when I'm at all nervous and have had caffeine. He chatted about our pets and our jobs and our coming out stories, hers being much more interesting than mine. We took a long walk in the drizzle on a small pier in the middle of town and looked at the boats. It was chilly outside, but being with her felt warm and cozy. We ended our date with a hug and a tentative plan to get together in the coming week.

All three of them emailed later to say they had a nice time and propose we get together again in the future. Which was nice since lately I've been feeling pretty undesirable. But I don't know. I want some sparks, you know? Fire. Or at least some smokey smoldering.

Speaking of which, Chico and I are going fishing tomorrow after working out. I'm gonna play hookie from my staff meeting to do it, which somehow makes it even more exciting. This morning he gave me a brief little massage on my shoulders while I sat on one of the circuit training stations. And while it didn't send jolts of electricity down my spine I think there was just a slight tingling at the base of my spine. Sparks? Maybe so.

Fuck Him

2005-10-14T00:03:00.000-07:00

Lord, it is so nice to be back. To have, oh, I don't know, some understanding ears. Thanks, all you commenters. You really lift my spirits.

So. I never told you how things ended up with Mr. D. The thing is, after the first time he and I and Papi fucked he was so skippy the next morning and then... well... and then he stopped fucking me altogether. Months went by. I would call him and we would hang out, and I would get all amorous, and nothing. The fool moon would come and go (yes, I know how to spell fool moon) and I would tell him with each cycle how much I needed him, I wanted him. And still nothing.

The next time Papi came to visit we all connived together (me in the lead, unbeknownst to them) to have another tri-triste. It happened. We fucked. It was fun. And then, once again, Mr. D stopped fucking me.

So, fuck him.

It has been forever.

And I think I understand.

He was never really all that attracted to me to begin with.

He just wanted to get laid.

And yet. We're friends, right? So where does that leave us? Me? You tell me. Please. Tell me.

Tonight. Ages after we've fucked. And ages since Papi came to town once again and I made it clear that I would not be fucking the three of them again, Mr. D treats me like, I don't know, a used something or other.

And I seem to let him. To some small degree. Because I like him. Love him even.

Tonight I invited him out for a drink. He showed up with his new girl friend. He never mentioned he had invited her until she was standing right there.

You know. I am happy for him. I am. And I can see why he never loved me. She was, indeed, petite. I am not. That's his thing. Petite. He likes his girls petite. Him and every other fucking tedious shallow minded cock on legs. But you know, when they walked out of the bar holding hands, it felt like someone had ripped my heart out, thrown it on the floor, and stomped the shit out of it. He never held my hand. Not once.

Whatever. Fuck him. I have three dates this weekend. Four if you count Chico at the Y. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

God. I miss fucking him.

Maybe

2005-10-12T20:59:00.000-07:00

The thing about sex is, even though it is supposed to be wonderful and beautiful and make you feel all alive and shit... well, sometimes... you're just left feeling afterward like you're in a deeper, darker hole than you even knew. And crawling out seems impossible.

But maybe I have just a bit of a foothold now. We'll see.

All my life I have felt pretty much invisible. It seemed that people rarely noticed my presence, much less my absence. On the rare day that someone stops to tell me they have wondered about me on occassion, as Bliatz recently did, I get that flush of validation that comes with being noticed, with being seen, with being remembered.

There's a boy at my new gym who has noticed me. A few weeks ago he came up to me on the eliptical thing and said hello. Oh, I guess we're interrupting each other to say hello now I thought and realised he must of been saying hello for days, maybe weeks, without my really noticing him much.

The next day I asked him his name. And after a few more questions I realised he doesn't speak much english. I think I even speak more spanish than he does english, which really isn't saying much.

Anyway. Yesterday he came up to me and whispered in my ear "you are beautiful." In perfect english.

Me and the Gas Men

2005-08-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry I've been missing in action for some time. Most of my energy and time has been sucked up with this move. But being a new home owner (home moaner as Uncle Mike calls it) is providing me with lots of new fodder for fantasies.

I've had a long, drawn out drama with the gas men who were supposed to fix my gas leak before I moved in. Suffice it to say, I still have the leak. And I still have the gas men. They come by whenever the fancy strikes them and tease me with the prospect of having gas one day soon... and other possibilities.

I mentioned to Papi that I thought the gas guys were hot. He said I should have asked if they wanted to come inside and fuck. He's so out going and optimistic that way.

Then Papi did something he rarely does. He wrote me a bed time story. He said I could post it here as long as I shared my responses too. So here you go:

Papi (P): Me and the gas men are going to sneak into your house while you are sleeping. We are going to come to your bedroom and find you and the dog sleeping. We're going to gently lift the dog out of the bed and place her in a different room, giving her toys to play with.

Curious Pussy (CP): The back door is open. You and the gas men enter silently. Stealthy. The dog doesn't bark or growl because she recognizes you and knows that you will protect me from any harm. You and the gas men are so well prepared. You have thought through everything, down to the toys to keep the dog occupied.

P: We're going to come back and one of us is going to put a gag in your mouth. The other two are going to tie your hands and arms to the bed. We are going to look at you, eyes wide with fear and unknowing, and let you stay scared and unsure.

CP: So thoughtful and considerate, you brought a gag and hand ties, soft enough to be comfortable but strong enough to hold me. You even warned the gas men just how strong and powerful I can be when thrashing about. And you know that look of fear is in reality a look of invitation. You know what to look for, what to listen for, to read the difference between a welcome and a rebuttal.

P: One of us is going to start stroking you softly and speaking in whispers, confusing you about what is going to happen. He'll gently stroke your clit, increasing the intensity slowly until you begin to writhe on the bed and scream into the gag. The others will be placing clothespins on different parts of your body, watching you jump each time we release the pin onto your skin. Papi and the gas men take turns placing the clothes pins in a star pattern around each nipple and then simultaneously place them on the outside of your labia, on your lips that are swollen and ripe for the picking. One of us will have an ice cube, which will be dragged from your forehead to your toes, hitting each part of you. Right behind that will be someone's tongue, trailing heat after coolness. You'll be fighting to get the gag out of your mouth, because you want to tell us how what we're doing is making you feel. Clearly it's having a positive effect, since you can't keep still and your pussy is juicing up good.

CP: Papi and the gas men know, despite my inability to use words, that I am enjoying their teasing and inviting them to continue the assault on my senses.

P: Your arms begin to ache from all your moving and you look at us, silently pleading for us to untie you. We laugh. One of us begins pinching, rolling and twisting your skin, making you moan and move and grind into the bed. One of us rubs his dick all over your face, sometimes using it to hit your cheeks and eyes.

CP: "One of us" of course means you, as you are the only man who knows the secret to my nipples. Your pinches and rolling and twisting make me respond like no other's touch can. But it is one of the gas men who slaps my face with his cock. He doesn't care how degrading it is. Actually, he does care. And he wants me to know it... to know that he is degrading me, using me, debasing me, avoiding fixing my gas leak. His flesh is soft and smooth as it smacks against my face.

P: One of us climbs onto the bed and forces his dick deep into your pussy, not giving you time to get used to it and begins to fuck hard and deep relentlessly. The other two untie your arms and retie your hands behind you. We make the one fucking you stop and pull out abruptly.

CP: Of course I thrash about uncontrollably when he pulls out. You laugh. You could have warned him I would do this. But you wanted them to savour the surprise as much as you did the first time you experienced my anguish.

P: We all take our belts off and turn you over so your ass is up in the air, your hands tied behind your back. We each take turns spanking your ass with our belts, using the buckle at times to leave angry welts on your cheeks and legs. One of us uses the buckle to slide up and down between your ass cheeks, making you react to the coolness between your cheeks and shudder at the prospect of having the buckle shoved up your ass.

CP: "Yes!" I think silently to myself, "Oh God please yes!" But I don't say a word lest you make them stop.

P: We untie your hands. We keep you in the doggy position and keep spanking you with the belts and with our hands, sometimes reaching under and slapping the insides of your thighs, listening to you cry out and being inspired. One man crawls under you and kisses you deeply, dueling with your tongue. You feel the weight of another as he crouches above you, kissing and nibbling the back of your neck. Yet another is tweaking your nipples. Hands are all over you, touching, pinching, rolling... suddenly the man below you pulls you down and plunges his cock deep into your cunt. Before you can recover you feel another cock plowing into your ass and your hair is being pulled. You scream out and try to get your body used to the many assaults. It feels horrible, it feels wonderful, you don't want it to stop.

CP: No. I don't want it to stop. I want it harder. And to continue until I am spent and useless.

P: The third man grabs your head and pulls it to the side, exposing your mouth to his cock and balls. He slaps your face with his cock, while telling the other men to fuck you hard and deep and fast, to fuck that cunt and make you their fuck toy. He tells them you deserve to be fucked hard and you want them to spew into you, you want their jism in you, on you, all over you.

CP: Yes. It is true. She wants all three of them to cum on her, to cum in her, to cum on each other. There is no need for protection because it is a fantasy afterall.

P: Then he pulls your head back and barks at you to suck his dick and swallow his cum. He tells you if you think about biting him he'll hurt you in a way you don't like. This both scares and excites you and you open your mouth to receive him. He begins a slow entry, but upon feeling your lips and tongue on him, can't control himself and shoves in deep, causing you to gag. You find a way, between being buffeted between the men fucking your pussy and ass, to regain your composure and control the dick in your mouth so it doesn't gag you too much.

CP: I take him in my mouth like I take communion: with humility and gratitude and the desire to be deemed innocent once again.

P: You realize that all your holes are filled and you're getting a hard, strong fuck that will leave you sore and satisfied. You don't want it to ever end. It feels so good to have been overpowered by three men, three strong men who want nothing more than to fuck you silly. They keep pounding into you, making the bed shake and banging the headboard against the wall. Grunting, groaning, fucking, sucking, plunging... you are a pussy, you are their cunt, you are their fucktoy and they are using use at their will. You are also a beautiful woman being sexed right and letting these men have their way with you.

CP: Yes.

P: The man in your pussy begins to stiffen and jerk and you know he'll soon be shooting deep into you. You feel the cock of the man in your ass begin to throb and swell and you know soon you'll be getting an ass shower. You can't speak because your mouth is full of cock, but inside you are screaming for the men to fill you, to fuck you and fill you with cum, to cum inside you to cum on you, to CUM! And they do just that... all three men begin cumming in you and you are overwhelmed at the sensation of so much juice flowing into you from so many different directions. You squeeze your cunt hard and begin your journey of cumming, your cunt reflexively squeezing out its own juices. It's a moment so wonderful for you...that you are so happy you left the door unlocked and asked for that extra visit to check your pipes....

CP: "Oh Papi!" I pleaded. "Can you meet with the roofer and the gardner next week?"

All I Wanted

2005-08-17T09:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was such a big bummer day.

I found out I'm not pregnant. Darn. That was my fourth insemination and it just gets harder and harder each time. You get your hopes up, you know? And then you start to feel like you're broken or cursing it or something. Oh well, the fifth time's the charm, right?

And my house is a big pain in the ass right now. I'm having serious buyer's remorse. I don't want to go into the details but suffice it to say the phrase "turn key" was a misnomer.

And Uncle Mike wasn't very responsive to my punishment. I did indeed wear a short skirt and omitted my underwear (they were all packed anyway) the entire evening. This, of course, made for some difficult maneuvering as he made me climb into the back bed of his truck to rearrange the pieces we had loaded. It also made my thighs rub together and the more stuff we moved the more I was reminded of why women fought so hard for the right to wear pants.

Anyway. We moved stuff, ate some tacos, and talked about about how he tried to cover up the bruise I gave him (it really was an accident, I swear!) with his girlfriend. No hanky panky. Well, except for the brief moment when I stuck my hand down his pants and held hands with his cock for a few minutes. But that really was about the extent of it besides a very nice goodbye kiss in the cab of his truck.

The best part of the day was getting home early enough to call Papi and talk to him till the wee hours of the morning. I was feeling pretty blue and he cheered me up. He reminded me that everything isn't my fault. And he made me feel loved and wanted and appreciated. That's really all I wanted anyway.

And of course he made me cum, which was the other thing I wanted.

Blue and Aimless

2005-08-14T06:46:00.000-07:00

You would think I would be floating on the clouds. Life seems good. Just bought a house. Trying to get pregnant. Have a decent job. Good friends. But I don't know. I just feel so blue and aimless. Lonely. Confused.

Not very sexy, I know. Maybe I'll have a story to tell after Tuesday. I told Uncle Mike his punishment for giving me a hickey where everyone can see it (I do have some limits) is that he has to help me move a load of stuff with his truck... and I'm gonna wear a mini skirt and no underwear the entire time.

Just Let Me Listen

2005-08-11T21:37:00.000-07:00

The ringing of my cell phone jolted me awake. It was only 11:30 or so, but I had already been in a deep sleep for at least an hour. I fumbled in the dark to see who was calling me at this hour. Papi. He hasn’t called me this late in a long time. Actually he hasn’t been calling much at all lately, so I was immediately concerned. “Hey Papi. Are you ok?” I said half asleep. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m fine.” He sounded wide awake. Unusually so for this hour. I tried to will myself awake but I was still in dreamland. His voice sounded so warm and inviting. He laughed at something I said and I wanted to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck.

“You sound so sexy,” I said. “Just let me listen to you.”

“No, I called to listen to you,” he said.

“Oh, I see. Did you want me to cum for you?” I asked him, coming to my senses.

“Yes, Pussy, cum for your Papi.”

I rolled over and started to rub my clit. I could hear Papi breathing, but other than that he was silent, as always, just quietly listening. Within a minute or so I was wet and my body was waking up. But my brain was still foggy and asleep as I continued fingering myself. Soon I was quite aroused and close to cumming. Papi must have known from my breathing and moaning that I was almost there because he suddenly asked me “where is the spoon?”

“The spoon?” I repeated, confused and caught off guard. “Uh, in the bed stand.”

“Get it,” he ordered me.

I fumbled around in the dark before I found the light switch. Turning on the light I saw la cuchara immediately, but I paused a second before admitting that to Papi. I’m always a little unsure what will happen when the spoon comes out.

“I have it, Papi” I told him.

“Good. Now hit your pussy with it,” he told me.

I started to do as told, slapping quite hard and quickly since I had been so close to cumming before he interrupted me. It hurt, and I said so, but it didn’t hurt enough for me to want to stop. And once again I had that weird feeling of being really turned on despite the absurdity of my actions. I would be absolutely mortified if anyone were to see me slapping my own self with a wooden kitchen spoon with one hand and pressing my cell phone to my ear with the other… and yet, somehow, this man managed to make that seem like the sexiest thing since crotchless panties.

I wanted to cum for him, and he knew it. And he knew he controlled it despite the great distance between us. And I knew he was going to make me beg for it, for release from his control, no matter what I did, so I might as well just give in now.

“May I stop now Papi?” I asked, a hint of pleading in my tone.

“Yes,” he said, surprising me.

I dropped the spoon to the bed and felt relief wash over me. Catching myself before I drifted back to sleep, Papi still quietly listening on the other end, I begged “please may I touch myself Papi”

“Yes,” he said. I started fingering myself again and now my pussy was really wet and swollen and tender. If I were fucking him in person I would be throwing myself against him and thrashing about until he put his hand or his cock or anything inside me and fucked me.

“Get Wanda,” he said.

And I did.

“Cum for your Papi,” he said.

And I did.

“Thank you Papi,” I said before falling fast asleep.

Uncle Mike

2005-08-03T20:42:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm just going with the flow here. As I said, life seems to be giving me some sort of lesson and I'm still trying to figure out just what it is. Mikel and I have agreed to have a standing date on Tuesdays. Pretty much solely for the sake of fucking. I told him straight up I have no intention of being anyone's "out" of a trying relationship or hooking up with anyone on the rebound for that matter. He's a nice guy, a really, really nice guy, and he seems to have kinks in all the right places as far as I can tell. Just, you know, he's someone else's kinky, nice guy.

Anyway. I told him I'll call him Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike because he's like the nice uncle you wanna go to the park with and not the creepy one you want to hide from. And Uncle Mike because it sounds sweet and innocent, and kinky and pervy all at the same time. Kinda like him. And, most importantly, Uncle Mike to remind me that he is off limits as far as romance is concerned.

Switching

2005-08-01T21:50:00.000-07:00

Mikel was with his girlfriend all weekend long so there was an email/phone/text black out. And for what it's worth when I'm denied something I crave it ten times more. So I continued to send emails to him even though there was no response (he had told me he wouldn't be back to his computer until Monday) and in the absence of his replies my imagination got the best of me and I admit I got pretty forward. He said he liked how aggressive I am. I told him I'm not aggressive. I'm assertive. One of the things I like about him is he's pretty subby for a self identified dom. Which works well because I can be pretty dommy for a self identified sub. I guess it's called switching... but I'm not ready to go quite that far yet.

As soon as he got to work this morning he started replying to my emails one by one. And there's nothing like a man who replies to my smutty emails to get me all ready to go. It didn't take long before I was sitting at my desk (yes, I was at work) wet and needing badly to be fucked. I told him so and suggested he come to my place later. He tried to put me off. He had errands to do after work. So come after that, I said. He might be too tired, he said. I'll revive him, I said. He wasn't so sure he should come over, he said. Neither was I, I said. Finally he asked "what's the rush?" "Call it rushed if you want," I said, "but I want you to fuck me and I want it tonight. Besides, tomorrow morning I'm getting inseminated and I may not be up for fucking for a while after that." "I'm leaving in two minutes," he said.

When he arrived at my place he was clearly nervous and uncomfortable. My place is small and at the moment all piled high with boxes in preparation for my move so we skirted around each other awkwardly. I poured us each a drink and we sat down on the couch. We chatted a bit about my dog and his work and whatnot. He put his hand on my thigh. We chatted some more. I kissed him. Chatted some more. Then somehow I'm standing on my couch kissing his forehead and he's pushing my skirt up and squeezing my ass and pulling me to him. It was nice. Really nice. After a bit I climbed down and just walked into my bedroom. He followed behind me.

We laid down on my bed and started kissing some more. He was a pretty good kisser as far as they come. I'm kinda picky and it takes a lot to impress me. You need the right mix of sucking and biting and exploring. And succulent lips. He had a nice 5 o'clock shadow that was perfectly scratchy and rough. As we kissed his hands slid up and down my legs and up under my skirt. He pushed my legs apart firmly and wasn't shy about letting his fingers trace my pussy outside of my panties. "My god girl you are so wet!" he exclaimed after pressing his fingers into me just slightly. "I know. I told you I've been like this all day," I told him. He was rubbing and teasing me, flicking his fingers across my clit, dipping them inside of me. This of course sent me over the edge and I was soon moaning and wreathing and begging him to fuck me.

He inserted a few fingers into my cunt and started to fuck me with them slowly. "God yes!" I said. "Please fuck me." And my body started involuntarily humping his hand. Soon he was fucking me hard and fast and I was close to cumming. It was interesting to have this man I hardly knew with his fingers inside me, begging him "fuck me harder Mikel, please fuck me harder." He laughed at me. I don't know if it was from nervousness or amusement at my sense of urgency, but it seemed sweet and friendly.

Eventually we both managed to peel off our clothes bit by bit until we were finally fully naked. The sun hadn't gone down yet so my bedroom was bright with the afternoon sun. He showed me the scars where they had removed a kidney when he was a kid and we took in each other's bodies without seeming too obvious. He had the physique of a middle aged man, with a protruding tummy and thinning hair. He had strong legs and big hands. His arms and legs were covered with dark hair but thankfully his tummy and back were pretty bare. He had really big balls that were nice and firm, and a rather small cock. He never actually got significantly hard enough for me to find out how big his cock is when erect. I think he was just so nervous. I think he thought I'm some crazed sex maniac - I believe "sexual beastie" was what he said - and so he was somewhat put off by me. I was a bit disappointed because I was looking forward to being fucked by a man with a large cock (I guess what they say about hand size isn't true afterall)... I've been so spoiled by Papi and Mr. D... but then I remembered how nice it is to go down on a guy with a cock that fits in your mouth without gagging you.

I like giving guys head but it is so unpleasant to do with a condom on. It just loses all its' appeal. So I compromised. I took his balls in my mouth one at a time and swirled my tongue around them. As I did this I pulled them gently and firmly away from his body while I let my hands stroke his cock. As he got a little harder I licked the base of his dick and ran my tongue up and down the shaft of his cock. As his cock grew I continued to stroke him with my hand and nuzzle him with my face, letting my hot breath tease him. He was obviously enjoying himself, but still he never got quite hard enough for me to climb on and ride him like I wanted.

I thought maybe the old "as if" would work so I climbed on top of him and started grinding myself against him as if he had a big old hard on and we were fucking. Still, no luck. I laid down on top of him and nibbled on his neck while I straddled his leg and continued rubbing my pussy on him. I reached down and cupped his balls. He closed his eyes and moaned slightly. Eventually the rocking motion turned into more of a fucking motion and I told him it made me want to fuck him. He smiled. I spread his legs with my hands and fucked him with my body since I don't own a strap on or even a dildo. He never came or even got hard, but he looked pretty darn happy nonetheless.

The next day he said he noticed that his legs were hurting and when he paused to think about it he realized it was from me fucking him... and he liked it. A lot. He confessed that he was very anxious, particularly about me being so fertile and all, and that each time my pussy got near his cock it made him go limp. I guess he also has diabetes which apparently can effect your ability to get a hard on, or maintain one. The upside of that is his doctor prescribed him cock rings. How cool is that? Maybe his doctor can prescribe him a harness and a big old silicon dick as well!

Soon

2005-07-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-29T23:22:00.000-07:00

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?

2005-07-28T09:17:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-25T20:08:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-24T06:57:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-17T06:33:00.000-07:00

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

2005-07-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

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.