my body misses his at night. i reach for him in my sleep & only find his pillow, my only solace his scent. i bury my face deeper to inhale the memories made here. the laughter, the lovemaking, the giggling & the spanking.
god, i miss being in the nook of his shoulder, our bodies flesh to flesh, my hand resting on his chest so I can feel his heart rhythmically beat against my palm. As he starts to drift off to sleep, his breathing deepens and soothes me off to sleep.
When he rolls over towards me, I turn to my side. I push my hips firmly against his, his arm surrounds me, his hand tucked beneath me, holding me tight. I feel so loved, protected & grounded. I miss the weight of his arm against my ribs. Sometimes at night I roll up blankets and tuck them around me to try & remember how it feels.
And do you know what I realized? It's not Jack I'm missing in my bed. It's a man. Not Jack--not my ex-husband, not an ex-fuck buddy, not anyone specifically. I just miss snuggling & sleeping beside a man.
Friday night Roger & Sue came over and they ended up spending the night. Roger snuggled & cuddled me off to sleep. Sue slept on the other side while I was in the middle. It was wonderful. (and boy do I have a whole 'nuther story about Friday night--wooohooo)
My next lover? I hope he's prepared, because I'm going to waller & snuggle & cuddle until he thinks I'm attached to him. I can't wait.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
my tweet won't go thru
So i'm posting it HERE dang it.
"when i see the abbreviation CBT, my 1st thought is cognative behavioral therapy. And then a lightbulb appears. Ohhhh THAT CBT."
I spent the day masturbating. And I could go for a couple more but the kids will be home soon. I should get dressed now & hide the sex toys & fold laundry.
I've been thinking about prostitution lately. Sex is pretty much my only marketable skill. The things that holds me back the most? Serial killers & jail. Ok and smelly people--that's a big turn-off.
Anyway, gotta hide the dildo ;)
"when i see the abbreviation CBT, my 1st thought is cognative behavioral therapy. And then a lightbulb appears. Ohhhh THAT CBT."
I spent the day masturbating. And I could go for a couple more but the kids will be home soon. I should get dressed now & hide the sex toys & fold laundry.
I've been thinking about prostitution lately. Sex is pretty much my only marketable skill. The things that holds me back the most? Serial killers & jail. Ok and smelly people--that's a big turn-off.
Anyway, gotta hide the dildo ;)
Assignment & Confession
I've been given an assignment.
I'm still talking & teasing with Jack online.
He wants me to masturbate twice daily until I can find my 'squirt button'.
He wants me to ejaculate while I'm sitting on his lap. He wants to feel my warm juices explode and drip down his hard cock.
What he doesn't know is--I can do this pretty much within minutes by myself. I'm not able to squirt buckets like some girls can, however there is definitely a puddle. What holds me back is trust. I don't have this bond of trust with him that will allow me to give it. I have a mental block that stops me from sharing it with him--(part of it goes back to a former fuckbuddy who thought I peed on him. That was fun explaining in the midst of fucking. Former F.B. had the perfect bend in his cock that slammed against my g-spot--I do wonder what he's up to now. :D Once F.B. figured out it was a GREAT thing, he was into it. )
I have a confession to make. It's deceitful, misleading and I'm ashamed. I faked it. Yes--I faked orgasms with Jack more often than not. Even in the beginning when I was falling in love with him & we were experimenting & he was trying to train me to come on command. I feel really awful about it and I'll never tell him--but now, it's been so long & he knows my body (or thinks he does) and I can't turn back. I have orgasm guilt and it sucks.
In ten months of dating, fucking, living together for 6 months--I faked them all except for the first time we had sex. I was sitting in his lap (see a pattern here? I love sitting on a man's lap) in the backyard in a rickety lawn chair. He handed me the bullet vibe to hold on my clit while he fingered me. I came so hard that a moan escaped--loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Within seconds, there was a puddle on his jeans and he was hooked.
We did have lots of great sex--don't get me wrong. I felt pressured to perform. While fucking or using toys on me, he would ask 'was that three?' and I wouldn't disagree.
There were many times after he went to sleep, all I had to do was touch my clit & I would explode. I would roll over at the same time so he wouldn't feel my hips bucking or my knees shaking. But for some reason, I couldn't give him this part of me.
Other times, I would wake myself up at night with my hands in my panties, completely wet & turned on. I could get to my orgasm without him even waking up. Sometimes I'd go to the couch because I didn't want to get caught shaking the bed & my body was in the mood for multiples.
I'll be seeing him later this week or early next. I don't know if I can remove the mental block to actually ejaculate on him. I want to--but sometimes my brain is more in control of my orgasms & squirting than my physical manipulations are. I get close & then my brain shuts off that valve. For me, orgasms are just as much mental as physical.
Is it because I love him? Nah-it could cloud it a bit because I don't want to disappoint him. I have been in love & been able to ejaculate with others before him. I don't know, all I can say is--I feel pressured. And he doesn't like dirty talk during sex--that's one thing that gets me fired up, I can get so close without penetration or clit action. Just whispering nasty, naughty ideas in my ear & I will literally be on the edge of an explosion, muscles twitching & puddling. When I'd beg for him to talk dirty, he'd either shush me or get into breath play-(that's one way to shut me up lol). He always said talking during foreplay or sex distracted him, so I just dropped it.
And I hate myself for faking it. Sometimes I was really tired, sometimes I'd ask him to do this or that, sometimes I was bored from the same position too often, sometimes he was so close to getting off that I could squeeze my kegels and milk his orgasm from him. (I do love having that capability. It's my only super power. Ok, I take that back--blow jobs are another one of my super powers. lol)
I'm grabbing my generic hitachi & a towel. I need to get off NOW.
I'm still talking & teasing with Jack online.
He wants me to masturbate twice daily until I can find my 'squirt button'.
He wants me to ejaculate while I'm sitting on his lap. He wants to feel my warm juices explode and drip down his hard cock.
What he doesn't know is--I can do this pretty much within minutes by myself. I'm not able to squirt buckets like some girls can, however there is definitely a puddle. What holds me back is trust. I don't have this bond of trust with him that will allow me to give it. I have a mental block that stops me from sharing it with him--(part of it goes back to a former fuckbuddy who thought I peed on him. That was fun explaining in the midst of fucking. Former F.B. had the perfect bend in his cock that slammed against my g-spot--I do wonder what he's up to now. :D Once F.B. figured out it was a GREAT thing, he was into it. )
I have a confession to make. It's deceitful, misleading and I'm ashamed. I faked it. Yes--I faked orgasms with Jack more often than not. Even in the beginning when I was falling in love with him & we were experimenting & he was trying to train me to come on command. I feel really awful about it and I'll never tell him--but now, it's been so long & he knows my body (or thinks he does) and I can't turn back. I have orgasm guilt and it sucks.
In ten months of dating, fucking, living together for 6 months--I faked them all except for the first time we had sex. I was sitting in his lap (see a pattern here? I love sitting on a man's lap) in the backyard in a rickety lawn chair. He handed me the bullet vibe to hold on my clit while he fingered me. I came so hard that a moan escaped--loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Within seconds, there was a puddle on his jeans and he was hooked.
We did have lots of great sex--don't get me wrong. I felt pressured to perform. While fucking or using toys on me, he would ask 'was that three?' and I wouldn't disagree.
There were many times after he went to sleep, all I had to do was touch my clit & I would explode. I would roll over at the same time so he wouldn't feel my hips bucking or my knees shaking. But for some reason, I couldn't give him this part of me.
Other times, I would wake myself up at night with my hands in my panties, completely wet & turned on. I could get to my orgasm without him even waking up. Sometimes I'd go to the couch because I didn't want to get caught shaking the bed & my body was in the mood for multiples.
I'll be seeing him later this week or early next. I don't know if I can remove the mental block to actually ejaculate on him. I want to--but sometimes my brain is more in control of my orgasms & squirting than my physical manipulations are. I get close & then my brain shuts off that valve. For me, orgasms are just as much mental as physical.
Is it because I love him? Nah-it could cloud it a bit because I don't want to disappoint him. I have been in love & been able to ejaculate with others before him. I don't know, all I can say is--I feel pressured. And he doesn't like dirty talk during sex--that's one thing that gets me fired up, I can get so close without penetration or clit action. Just whispering nasty, naughty ideas in my ear & I will literally be on the edge of an explosion, muscles twitching & puddling. When I'd beg for him to talk dirty, he'd either shush me or get into breath play-(that's one way to shut me up lol). He always said talking during foreplay or sex distracted him, so I just dropped it.
And I hate myself for faking it. Sometimes I was really tired, sometimes I'd ask him to do this or that, sometimes I was bored from the same position too often, sometimes he was so close to getting off that I could squeeze my kegels and milk his orgasm from him. (I do love having that capability. It's my only super power. Ok, I take that back--blow jobs are another one of my super powers. lol)
I'm grabbing my generic hitachi & a towel. I need to get off NOW.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Biker Catharsis
Just a few moments ago, I heard a rumble outside, peeked out the window to see a police escort of nearly 150 people on motorcycles. I grabbed my son & we ran to the front porch to watch. The leaders of the ride were big, battle-scarred, burly men dressed in leather -head to toe. With tears rolling down their faces.
Chills rocked to my core. A few of the women waved to my son--who was saluting them. My hand went to my heart because it felt like it was being pulled out of my body with emotion. Pride. Love. Empathy. Human connection. Several of the riders I knew nodded to me, they winked at my son solemnly saluting them. For some strange reason, I felt that they approved of me--raising a son who knew by instinct that he had to honor them somehow.
By the time they passed, my face was streaming in tears. The rumbling faded into the distance and I turned to walk in my door. I walked into my bedroom, flopped on my bed face down in my pillow to sob. My heart breaking for many things, this catharsis flooded over me--not just because of the riders, but for the people I've lost in my life, for the sadness of this summer when I held my daughter's hand during her abortion, the injustice of watching my child struggle with the biggest and most difficult, haunting decision of her life, the bad luck that has followed me throughout the last several years, the poverty level that we live at is not fair to my children--but my body is too broken to hold a job, the shame of begging for food at the pantry, the sneers I am attacked by at the grocery store when I use my food stamp card, the doctors accusing me of being an addict--of the very same medication they gave me, the guilt I feel when I tell my kids "sorry, we can't afford it," every.little.thing.that.has.ever.gone.wrong--it spilled out into keening & soul-wrenching sobs.
These people are family to each other. They were bonding together to raise money for a woman biker who has cancer, no health insurance but her 'family' has hope. Hope that she will have the strength for this battle. Hope that she will make it through chemo. Hope that she will ride again with them.
Hope.
Bikers get a bad rap. My dad's best friend when I was 2 was my first 'biker friend.' I remember the very first time I met him, he was So.Cool. He was 4'11", tattooed from neck to his feet, a ZZ Topp beard and a leather "Bowery Boy" hat. He partied too much but had the most amazing stories. When he showed up, I'd jump into his lap & make him flex his bicep to see the Naked Lady dance. (My mother was flipped out that I'd even go NEAR him.) After he'd leave, I'd make my dad draw tattoos on my forearms. I vividly remember begging for a tattoo until my parents' ears bled. The begging continued all of my childhood years--which is why once I turned 18, I got one. My mom was shocked when it went through the gossip grapevine & called me names, saying that "Women With Tattoos are Trashy. How could you? You better had hope your dad doesn't find out." She eventually got over it, although she gets a little wild-eyed when I mention the next one I plan to get. (I would have done it by now, but money for food seems to be a priority over me getting more ink. lol)
Anyway, I'm rambling. Back to bikers getting a bad rap. Society has tried to outcast this group of people for decades. Too loud. Too rough. Too much alcohol or drug abuse. Too wild. Too dangerous. Too non-conformist. Whatever.
I'm drawn to my memories of sitting in my "Uncle Biker's" lap & laughing until my belly muscles hurt. He was my first living teddy bear. He let me drag him into my bedroom for tea parties. He had the biggest heart I'd ever seen. He let me hang around in the garage while he worked on his bike & hand him tools. He was the first one to show up when I wrecked my dad's truck at 16 to help put it back together--all the while calling me a dumbass. He offered to kick my ex-boyfriends ass at 17 because he broke my heart. He gave me an old tool box filled with some extras he had lying around for my graduation present. (In the bottom drawer was a flask of whiskey & two joints---I never did figure out how he knew--he just did. My parents would have had a Conniption F.I.T.) But I always knew I could go to him with my problems, he'd either laugh at me or help me figure out a plan. He died about 5 years ago. I miss him almost as much as I miss my dad.
When I'm in a store and I see mother's pulling their child closer to them because of a leather-clad, tattooed biker. I am appalled at her behavior. I cringe at the invisible slap in the face he just received. I can't imagine judging someone by their appearance. If anything, I'm more leary of starting up a conversation with a June Cleaver type person, than a person with tattoos & a motorcycle.
We are all on this planet, surviving, trying to get ahead, looking for connections, making friends, enjoying family and just enjoying life. I am more moved by Biker Rallies for Charity than I am by the Golf Outings or the 5K runs. Because I've seen inside their hearts, I've been touched by their souls. I know in a heartbeat who of my friends will be here to help me when I need it the most. And it won't be the phony Christian neighbor with her awful casserole & a hallmark card. It'll be my friend Snake & his wife--showing up with food for the BBQ, maybe a couple of beers, maybe a bottle of Crown & they'll hug me when I need it the most and make me laugh through my tears.
When tragedy knocks me down again, I will hear that familiar rumbling of a Harley and know that I'm going to be all right. I am blessed. I have been touched by humanity. In my world, it just so happens to be teddy bears in disguise--tattooed & dressed in leathers.
Chills rocked to my core. A few of the women waved to my son--who was saluting them. My hand went to my heart because it felt like it was being pulled out of my body with emotion. Pride. Love. Empathy. Human connection. Several of the riders I knew nodded to me, they winked at my son solemnly saluting them. For some strange reason, I felt that they approved of me--raising a son who knew by instinct that he had to honor them somehow.
By the time they passed, my face was streaming in tears. The rumbling faded into the distance and I turned to walk in my door. I walked into my bedroom, flopped on my bed face down in my pillow to sob. My heart breaking for many things, this catharsis flooded over me--not just because of the riders, but for the people I've lost in my life, for the sadness of this summer when I held my daughter's hand during her abortion, the injustice of watching my child struggle with the biggest and most difficult, haunting decision of her life, the bad luck that has followed me throughout the last several years, the poverty level that we live at is not fair to my children--but my body is too broken to hold a job, the shame of begging for food at the pantry, the sneers I am attacked by at the grocery store when I use my food stamp card, the doctors accusing me of being an addict--of the very same medication they gave me, the guilt I feel when I tell my kids "sorry, we can't afford it," every.little.thing.that.has.ever.gone.wrong--it spilled out into keening & soul-wrenching sobs.
These people are family to each other. They were bonding together to raise money for a woman biker who has cancer, no health insurance but her 'family' has hope. Hope that she will have the strength for this battle. Hope that she will make it through chemo. Hope that she will ride again with them.
Hope.
Bikers get a bad rap. My dad's best friend when I was 2 was my first 'biker friend.' I remember the very first time I met him, he was So.Cool. He was 4'11", tattooed from neck to his feet, a ZZ Topp beard and a leather "Bowery Boy" hat. He partied too much but had the most amazing stories. When he showed up, I'd jump into his lap & make him flex his bicep to see the Naked Lady dance. (My mother was flipped out that I'd even go NEAR him.) After he'd leave, I'd make my dad draw tattoos on my forearms. I vividly remember begging for a tattoo until my parents' ears bled. The begging continued all of my childhood years--which is why once I turned 18, I got one. My mom was shocked when it went through the gossip grapevine & called me names, saying that "Women With Tattoos are Trashy. How could you? You better had hope your dad doesn't find out." She eventually got over it, although she gets a little wild-eyed when I mention the next one I plan to get. (I would have done it by now, but money for food seems to be a priority over me getting more ink. lol)
Anyway, I'm rambling. Back to bikers getting a bad rap. Society has tried to outcast this group of people for decades. Too loud. Too rough. Too much alcohol or drug abuse. Too wild. Too dangerous. Too non-conformist. Whatever.
I'm drawn to my memories of sitting in my "Uncle Biker's" lap & laughing until my belly muscles hurt. He was my first living teddy bear. He let me drag him into my bedroom for tea parties. He had the biggest heart I'd ever seen. He let me hang around in the garage while he worked on his bike & hand him tools. He was the first one to show up when I wrecked my dad's truck at 16 to help put it back together--all the while calling me a dumbass. He offered to kick my ex-boyfriends ass at 17 because he broke my heart. He gave me an old tool box filled with some extras he had lying around for my graduation present. (In the bottom drawer was a flask of whiskey & two joints---I never did figure out how he knew--he just did. My parents would have had a Conniption F.I.T.) But I always knew I could go to him with my problems, he'd either laugh at me or help me figure out a plan. He died about 5 years ago. I miss him almost as much as I miss my dad.
When I'm in a store and I see mother's pulling their child closer to them because of a leather-clad, tattooed biker. I am appalled at her behavior. I cringe at the invisible slap in the face he just received. I can't imagine judging someone by their appearance. If anything, I'm more leary of starting up a conversation with a June Cleaver type person, than a person with tattoos & a motorcycle.
We are all on this planet, surviving, trying to get ahead, looking for connections, making friends, enjoying family and just enjoying life. I am more moved by Biker Rallies for Charity than I am by the Golf Outings or the 5K runs. Because I've seen inside their hearts, I've been touched by their souls. I know in a heartbeat who of my friends will be here to help me when I need it the most. And it won't be the phony Christian neighbor with her awful casserole & a hallmark card. It'll be my friend Snake & his wife--showing up with food for the BBQ, maybe a couple of beers, maybe a bottle of Crown & they'll hug me when I need it the most and make me laugh through my tears.
When tragedy knocks me down again, I will hear that familiar rumbling of a Harley and know that I'm going to be all right. I am blessed. I have been touched by humanity. In my world, it just so happens to be teddy bears in disguise--tattooed & dressed in leathers.
Friday, August 21, 2009
I'll be back soon
I'm having some major issues with my laptop. It stalls & has been overheating so badly that I can only run it with sitting on an ICE PACK. I do have a fan underneath it all ready. My guess is--the innards are stuffed full of cigarette ashes and cookie crumbs. I've got to go buy a can of compressed air later today & hopefully that will dislodge some of the gunk.
Wouldn't hurt to run thru all of my virus & defrag programs as well. And I update every other day--because this version of Vista is LeSuck. Never in the 11 years of owning a pc has a system constantly required updates. But at the time I bought this one, you couldn't buy a laptop without Vista on it. And I'm not smart enough to wipe it out & put a different OS on it. I need friends who are computer techs and work for cheap-to-free!
I'll be back soon--promise!
Wouldn't hurt to run thru all of my virus & defrag programs as well. And I update every other day--because this version of Vista is LeSuck. Never in the 11 years of owning a pc has a system constantly required updates. But at the time I bought this one, you couldn't buy a laptop without Vista on it. And I'm not smart enough to wipe it out & put a different OS on it. I need friends who are computer techs and work for cheap-to-free!
I'll be back soon--promise!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Step 2 - BadBadGirl's Big Bad Contest
BadBadGirl's Big Bad Contest - Step 2
It took me three days to build my wishlist over at eXtremeRestraints.com . I want it all! Especially the Ursula Reversible Corset. And the Classic School Girl Uniform.
Restraints, Books & Dildos Oh My! It will make it easier when I find my sugarDaddy so I can easily be spoiled. Hahahaha. Reality check has all ready been cashed--it bounced! No need to laugh at my expense. Ok, go ahead, I don't mind one bit. (I may not be making much sense because, once again, I've not slept in 50 hours. My brain needs a nap.)
So if there are any secret benefactors with a disposable income on this crazy planet, here is the link to my wish list. Hey, if you're going to wish then wish BIG! Plus, a bonus of me having these outfits? I could do one of those really hot-bathroom-mirror pics like all the teenagers do on myspace. And the other 20+ things on my wishlist? They'd just make me happy. That's all. I like happy.
And~since I can't get the Awesome Prize chart to show up correctly~ please use this link & go to BadBadGirl's BigBadContest post to see how it all works. The more people that enter--the MORE PRIZES will be given to the Luckiest Person Evah.
http://bbgblog.com/2009/08/bbgs-big-bad-contest-the-grand-fucking-prize/
DO IT. I command thee! If you don't have a blog--GET ONE. Tell your friends!
It took me three days to build my wishlist over at eXtremeRestraints.com . I want it all! Especially the Ursula Reversible Corset. And the Classic School Girl Uniform.
Restraints, Books & Dildos Oh My! It will make it easier when I find my sugarDaddy so I can easily be spoiled. Hahahaha. Reality check has all ready been cashed--it bounced! No need to laugh at my expense. Ok, go ahead, I don't mind one bit. (I may not be making much sense because, once again, I've not slept in 50 hours. My brain needs a nap.)
So if there are any secret benefactors with a disposable income on this crazy planet, here is the link to my wish list. Hey, if you're going to wish then wish BIG! Plus, a bonus of me having these outfits? I could do one of those really hot-bathroom-mirror pics like all the teenagers do on myspace. And the other 20+ things on my wishlist? They'd just make me happy. That's all. I like happy.
And~since I can't get the Awesome Prize chart to show up correctly~ please use this link & go to BadBadGirl's BigBadContest post to see how it all works. The more people that enter--the MORE PRIZES will be given to the Luckiest Person Evah.
http://bbgblog.com/2009/08/bbgs-big-bad-contest-the-grand-fucking-prize/
DO IT. I command thee! If you don't have a blog--GET ONE. Tell your friends!
Friday, August 14, 2009
My date last night...
was kind-of a flop. I'm always surprised to discover how people are sending you photos via chat or email--that are at least 10 years old. Like when we meet in person--I'll just be so overwhelmed with their charm, that I'll forget that they misrepresented themselves. To me, that equals lying. I've had enough of lying to last me the rest of my life.
The photo on my dating profile is 4 months old--and you can see the grey shining through my bleach job. I have 3 photos up--two full lengths and one close-up--different outfits, different days. I'm a bit thinner now than in my profile pics. I'm not hiding my imperfections, I throw them out in conversation beforehand. I don't claim to be something I'm not. I don't wear a lot of makeup, don't even own a push-up bra and I sure as hell am not going to put up a 10 year old photo. (Besides 10 years ago, I was going through a really frumpy phase. lol)
In any case, he was a really nice guy. Opened the door, held out my chair and seemed interested in my stories. (Bonus points for manners, always!) There wasn't much chemistry or sexual tension, we did make each other laugh. I sensed a bit of a desperation with him--like he's been turned down one too many times and was insecure about women. I get that--completely. I'm pretty insecure as well, I may hide it better in person than he does. The most we'll ever be is occasional friends though.
He refused to let me pay for my dinner--which was really nice because I'm beyond broke this week. He left a good tip, --this is so important to me. If I don't have the money to tip, I won't eat out. He was pleasant to the wait staff even when part of our order was goofed up. I've dated some jerks (and married one) who were total assholes to waitresses. I've gone back in to restaurants to apologize and leave decent tips more times than I can count.
I walked him to his car, he kissed my hand and said we'd chat soon. He hit me up on chat later to say he had a really great evening and that I was prettier in person than in pictures. A girl can never hear that enough. I thanked him again for the dinner and his company, and we both left it open to talk again soon.
The photo on my dating profile is 4 months old--and you can see the grey shining through my bleach job. I have 3 photos up--two full lengths and one close-up--different outfits, different days. I'm a bit thinner now than in my profile pics. I'm not hiding my imperfections, I throw them out in conversation beforehand. I don't claim to be something I'm not. I don't wear a lot of makeup, don't even own a push-up bra and I sure as hell am not going to put up a 10 year old photo. (Besides 10 years ago, I was going through a really frumpy phase. lol)
In any case, he was a really nice guy. Opened the door, held out my chair and seemed interested in my stories. (Bonus points for manners, always!) There wasn't much chemistry or sexual tension, we did make each other laugh. I sensed a bit of a desperation with him--like he's been turned down one too many times and was insecure about women. I get that--completely. I'm pretty insecure as well, I may hide it better in person than he does. The most we'll ever be is occasional friends though.
He refused to let me pay for my dinner--which was really nice because I'm beyond broke this week. He left a good tip, --this is so important to me. If I don't have the money to tip, I won't eat out. He was pleasant to the wait staff even when part of our order was goofed up. I've dated some jerks (and married one) who were total assholes to waitresses. I've gone back in to restaurants to apologize and leave decent tips more times than I can count.
I walked him to his car, he kissed my hand and said we'd chat soon. He hit me up on chat later to say he had a really great evening and that I was prettier in person than in pictures. A girl can never hear that enough. I thanked him again for the dinner and his company, and we both left it open to talk again soon.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
insecurities...
I'm completely insecure about my body (unless it's with a lover..and the lights are dimmed.) I'm thinner now than I was in Jr. High, I fluctuated from 150 to 180 since high school, marriage & babies. Even in elementary school--I was the chubby girl. Or my parents would say "I"m big-boned." I look at my childhood pictures and think "Jesus--look at that fat head. And that beer gut at 10 was not attractive."
Probably the sexiest I've felt about myself was when I was breast-feeding and the Boobie Fairy showed up. My regular "B and One Half" Cups spilleth over into "C" cups and hormones? Holy hell, I was insatiable. (ok, I'm still insatiable lol) At the time, the ex was OTR trucking--I had a 5 yr old & a newborn. I wore out my vibrator and bought this electric generic hitachi-like massager. Anytime a kid was sleeping, I was running upstairs to rock on an orgasm. I was lucky to get fucked once a week. That was about the same time I got a computer and learned how to cyber-sex. I had an internet affair with an older man. His day off was Fridays & we'd masturbate together all day. He mailed me a camera & then we added visuals to our self-loving. We're still talking about meeting up for weekend to fuck like teenagers. As soon as he can get away from his wife.
I'm intimidated by the other sexy bloggers who have luscious round curves. These ladies are smokin' hot and gorgeous. Some are thin, some are filled out, some are heavy--but you can tell in their photos--that they are comfortable in their skin.
And the men bloggers?--whoa. All I need to see is strong arms & I'm dreaming of being wrapped in them. Another favorite part on a man is where the hip bone leads way to a slight indention--oh, I've said this before-but I love to kiss that spot. Or run my fingers lightly along it when we're spooning & I'm behind him.
My body? Mehhh. Since the divorce diet (where you fear your kids won't have food to eat if you have a sandwich--so you just stop eating? Yeah-that diet.) I lost around 30lbs and went through such a deep depression, I didn't know if I was going to survive. But people kept telling me how great I looked. (Which only reinforced that before--when I was heavier--I must NOT have looked great.--cuz my brain is a jackass & tears away at my soul.) My younger sister was giving me clothes and being really shitty because she was always "the thin one."
I'm 128 lbs. Barely any boobs and I think I have a nice looking ass. Three men in my life have called me beautiful. I don't feel that I'm ugly, just average. Not quite pretty, but maybe 'cute.'
I don't have a tripod so I propped a tray table on a kitchen chair & then tried a tower of cds, books & magazines. My house is small & there's clutter--so finding a spot was a challenge in itself. It's fucking difficult to set it all up, hit the timer & then run around to pose. I did it about 12 times before I gave up. When I loaded the pics to the laptop--I almost cried. THIS is my body? I deleted the ones that offended me the most. My tits looked like someone has let the air out. My hair looked like straw. Stretchmarks on my tummy were glowing in the flash. The line from my sternum to my belly button is crooked because of my fucked-up spine.
It's a goddamned reality to take photos of your half-naked self.
So I've fiddled around, cropped & altered some photos & a few more in a dress Saturday. If I'm going to jump into the deep end of sex-blogging, then I'm going to try and emulate my idols. I'm exposing my mind, I might as well expose the vessel as well--but still be creatively anonymous. But I'm taking baby steps. This is my body, it's not going to get better. Accept and move on.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
A bit agitated...
I went & saw Jack last night. He's been tormenting me via chat for the last week about how much sex we were going to have when I visited. One of our heated chats was this post. Ok, we've been tormenting each other.
I drove an hour + each way, spent $25 in gasoline, delivered more of his belongings (that he purposely left here), and we had sex once. An hour later, I gave him a hand-job.
Guess who didn't get an orgasm? Guess who begged for it & then was made to feel like an ass 'because he was tired' --even though I'd gotten him hard again? I was at his house for 6 hours--he had plenty of time to recuperate.
Guess who talked to herself in the car saying "I'm doneeee. D.O.N.E. doneeee" all the way home? Guess who is just a bit PISSY this morning? Plus, I've not slept but 6 hours since Saturday. I bet you got all the answers correct ;)
In related news, the laptop that I asked him to fix for me 8 months ago? Somehow he twisted my words around in his head, got into a fight with his brother over it & then gave it to his mother for her birthday. She gave it back to him a while back when he was still living here.
I was so excited to get it back. I had worked my ASS off for 5 months to buy it in the first place a couple years ago. And my kids don't have a p.c., so we let them play with it if they'd pitch in with the dishes or whatever. Morale was up. Production was up. The house was looking good. Bribery works on my kids occasionally.
When Jack moved out, I thought my daughter had the laptop in her bedroom upstairs. She wasn't home when we left. I forgot about it until the next day. Once I realized he took it with him, I asked for it back. He started in on this long spiel about how I gave it to him, don't I remember? And how he doesn't have a back-up & his computer is acting up...blah blah blah. Before the conversation was finished, I asked him when he was done with it, I'd really like it back. Sure, sure sure.
He sold it for rent money. I knew he would.
The dilemma I'm having with myself is...he left behind a brand new $125 fancy double joystick that he received as payment for building a computer for his best friend, Roger. I have the original box & software, but haven't checked to see if I have the cords yet. Jack had every opportunity to pack it & take it with him--but he didn't. Roger has been here & seen it. He mentioned that I should be sure & take it to Jack the next time I see him and I rolled my eyes.
I know for a fact that Jack will talk a friend into driving him up here to pick it up--if I don't deliver it to him fast enough. I also get the distinct impression that Roger wants Jack to have it back...and Roger & Sue come here twice a month or so.
I have the urge to sell it. I feel that since he lived here free for 6 months, a joystick is just a small token in the grand scheme of things. But I don't want him showing up on my doorstep & having a 'scene.' I loathe confrontation. And I don't want to ruin my friendship with Roger & Sue over it either.
I can't make up my mind. I could definitely use the money--school starts next week and my daughter's 16 birthday is in 2 1/2 weeks.
And, my ex-husband called at 8:30 a.m. to bitch about (un-true) gossip he heard and give me more threats of taking me back to court over visitation. I'll have to explain the visitation thing some other time.
I'm just agitated.
I drove an hour + each way, spent $25 in gasoline, delivered more of his belongings (that he purposely left here), and we had sex once. An hour later, I gave him a hand-job.
Guess who didn't get an orgasm? Guess who begged for it & then was made to feel like an ass 'because he was tired' --even though I'd gotten him hard again? I was at his house for 6 hours--he had plenty of time to recuperate.
Guess who talked to herself in the car saying "I'm doneeee. D.O.N.E. doneeee" all the way home? Guess who is just a bit PISSY this morning? Plus, I've not slept but 6 hours since Saturday. I bet you got all the answers correct ;)
In related news, the laptop that I asked him to fix for me 8 months ago? Somehow he twisted my words around in his head, got into a fight with his brother over it & then gave it to his mother for her birthday. She gave it back to him a while back when he was still living here.
I was so excited to get it back. I had worked my ASS off for 5 months to buy it in the first place a couple years ago. And my kids don't have a p.c., so we let them play with it if they'd pitch in with the dishes or whatever. Morale was up. Production was up. The house was looking good. Bribery works on my kids occasionally.
When Jack moved out, I thought my daughter had the laptop in her bedroom upstairs. She wasn't home when we left. I forgot about it until the next day. Once I realized he took it with him, I asked for it back. He started in on this long spiel about how I gave it to him, don't I remember? And how he doesn't have a back-up & his computer is acting up...blah blah blah. Before the conversation was finished, I asked him when he was done with it, I'd really like it back. Sure, sure sure.
He sold it for rent money. I knew he would.
The dilemma I'm having with myself is...he left behind a brand new $125 fancy double joystick that he received as payment for building a computer for his best friend, Roger. I have the original box & software, but haven't checked to see if I have the cords yet. Jack had every opportunity to pack it & take it with him--but he didn't. Roger has been here & seen it. He mentioned that I should be sure & take it to Jack the next time I see him and I rolled my eyes.
I know for a fact that Jack will talk a friend into driving him up here to pick it up--if I don't deliver it to him fast enough. I also get the distinct impression that Roger wants Jack to have it back...and Roger & Sue come here twice a month or so.
I have the urge to sell it. I feel that since he lived here free for 6 months, a joystick is just a small token in the grand scheme of things. But I don't want him showing up on my doorstep & having a 'scene.' I loathe confrontation. And I don't want to ruin my friendship with Roger & Sue over it either.
I can't make up my mind. I could definitely use the money--school starts next week and my daughter's 16 birthday is in 2 1/2 weeks.
And, my ex-husband called at 8:30 a.m. to bitch about (un-true) gossip he heard and give me more threats of taking me back to court over visitation. I'll have to explain the visitation thing some other time.
I'm just agitated.
Monday, August 10, 2009
WoooHOO--EdenCafe Contest
Yes, I'm a contest junkie when it comes to sex toys. I find them from the sexy bloggers I read & on Twitter.
The latest one is EdenCafe is giving away a $100 gift card. Can you imagine the possibilities? If I'd win--would I buy that big rotating rabbit vibe I've heard so much about or a couple little things? I don't know! I just know that it would be a great addition to my pleasure bag! It's just a laptop bag-green camo with pink daisies & rhinestones & it's NOT FULL! See? I need to win. lol
Here's the link -there are several ways to win, sign up!
(This is the first time I'm trying the link thing)
by the way--my Twitter is andadaisytattoo
The latest one is EdenCafe is giving away a $100 gift card. Can you imagine the possibilities? If I'd win--would I buy that big rotating rabbit vibe I've heard so much about or a couple little things? I don't know! I just know that it would be a great addition to my pleasure bag! It's just a laptop bag-green camo with pink daisies & rhinestones & it's NOT FULL! See? I need to win. lol
Here's the link -there are several ways to win, sign up!
(This is the first time I'm trying the link thing)
by the way--my Twitter is andadaisytattoo
I've got a date...
Thursday night @ 7. I'm going to meet a man from a dating site at a restaurant. We've talked quite a bit on messenger, shared pics and stories.
I'm a nervous wreck!
Is it wrong to ask for a spanking on the first date? lmfao. I wouldn't dare, but damn. I'm itching for one. I've not asked if he's kinky yet, we've not even talked about sex. I'll bring it up if there's any chemistry or a second date.
Plus, I'll be seeing Jack later tonight or tomorrow & he'll take care of that. We're either meeting half-way & finding a secluded spot in a park. Or I'll go on down to his house for a couple of hours. And then I'll be going down some more...lol.
I don't have the time to divulge right now--but I saw a former stalker (who thought he was my boyfriend in high school) at my reunion. He made me dance with him --after I said No, I can't dance with my cane. (I can--but I was trying to get out of it) He pulled me into a hug, started swaying to the music & told me he still loved me. I said "Ummm, sorry, I'm in a relationship." He said he didn't care. Yuck & dammit. {Not going to tell him I believe in open, poly relationships!}
My friends? Yeah--they were worthless. They were pointing & laughing at me, while I sent them signals of HELP ME & rolling my eyes. They are SO getting a payback. In any case, now I'm concerned that he'll start stalking again. He always was a creeper.
I'll not hesitate to get a 2nd restraining order! The 1st one is my ex-husband because of his violent rages & coming to my house at all hours to pick a screaming fight. The police department are now my friends because they were here so much last summer. I like having friends who are big, manly & carry guns. lol.
Ok, off to be a mommy for a while.
I'm a nervous wreck!
Is it wrong to ask for a spanking on the first date? lmfao. I wouldn't dare, but damn. I'm itching for one. I've not asked if he's kinky yet, we've not even talked about sex. I'll bring it up if there's any chemistry or a second date.
Plus, I'll be seeing Jack later tonight or tomorrow & he'll take care of that. We're either meeting half-way & finding a secluded spot in a park. Or I'll go on down to his house for a couple of hours. And then I'll be going down some more...lol.
I don't have the time to divulge right now--but I saw a former stalker (who thought he was my boyfriend in high school) at my reunion. He made me dance with him --after I said No, I can't dance with my cane. (I can--but I was trying to get out of it) He pulled me into a hug, started swaying to the music & told me he still loved me. I said "Ummm, sorry, I'm in a relationship." He said he didn't care. Yuck & dammit. {Not going to tell him I believe in open, poly relationships!}
My friends? Yeah--they were worthless. They were pointing & laughing at me, while I sent them signals of HELP ME & rolling my eyes. They are SO getting a payback. In any case, now I'm concerned that he'll start stalking again. He always was a creeper.
I'll not hesitate to get a 2nd restraining order! The 1st one is my ex-husband because of his violent rages & coming to my house at all hours to pick a screaming fight. The police department are now my friends because they were here so much last summer. I like having friends who are big, manly & carry guns. lol.
Ok, off to be a mommy for a while.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Reunion
I went to my 20 year class reunion Saturday night. I've not been invited to any of them, rumor has it that the people in charge can't find me. I have lived in the same town as my high school--for 17 of the last 20 years. My mom still lives in the same house, even has the same phone number as I did back then. One of the men on the committee is my second cousin. I find it completely hilarious.
I knew one of my best girlfriends was definitely going to be there, so I wouldn't feel too weird walking in alone. I did need some encouragement from my daughter, she even told me that "You don't look like a freak. Just GO!" Nice kid, let me tell ya.
I don't like crowds. They make me edgy & uncomfortable as hell. I've been known to have full-blown panic attacks in crowded stores that have extremely loud music. So now I have these little white pills from my doc that keeps me from spazzing out when I'm pushed over that anxiety cliff. I made sure to take one before I left.
Walking in that door--to be judged--took some internal strength for me. (I intentionally showed up an hour late so perhaps I wouldn't stand out as much & the hopefully the hoopla had died down some.) Comparison. That is really the only reason I can pin down why people like going to these things. To see who has aged badly, who has gotten fat, who has money, who has married well, who has divorced, who lives in better houses, drives the cool cars and so on.
Because I think if you truly cared about these people from your past--you would do something to contact them, write them, make them a part of your life. Instead of just showing up every 5 or 10 years with empty promises of "We'll get together soon" or "We can play golf."
Why do we need reassurance that we are living a worthy life? Each person in that bar was doing their own P/R stunt, talking about their jobs, their kids, their spouses, heartaches & victories. They wanted to share, to be acknowledged, to be complimented, to be admired.
Isn't reflecting on our own life enough? Loving our families, cherishing our friends, working hard at our jobs and in our homes.
I sat in a dark corner booth by myself for several minutes to observe. Fake smiles. Boob jobs. Worry lines & wrinkles. Faux designer clothes & $200 shoes. Alcoholics, bulimics, manic depressives. Thinning hair, bulging stomachs. I saw through some of their bravado--hiding their own personal demons to project a successful life.
I know my own demons well and how hard it is to struggle through this life at times. Making the best of a bad run of luck. Praying that you are doing the very best thing for your kids. Hoping that you'll make it through the next day-week-month.
I also know that most of these people I've not seen for twenty years have done nothing to mold or share my life journey since then. The "How Are You's" and the "What Do You Do For a Living's" are just bullshit--to get through your speech--so they can tell you their story. You nod, smile & wait for an opening in the conversation to get more of your story out. As they do the same for you. Until it's time to break away to another familiar stranger--only to start all over again.
Nod. Smile. Laugh. Story. Repeat.
We were tossed and shuffled for four years in high school. We held tight to our cliques, stood fast by our friends, struggled with our homework, had fun in our sports and clubs. We grew into adulthood at our own pace; some did so gracefully, some did so awkwardly. We gauged life only as it related directly to our own desires but then second-guessed our choices by what others may think--what others may criticize. For what? Recognition? Condemnation? Or for ourselves? High school was a battlefield of hormones, angst, growth & peaks. For some it was a challenge, for some it was a breeze.
In my town, the misfits are still considered the misfits. The preps are still the preps. The hoods are still the hoods. Jocks, cheerleaders, science kids, band members...they've not lost their auras of who they were trying to be back then.
And not a one has forgotten your faults & fuck-ups from back then. Several were quick to point out "Remember that time you drank Jack Daniels through a straw for breakfast, got caught & kicked out of school?" Nooo, I'd blocked that, but hey thanks for reminding me. (Not really, I remember very clearly why I drank to excess to numb my reality at 15--but they didn't know what was behind my walls then. And they never will. But I'll always be that girl to them.
Maybe I'm jaded, but for each person who wrote down my email or asked for my phone number--I know I won't hear from them again. Thank god. My best friends from high school are still my best friends. We don't get together often. But in a crisis or a celebration, we're still the first one's that we call, the first one's on each other's front porch--ready to help, ready to listen, ready to bail each other out. Because we've been through everything together and still love each other anyway. Warts and all. Divorces, miscarriages, abortions, bankruptcies, parents, siblings & grandparents dying, addictions, abuse, depression, pregnancies, wives or husbands leaving, raising kids & paying taxes. And yet, at the core, we're still those goofy heavy-metal-loving misfit clique in the yearbook. In another 30 years or so, we'll be the misfits raising hell in the nursing homes too.
I knew one of my best girlfriends was definitely going to be there, so I wouldn't feel too weird walking in alone. I did need some encouragement from my daughter, she even told me that "You don't look like a freak. Just GO!" Nice kid, let me tell ya.
I don't like crowds. They make me edgy & uncomfortable as hell. I've been known to have full-blown panic attacks in crowded stores that have extremely loud music. So now I have these little white pills from my doc that keeps me from spazzing out when I'm pushed over that anxiety cliff. I made sure to take one before I left.
Walking in that door--to be judged--took some internal strength for me. (I intentionally showed up an hour late so perhaps I wouldn't stand out as much & the hopefully the hoopla had died down some.) Comparison. That is really the only reason I can pin down why people like going to these things. To see who has aged badly, who has gotten fat, who has money, who has married well, who has divorced, who lives in better houses, drives the cool cars and so on.
Because I think if you truly cared about these people from your past--you would do something to contact them, write them, make them a part of your life. Instead of just showing up every 5 or 10 years with empty promises of "We'll get together soon" or "We can play golf."
Why do we need reassurance that we are living a worthy life? Each person in that bar was doing their own P/R stunt, talking about their jobs, their kids, their spouses, heartaches & victories. They wanted to share, to be acknowledged, to be complimented, to be admired.
Isn't reflecting on our own life enough? Loving our families, cherishing our friends, working hard at our jobs and in our homes.
I sat in a dark corner booth by myself for several minutes to observe. Fake smiles. Boob jobs. Worry lines & wrinkles. Faux designer clothes & $200 shoes. Alcoholics, bulimics, manic depressives. Thinning hair, bulging stomachs. I saw through some of their bravado--hiding their own personal demons to project a successful life.
I know my own demons well and how hard it is to struggle through this life at times. Making the best of a bad run of luck. Praying that you are doing the very best thing for your kids. Hoping that you'll make it through the next day-week-month.
I also know that most of these people I've not seen for twenty years have done nothing to mold or share my life journey since then. The "How Are You's" and the "What Do You Do For a Living's" are just bullshit--to get through your speech--so they can tell you their story. You nod, smile & wait for an opening in the conversation to get more of your story out. As they do the same for you. Until it's time to break away to another familiar stranger--only to start all over again.
Nod. Smile. Laugh. Story. Repeat.
We were tossed and shuffled for four years in high school. We held tight to our cliques, stood fast by our friends, struggled with our homework, had fun in our sports and clubs. We grew into adulthood at our own pace; some did so gracefully, some did so awkwardly. We gauged life only as it related directly to our own desires but then second-guessed our choices by what others may think--what others may criticize. For what? Recognition? Condemnation? Or for ourselves? High school was a battlefield of hormones, angst, growth & peaks. For some it was a challenge, for some it was a breeze.
In my town, the misfits are still considered the misfits. The preps are still the preps. The hoods are still the hoods. Jocks, cheerleaders, science kids, band members...they've not lost their auras of who they were trying to be back then.
And not a one has forgotten your faults & fuck-ups from back then. Several were quick to point out "Remember that time you drank Jack Daniels through a straw for breakfast, got caught & kicked out of school?" Nooo, I'd blocked that, but hey thanks for reminding me. (Not really, I remember very clearly why I drank to excess to numb my reality at 15--but they didn't know what was behind my walls then. And they never will. But I'll always be that girl to them.
Maybe I'm jaded, but for each person who wrote down my email or asked for my phone number--I know I won't hear from them again. Thank god. My best friends from high school are still my best friends. We don't get together often. But in a crisis or a celebration, we're still the first one's that we call, the first one's on each other's front porch--ready to help, ready to listen, ready to bail each other out. Because we've been through everything together and still love each other anyway. Warts and all. Divorces, miscarriages, abortions, bankruptcies, parents, siblings & grandparents dying, addictions, abuse, depression, pregnancies, wives or husbands leaving, raising kids & paying taxes. And yet, at the core, we're still those goofy heavy-metal-loving misfit clique in the yearbook. In another 30 years or so, we'll be the misfits raising hell in the nursing homes too.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Today...
I've not taken Jack the rest of his belongings. Not seen him since the day I dropped him off. I have been talking to him on chat programs & it's the same funny banter that attracted me to him in the first place.
I totally-by-accident (I swear)- found him on fetlife and I laughed. I guess it was a combination of closure and no more guilt.
Today--he suggested that I get into my kids' savings account so I could visit him, bring him his stuff & have sex.
Ummm...No. No more. I'm not spending another DIME of my kids' CHILD SUPPORT to support, aid or abet him. Buy his monthly game cards, soda, cigarettes, clothing, food, coffee...etc...
But I do still want to have sex with him....
It was comfortable & predictable, at times monotonous--but it was still quite pleasurable. Damn these hormones of mine. Orgasms are more intense when they are shared. Usually.
I totally-by-accident (I swear)- found him on fetlife and I laughed. I guess it was a combination of closure and no more guilt.
Today--he suggested that I get into my kids' savings account so I could visit him, bring him his stuff & have sex.
Ummm...No. No more. I'm not spending another DIME of my kids' CHILD SUPPORT to support, aid or abet him. Buy his monthly game cards, soda, cigarettes, clothing, food, coffee...etc...
But I do still want to have sex with him....
It was comfortable & predictable, at times monotonous--but it was still quite pleasurable. Damn these hormones of mine. Orgasms are more intense when they are shared. Usually.
Friday, August 7, 2009
He asked...
what do YOU want?
So I thought about it awhile...and started typing the scenario...(please excuse the grammar tenses--it was in a chat program & thinking off the top of my head)
I want to be lying on top of you, skin against skin...nuzzling, nibbling, kissing. sliding down--sucking & nibbling more down your tummy...to your hip bones then to your thighs. my hands caressing from your chest to your thighs--avoiding touching your hard cock just yet, letting you anticipate while I tease you more by nibbling closer & running my fingertips up to run over your nipples & then lightly drag my fingernails to the dip of your flesh by your hipbone. Your breath is getting more rapid & my hair drapes over your thighs.
My head is hovering above your cock as I lower my tongue to tease the tip of your hardness. Swirling it around, lowering and opening my warm wet mouth to gently suck & slide all the way down. Taking you in, applying pressure with my tongue on the upstroke & swirl again..sucking harder each time. Finding the rhythm that gives you the most pleasure...stroking you with my right hand, my left hand is on your hip but you want to buck deeper into my mouth, sucking and stroking slowly. Sliding my tongue down your wet hard cock, making you moan only makes me want your cock inside me more.
I love giving you this pleasure, it is intense for me because I have to hold back from climbing on top, parting my lips & plunging you deep inside of me. That first stroke is mind-blowing. I can't focus and need for you to take over--you tilt your hips up to mine, driving your cock in deeper & deeper. With each stroke taking us closer, you smack me hard on my ass. Once. Thrust. Smack twice more quickly. The endorphins race through my brain, pain that turns to such intense pleasure. I'm teetering on an orgasm & Spank twice more. My muscles clench around your cock & you thrust even deeper. My orgasm grabs hold and muscles spasm around your hardness. Your hands pushing me deeper onto you while I pulse & moan.
You guide me & re-position until I'm on my knees & you're behind me-on your knees as well. Another assault of quick swats on my cheeks & you grab my hips and bury your cock inside me with fury. Pulling on my hips to grind deeper & deeper. You run your hands across the red welts on my cheeks--tingling & tender, warm to to touch. Another ravage of slaps and then gentle caresses. Endorphins still clouding my mind, I can only moan Yes. Ohhh Yes Daddy. Please- while you twist my nipples until I moan even more. You pull my hips to bury your cock until I feel you explode inside me. Our bodies locked together throbbing & pulsing until you're empty, quivering into bliss.
That is what I want. Right now anyway. Subject to change. No refunds or returns. All sales final.
So I thought about it awhile...and started typing the scenario...(please excuse the grammar tenses--it was in a chat program & thinking off the top of my head)
I want to be lying on top of you, skin against skin...nuzzling, nibbling, kissing. sliding down--sucking & nibbling more down your tummy...to your hip bones then to your thighs. my hands caressing from your chest to your thighs--avoiding touching your hard cock just yet, letting you anticipate while I tease you more by nibbling closer & running my fingertips up to run over your nipples & then lightly drag my fingernails to the dip of your flesh by your hipbone. Your breath is getting more rapid & my hair drapes over your thighs.
My head is hovering above your cock as I lower my tongue to tease the tip of your hardness. Swirling it around, lowering and opening my warm wet mouth to gently suck & slide all the way down. Taking you in, applying pressure with my tongue on the upstroke & swirl again..sucking harder each time. Finding the rhythm that gives you the most pleasure...stroking you with my right hand, my left hand is on your hip but you want to buck deeper into my mouth, sucking and stroking slowly. Sliding my tongue down your wet hard cock, making you moan only makes me want your cock inside me more.
I love giving you this pleasure, it is intense for me because I have to hold back from climbing on top, parting my lips & plunging you deep inside of me. That first stroke is mind-blowing. I can't focus and need for you to take over--you tilt your hips up to mine, driving your cock in deeper & deeper. With each stroke taking us closer, you smack me hard on my ass. Once. Thrust. Smack twice more quickly. The endorphins race through my brain, pain that turns to such intense pleasure. I'm teetering on an orgasm & Spank twice more. My muscles clench around your cock & you thrust even deeper. My orgasm grabs hold and muscles spasm around your hardness. Your hands pushing me deeper onto you while I pulse & moan.
You guide me & re-position until I'm on my knees & you're behind me-on your knees as well. Another assault of quick swats on my cheeks & you grab my hips and bury your cock inside me with fury. Pulling on my hips to grind deeper & deeper. You run your hands across the red welts on my cheeks--tingling & tender, warm to to touch. Another ravage of slaps and then gentle caresses. Endorphins still clouding my mind, I can only moan Yes. Ohhh Yes Daddy. Please- while you twist my nipples until I moan even more. You pull my hips to bury your cock until I feel you explode inside me. Our bodies locked together throbbing & pulsing until you're empty, quivering into bliss.
That is what I want. Right now anyway. Subject to change. No refunds or returns. All sales final.
The sun's coming up...
Roger & Sue just left. Wow...what a fun night. And--they took their stinky dog home!
No threesome action, but separately we had some adventures. At one point, Sue & I were laying on the bed kissing & fondling each other. She's insecure about her weight, she is a big girl--I hope she takes me seriously when I tell her she's beautiful. Sue is hysterically funny, we click on so many levels. We giggled like teenagers, we made fun of Roger's penis & had him pull it out to compare length & width to our lighters. His penis won the contest, hands down. We were both fondling him.
As Sue left the room, she handed Roger my flat wooden hairbrush. Holy STING...it's been a while--I need my ass toughened up first. He lit up my ass & my thighs; I couldn't take much on my thighs. Swift, striking slaps with the hairbrush while he alternated pulling my hair or twirling & pinching my nipples hard. My panties were wet within the first 3 strikes. I just turn into this putty waiting to be played with, squish me-mold me-spank me-take me.
He threw down the brush & frantically tore down my shorts, hooking his fingers right on my g-spot & shaking fairly rough. Kissing me with force, his tongue strongly sweeping mine--sucking on my lips & letting go with a nibble. And then pulling my hair hard & placing my head on his shoulder while he banged me into an orgasm. I love how he whispers dirty little secrets while he's manipulating me. Roger is so sensual but yet forceful--his dom tricks are HAWT. He held me close to him while my body rippled in pleasure, a smile on both of our faces. Yummity yummm.
With all three of us on the bed, we talked about everything--from politics, health care reform, psychiatric care, how Jack had issues, (he's fathered FIVE kids & no contact, no help raising, no concern other than himself), bad shrinks/good shrinks, cooking & kids stuff. I've only known them since around Christmas 08, but we really click.
We turned the lights off, Sue was sitting at the end of the bed and I started stroking Roger's cock. I love that feeling of soft turning hard within a few motions. When I put him in my mouth, he growled & bucked into my mouth. Guiding each stroke by bucking his hips & yanking my hair, I swirled my tongue around the tip on the upstroke & then sucking hard on the downstroke. My hands rubbing on his thighs, scratching, playing with his balls & then pulling his ass closer to me to suck him deep again. His breathing got ragged & intense--there were a couple times I lost rhythm & felt awkward, praying that I didn't alter his upcoming orgasm. I gained back the rhythm that was working for him and upped the intensity of my sucking, grabbing his ass & forcing him to me, I tugged downward on his balls slightly, he moaned & I tugged a bit harder-Roger groaned & stiffened. I could feel his muscle pulsing--(he doesn't ejaculate) so I softened my tongue swirls & suction until he pulled away.
He flopped on the bed to recover, breathing raggedly. Sue asked if he got off--he replied "Duhhh." She said "Omg-You don't know how HARD it is to get him off. He can go for HOURS." And bizarre as it sounds--SHE HIGH FIVED ME.
I laughed like an idiot. In my mind, I'm thinking how SURREAL this moment is: I just gave a blow job to a man with his wife at the end of the bed-watching in the semi-darkness.
Three years ago, this was totally out of the question. I've evolved into a much more open, sexual person. I didn't know *anything* about poly other than what I knew about Mormons. Hell, three years ago, I'd only heard the term bdsm & had no idea why people wore collars.
Today? I'm still learning, but damn, what a great experience. I'd always been on the very high end of vanilla kink, I liked spanking during sex & bondage & orgasm control, I sure as hell obeyed my husband but it wasn't in the right mindset. I love the possibilities.
No threesome action, but separately we had some adventures. At one point, Sue & I were laying on the bed kissing & fondling each other. She's insecure about her weight, she is a big girl--I hope she takes me seriously when I tell her she's beautiful. Sue is hysterically funny, we click on so many levels. We giggled like teenagers, we made fun of Roger's penis & had him pull it out to compare length & width to our lighters. His penis won the contest, hands down. We were both fondling him.
As Sue left the room, she handed Roger my flat wooden hairbrush. Holy STING...it's been a while--I need my ass toughened up first. He lit up my ass & my thighs; I couldn't take much on my thighs. Swift, striking slaps with the hairbrush while he alternated pulling my hair or twirling & pinching my nipples hard. My panties were wet within the first 3 strikes. I just turn into this putty waiting to be played with, squish me-mold me-spank me-take me.
He threw down the brush & frantically tore down my shorts, hooking his fingers right on my g-spot & shaking fairly rough. Kissing me with force, his tongue strongly sweeping mine--sucking on my lips & letting go with a nibble. And then pulling my hair hard & placing my head on his shoulder while he banged me into an orgasm. I love how he whispers dirty little secrets while he's manipulating me. Roger is so sensual but yet forceful--his dom tricks are HAWT. He held me close to him while my body rippled in pleasure, a smile on both of our faces. Yummity yummm.
With all three of us on the bed, we talked about everything--from politics, health care reform, psychiatric care, how Jack had issues, (he's fathered FIVE kids & no contact, no help raising, no concern other than himself), bad shrinks/good shrinks, cooking & kids stuff. I've only known them since around Christmas 08, but we really click.
We turned the lights off, Sue was sitting at the end of the bed and I started stroking Roger's cock. I love that feeling of soft turning hard within a few motions. When I put him in my mouth, he growled & bucked into my mouth. Guiding each stroke by bucking his hips & yanking my hair, I swirled my tongue around the tip on the upstroke & then sucking hard on the downstroke. My hands rubbing on his thighs, scratching, playing with his balls & then pulling his ass closer to me to suck him deep again. His breathing got ragged & intense--there were a couple times I lost rhythm & felt awkward, praying that I didn't alter his upcoming orgasm. I gained back the rhythm that was working for him and upped the intensity of my sucking, grabbing his ass & forcing him to me, I tugged downward on his balls slightly, he moaned & I tugged a bit harder-Roger groaned & stiffened. I could feel his muscle pulsing--(he doesn't ejaculate) so I softened my tongue swirls & suction until he pulled away.
He flopped on the bed to recover, breathing raggedly. Sue asked if he got off--he replied "Duhhh." She said "Omg-You don't know how HARD it is to get him off. He can go for HOURS." And bizarre as it sounds--SHE HIGH FIVED ME.
I laughed like an idiot. In my mind, I'm thinking how SURREAL this moment is: I just gave a blow job to a man with his wife at the end of the bed-watching in the semi-darkness.
Three years ago, this was totally out of the question. I've evolved into a much more open, sexual person. I didn't know *anything* about poly other than what I knew about Mormons. Hell, three years ago, I'd only heard the term bdsm & had no idea why people wore collars.
Today? I'm still learning, but damn, what a great experience. I'd always been on the very high end of vanilla kink, I liked spanking during sex & bondage & orgasm control, I sure as hell obeyed my husband but it wasn't in the right mindset. I love the possibilities.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Hallelujah!
They are coming to get the dog--hee hee. They are COMING to GET the DOG-ha ha.
And I might get lucky too. :D Roger & I have been fooling around for months, we've just never gone all the way. The flirting & teasing has been intense. Jack always encouraged it when he was sober--but if we were all drinking, he became territorial. Even if Sue & I were making out, he'd interrupt to pull the d/s strings & the next thing you know--I'd be kneeling beside him. Often with handprints on my behind. ~yum~ I do so love my sub chain yanked.
What to do? Roger or Sue? The dilemma of leaving one out, but I'm not quite in the mood for a threesome. When Jack lived here, I didn't have the guilt of leaving anyone out--we just paired off with each other's partners--be it talking or fondling or orgasms. Ahh well, booze does loosen me up--I may go pick up a small bottle.
I need a dom/sub session. I miss that power exchange. Plus--it's been two weeks since I've gotten laid. Yikes.
This morning I masturbated until my forearm muscles were sore. I used the same fantasy I've had since I was about 5 years old-truly. I've added a lot to it over the years, but it all relates back to being in a tent off of a small cliff in the woods & a 'caring' individual is attending to a wound on my upper thigh. Back then, it was just a camp counselor-like person lifting my nightgown to put a band-aid on. Now--it's much, much more than just a band-aid but it starts out the same way. Sometimes it's a man, sometimes a woman--sometimes both are tending to my different needs.
In any case, once I got started & had my first orgasm--the next several were easy to attain. Rolling the fantasy over in my mind & lifting my hips tensing my thighs--I squirted a small puddle just from clit action. Squirting is such a random occurence for me--I've yet to find the right combination every time.
I guess I do have a bit of squirt envy. The porn I've seen where the girls are like FOUNTAINS--that totally amazes me. It looks like such an intense release, I'd love to be able to do that to a woman. Hell, I'm up for anyone to make ME do it--just to see if I have it in me. I don't want all the laundry that comes with it though. lol.
Off to pick up some of the clutter & hit the liquor store & maybe have a nice bubble bath.
And I might get lucky too. :D Roger & I have been fooling around for months, we've just never gone all the way. The flirting & teasing has been intense. Jack always encouraged it when he was sober--but if we were all drinking, he became territorial. Even if Sue & I were making out, he'd interrupt to pull the d/s strings & the next thing you know--I'd be kneeling beside him. Often with handprints on my behind. ~yum~ I do so love my sub chain yanked.
What to do? Roger or Sue? The dilemma of leaving one out, but I'm not quite in the mood for a threesome. When Jack lived here, I didn't have the guilt of leaving anyone out--we just paired off with each other's partners--be it talking or fondling or orgasms. Ahh well, booze does loosen me up--I may go pick up a small bottle.
I need a dom/sub session. I miss that power exchange. Plus--it's been two weeks since I've gotten laid. Yikes.
This morning I masturbated until my forearm muscles were sore. I used the same fantasy I've had since I was about 5 years old-truly. I've added a lot to it over the years, but it all relates back to being in a tent off of a small cliff in the woods & a 'caring' individual is attending to a wound on my upper thigh. Back then, it was just a camp counselor-like person lifting my nightgown to put a band-aid on. Now--it's much, much more than just a band-aid but it starts out the same way. Sometimes it's a man, sometimes a woman--sometimes both are tending to my different needs.
In any case, once I got started & had my first orgasm--the next several were easy to attain. Rolling the fantasy over in my mind & lifting my hips tensing my thighs--I squirted a small puddle just from clit action. Squirting is such a random occurence for me--I've yet to find the right combination every time.
I guess I do have a bit of squirt envy. The porn I've seen where the girls are like FOUNTAINS--that totally amazes me. It looks like such an intense release, I'd love to be able to do that to a woman. Hell, I'm up for anyone to make ME do it--just to see if I have it in me. I don't want all the laundry that comes with it though. lol.
Off to pick up some of the clutter & hit the liquor store & maybe have a nice bubble bath.
Tell me lies, sweet little lies..
In this case BIG FAT HAIRY lies. In all of my 'major' relationships with men--long-term dating, living together, married, living together again. I've been in love with LIARS. I must have some chemical reaction that says "Oh Sure, I'll believe ANYTHING...for a while & then I'll hate myself when I become suspicious & asking direct questions & mentioning little tid-bits in front of family & friends. So they can either stare at me like I'm the most naive person on the planet when it turns out to be a lie.
My ex husband, for instance, if his mouth was open, he was lying. Including "Do we have enough bread?" Oh yeah, we've got a LOT of bread. So I'd go & make the kids sandwiches...with heels. Because lying over bread is like-so-fucking-important. I'd get huffy & he'd start yelling...that wasn't what he said & then start twisting it around to make ME feel like an ass because We're Fighting Over Fucking Bread.
So you'd think I'd learn something from living with lies for 15+ years. Nope. I don't learn NUFFIN, cuz I'm thinking with a rock between my ears.
When I met Jack, he told me he was in the military for 12 years. Wow. 12 years. I respected him because of that. Most of the men (and a few women) in my family have served in every War & conflict dating back to the American Revolution. I have great admiration for those who serve.
Jack told in-depth stories to my son about airplanes, jets, submarines, guns, weapons--details of how he had PTS syndrome, how he'd act startled when fireworks went off. He was a great liar. He even went to college with help from his GI Bill. (ha)
In the past year, I've met Jack's parents twice. The second time I asked his mom for a military picture. She said "I don't know if we have one, but I'll look." I thought that was odd--how can you not have a picture of your son? (So I put it in my head that --maybe they just aren't "Picture People" like me & my family are. We take pictures of EVERYTHING. Bad haircuts, our cars, babies with messy faces, our flower beds, homes...you get it.) Jack was instantly pissed off at me, we left quickly & I've not seen his parents since.
I made him a cross-stitched bookmark with his military symbol & a flag as the backdrop and gave it to him for Veteran's Day. He acted embarrassed & said "But I didn't do that much." {foreshadowing people--I don't usually catch it but this one stuck out}
When Jack plays his MMORPG, he's on voice chat with his game buddies. Three out of four of them were in the same branch of military but at varying times. Jack was the highest rank among them & they all talked a lot of trash.
A few months later, Jack got really sick. Like walking pneumonia sick and he wasn't getting any better. He's allergic to the antibiotics I had on hand, so I couldn't even offer those. I was ready to take him to the emergency room one night but he just told me I was being overprotective. The next day I asked if I could make him an appt at the VA Hospital. He gave me a "NO, just DROP IT, I'll be fine." Mmmmk. Ten minutes later he fesses up--"I hit an officer & got a dishonorable discharge."
Damn. Shock. I still assumed he'd served SOME time. He just had too many details of things.
I've got to back up a little here. Jack's best friend & wife were the only friends of his we hung out with. Roger & Sue are also into bdsm, both are pagan, bi & poly and I've gotten really close with them. I discovered 5 months in--that Sue and Jack share a child. A 14 year old boy--who I never knew existed until I was in their kitchen & saw his picture on the fridge. Jack also has 3 other children by his ex-wife--whom he hasn't seen in years-nor paid support. Another story--for later on.
ANYWAY..when I needed to talk to someone about Jack & how to get him to move out--I called Roger & Sue. They welcomed me into their home and the Truth About Everything came spilling out. They were the only ones that knew about Jack and his past. And with all of my bad relationships of my ex's violent behavior--I needed to know what to expect. Is he going to punch me? Scream? Break shit? Also--another story for another time. He didn't get violent though.
The whole point of this long-winded drivel is...Jack was kicked out of BASIC TRAINING. He abandoned Sue when she was pregnant. He doesn't get a job very often--because he's 10-bazillion dollars behind in child support for his 3 kids. Sue's parents tricked her into signing over her & Jack's newborn son. (They've since healed & Sue's parents are still raising him.)
I feel like a complete fool. I want to tell my son eventually, just not right now. Maybe when Jack is completely out of the picture...I still have a ton of his crap here & I'd like to get my laptop back from him before we're totally severed.
I want a lie detector machine for my next relationship. And a background check. And maybe a private investigator.
My ex husband, for instance, if his mouth was open, he was lying. Including "Do we have enough bread?" Oh yeah, we've got a LOT of bread. So I'd go & make the kids sandwiches...with heels. Because lying over bread is like-so-fucking-important. I'd get huffy & he'd start yelling...that wasn't what he said & then start twisting it around to make ME feel like an ass because We're Fighting Over Fucking Bread.
So you'd think I'd learn something from living with lies for 15+ years. Nope. I don't learn NUFFIN, cuz I'm thinking with a rock between my ears.
When I met Jack, he told me he was in the military for 12 years. Wow. 12 years. I respected him because of that. Most of the men (and a few women) in my family have served in every War & conflict dating back to the American Revolution. I have great admiration for those who serve.
Jack told in-depth stories to my son about airplanes, jets, submarines, guns, weapons--details of how he had PTS syndrome, how he'd act startled when fireworks went off. He was a great liar. He even went to college with help from his GI Bill. (ha)
In the past year, I've met Jack's parents twice. The second time I asked his mom for a military picture. She said "I don't know if we have one, but I'll look." I thought that was odd--how can you not have a picture of your son? (So I put it in my head that --maybe they just aren't "Picture People" like me & my family are. We take pictures of EVERYTHING. Bad haircuts, our cars, babies with messy faces, our flower beds, homes...you get it.) Jack was instantly pissed off at me, we left quickly & I've not seen his parents since.
I made him a cross-stitched bookmark with his military symbol & a flag as the backdrop and gave it to him for Veteran's Day. He acted embarrassed & said "But I didn't do that much." {foreshadowing people--I don't usually catch it but this one stuck out}
When Jack plays his MMORPG, he's on voice chat with his game buddies. Three out of four of them were in the same branch of military but at varying times. Jack was the highest rank among them & they all talked a lot of trash.
A few months later, Jack got really sick. Like walking pneumonia sick and he wasn't getting any better. He's allergic to the antibiotics I had on hand, so I couldn't even offer those. I was ready to take him to the emergency room one night but he just told me I was being overprotective. The next day I asked if I could make him an appt at the VA Hospital. He gave me a "NO, just DROP IT, I'll be fine." Mmmmk. Ten minutes later he fesses up--"I hit an officer & got a dishonorable discharge."
Damn. Shock. I still assumed he'd served SOME time. He just had too many details of things.
I've got to back up a little here. Jack's best friend & wife were the only friends of his we hung out with. Roger & Sue are also into bdsm, both are pagan, bi & poly and I've gotten really close with them. I discovered 5 months in--that Sue and Jack share a child. A 14 year old boy--who I never knew existed until I was in their kitchen & saw his picture on the fridge. Jack also has 3 other children by his ex-wife--whom he hasn't seen in years-nor paid support. Another story--for later on.
ANYWAY..when I needed to talk to someone about Jack & how to get him to move out--I called Roger & Sue. They welcomed me into their home and the Truth About Everything came spilling out. They were the only ones that knew about Jack and his past. And with all of my bad relationships of my ex's violent behavior--I needed to know what to expect. Is he going to punch me? Scream? Break shit? Also--another story for another time. He didn't get violent though.
The whole point of this long-winded drivel is...Jack was kicked out of BASIC TRAINING. He abandoned Sue when she was pregnant. He doesn't get a job very often--because he's 10-bazillion dollars behind in child support for his 3 kids. Sue's parents tricked her into signing over her & Jack's newborn son. (They've since healed & Sue's parents are still raising him.)
I feel like a complete fool. I want to tell my son eventually, just not right now. Maybe when Jack is completely out of the picture...I still have a ton of his crap here & I'd like to get my laptop back from him before we're totally severed.
I want a lie detector machine for my next relationship. And a background check. And maybe a private investigator.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
That don't impress me much..
Jack lives an hour+ away now. He left behind quite a bit of crap. On purpose, I am sure. I'll be taking him his things in the next week or two. He's requesting TOMORROW--and hinting at how he doesn't have any soda. Or towels. Or money. Or food. Or a coffee pot. Or drinking glasses. Or internet connection that allows him to play his MMORPG. And that his game card expires Saturday. (I will take him 'some' of his things, I may even make him a box of household stuff I have extra off--but oopsie, I left my wallet at home. I'm not going to be taken advantage of anymore.)
I want to see him again, I do need some action. I miss sleeping beside him at night, our conversations & dammit--the d/s. The spankings that turned me into a writhing puddle. The way he used his fingers, my vibes & dildos on me. His voice alone can make me throb. He was generous handing out my orgasms. The way he would mix up some pain to heighten my endorphins would have me bubbling over. Climax on top of climax--I couldn't tell where one started and another one stopped. Just ride out the orgasm waves until the waves ceded into ripples.
But fucking? He just didn't impress me with his fucking skills. Same position, same rhythm, no change-up, no variations for so long that I even stopped instigating sex.
I want to see him again, I do need some action. I miss sleeping beside him at night, our conversations & dammit--the d/s. The spankings that turned me into a writhing puddle. The way he used his fingers, my vibes & dildos on me. His voice alone can make me throb. He was generous handing out my orgasms. The way he would mix up some pain to heighten my endorphins would have me bubbling over. Climax on top of climax--I couldn't tell where one started and another one stopped. Just ride out the orgasm waves until the waves ceded into ripples.
But fucking? He just didn't impress me with his fucking skills. Same position, same rhythm, no change-up, no variations for so long that I even stopped instigating sex.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Dog-sitting
For the last 10 days, we have been dog-sitting for my friends. We had watched him before for a 3-day jaunt earlier this summer & he was an angel, we barely even noticed he was here.
This time? Even my son wants to drop a brick on the dog's head.
My friends didn't bother to give him a bath before bringing Doggie over. He smells worse than a dead, puffy, rank skunk's ass after an onion-garlic-curry-bean buffet. Doggie REEKS. And, drumroll please--he has godAWFUL gas. He farts like a truck driver.
Teen's face swelled shut within 15 minutes of Doggie's arrival. She had to stay at my mom's for two days until she got an allergy shot. Son's asthma has been so bad he's had to go back on the nebulizer twice a day.
I can't bend by the bathtub to give him a bath & my kids can't do it without aggravating their allergies more.
He's learned to escape our fence, runs to the front porch and barks. We let him in the front door & then chase him right out the back door. It takes him another hour to figure out how to escape.
Doggie gets excited when we talk to him with animated Dog-Baby-Talk. We taunt him with "Do-you-want-to-go-outside-Dumbass?" And he wiggles & wags. "Oh Doggie, you reek like roadkill-do you want a treat? do-ya? do-ya?" Wags & more wiggles "We hate you Doggie--yes we do, oh Yes We Do!" That's the most amusement we've had dog-sitting. Getting him riled up only to trick his stupid ass back outside.
I'm praying my friends show up tonight--I know they are back in the state & I do not give a damn if they haven't slept in 22 hours--DOGGIE NEEDS TO GO.
p.s. I really would hate to smell their house after this vacation--they also have 3 cats. I've never had an indoor cat (highly allergic as well) but I don't think it's a grand idea to not have someone check on them. They just left out a bunch of food & water. Can you imagine the litter box? I gag just thinking about it.
This time? Even my son wants to drop a brick on the dog's head.
My friends didn't bother to give him a bath before bringing Doggie over. He smells worse than a dead, puffy, rank skunk's ass after an onion-garlic-curry-bean buffet. Doggie REEKS. And, drumroll please--he has godAWFUL gas. He farts like a truck driver.
Teen's face swelled shut within 15 minutes of Doggie's arrival. She had to stay at my mom's for two days until she got an allergy shot. Son's asthma has been so bad he's had to go back on the nebulizer twice a day.
I can't bend by the bathtub to give him a bath & my kids can't do it without aggravating their allergies more.
He's learned to escape our fence, runs to the front porch and barks. We let him in the front door & then chase him right out the back door. It takes him another hour to figure out how to escape.
Doggie gets excited when we talk to him with animated Dog-Baby-Talk. We taunt him with "Do-you-want-to-go-outside-Dumbass?" And he wiggles & wags. "Oh Doggie, you reek like roadkill-do you want a treat? do-ya? do-ya?" Wags & more wiggles "We hate you Doggie--yes we do, oh Yes We Do!" That's the most amusement we've had dog-sitting. Getting him riled up only to trick his stupid ass back outside.
I'm praying my friends show up tonight--I know they are back in the state & I do not give a damn if they haven't slept in 22 hours--DOGGIE NEEDS TO GO.
p.s. I really would hate to smell their house after this vacation--they also have 3 cats. I've never had an indoor cat (highly allergic as well) but I don't think it's a grand idea to not have someone check on them. They just left out a bunch of food & water. Can you imagine the litter box? I gag just thinking about it.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Crazy...
Are you humming Patsy Cline? No? You should be. Willie Nelson is an incredible songwriter, Patsy's version is still my favorite though.
I passed for crazy, but prolly failed the psych. exam. Whichever one helps my family--that's the one I want.
The day was destined for greatness. No coffee in the house. Four hours of sleep. My mom was supposed to come, my daughter was going to ride along just in case we'd go shopping afterwards. (because you know--EVERYTHING revolves around teenage girls). Mom bailed, kid bailed and they made me late leaving. I had 25 minutes to make a 40 minute trip. And, I haven't been in this section of town in nearly 7 yrs, so I was just guessing where the shrink's office was located.
It's Murphy's Law that when you are in need of speeding ferociously not ONLY will there be CONSTRUCTION but you will get behind:
a) Snail Elderly Person who is afraid of going over 45mph-they can barely see over the dash & are white-knuckling the steering wheel,
b) Testosterone Truck who will speed up & slow down only because he sees a person READY TO PASS,
c) Cranked-Out Mom swerving in her obscene Hummer--while she's talking on her cellphone & leaning to the backseat to swat at her kids,
d) various city & county vehicles including garbage truck, school or city bus, dump trucks
and you will hit every red light too.
Even with the odds against me, I passed at each safe opportunity. I floored passed Snails & Testes & Cranked-Out Mom, flying in my boat of a car. When I hit red lights, I'd quickly check my lane & turn right to make a detour. I zigged & zagged and cut across back roads. My poor car hasn't seen this speed in years-I think it liked it. (I didn't speed in Construction Zones, I'd rather be late than put someone else at risk.)
Whew! I had 6 minutes to spare...and I'm within a ten-block radius. Not too bad, except that I'm in a downtown area that is a mess of One-Way Streets. There is a lot of construction, missing road signs, but the traffic wasn't too bad. I finally figure out that I'm just 4 blocks south of where I need to be. I drove to the corner & notice...ummm..there is Four Lanes o' Traffic FACING me. Yeah--FACING ME.
I am going the Wrong way on a ONE-WAY STREET. Lo & behold, in that line of traffic facing me, what is there? A City Bus, A Hummer, A Police Car & a Dump Truck.
panic:what-to-do-what-to-do & repeat.
The policeman flips on his light & flies up to my window. I start saying I'm so sorry, so sorry. I didn't see the sign.
He pulls off his sunglasses & says "You ain't from around here, are ya?"
"No, I'm from The Little Town."
He shakes his head, waves me off & I start to turn & he screams "PAY ATTENTION"
I'm so shaken that I want to pull over, but I can't miss this appointment. I'm so grateful that the policeman was just disgusted with me & wanted me out of his face quickly. I'm glad only three people laid on their horns & cussed me out.
I nervously edge myself to the shrink's office, get inside, fill out the forms & wait until she calls me in.
She introduces herself, I went to shake her hand & she backs up, holding her hands up--oooookayyyy-that was awkward, we sit & she starts to interview me. Medical & mental histories clear back up the family tree. When this? Who that? How much?
And then she caught me off guard...
"Starting at 100 subtract 7"
93
"And again"
oh crap. I quickly try to get my mind in Math Mode
86. Whew. Dang, I've not used my brain cells in a while, seriously.
I take a deep cleansing breath. Glad that was over.
"Continue subtracting 7 until you get to zero."
That was the straw that did me in. Running late, no caffeine, a wrong turn on OneWay Street and now fucking Math? Really? MATH?
So that's when the tears started, she got quite excited asking questions faster, writing furiously, digging deeper into Why I'm Fucked Up and she would love to be my shrink but she's all full up of crazy.
Whatever. She doesn't have tissue. And those One Way Streets are a bitch.
I passed for crazy, but prolly failed the psych. exam. Whichever one helps my family--that's the one I want.
The day was destined for greatness. No coffee in the house. Four hours of sleep. My mom was supposed to come, my daughter was going to ride along just in case we'd go shopping afterwards. (because you know--EVERYTHING revolves around teenage girls). Mom bailed, kid bailed and they made me late leaving. I had 25 minutes to make a 40 minute trip. And, I haven't been in this section of town in nearly 7 yrs, so I was just guessing where the shrink's office was located.
It's Murphy's Law that when you are in need of speeding ferociously not ONLY will there be CONSTRUCTION but you will get behind:
a) Snail Elderly Person who is afraid of going over 45mph-they can barely see over the dash & are white-knuckling the steering wheel,
b) Testosterone Truck who will speed up & slow down only because he sees a person READY TO PASS,
c) Cranked-Out Mom swerving in her obscene Hummer--while she's talking on her cellphone & leaning to the backseat to swat at her kids,
d) various city & county vehicles including garbage truck, school or city bus, dump trucks
and you will hit every red light too.
Even with the odds against me, I passed at each safe opportunity. I floored passed Snails & Testes & Cranked-Out Mom, flying in my boat of a car. When I hit red lights, I'd quickly check my lane & turn right to make a detour. I zigged & zagged and cut across back roads. My poor car hasn't seen this speed in years-I think it liked it. (I didn't speed in Construction Zones, I'd rather be late than put someone else at risk.)
Whew! I had 6 minutes to spare...and I'm within a ten-block radius. Not too bad, except that I'm in a downtown area that is a mess of One-Way Streets. There is a lot of construction, missing road signs, but the traffic wasn't too bad. I finally figure out that I'm just 4 blocks south of where I need to be. I drove to the corner & notice...ummm..there is Four Lanes o' Traffic FACING me. Yeah--FACING ME.
I am going the Wrong way on a ONE-WAY STREET. Lo & behold, in that line of traffic facing me, what is there? A City Bus, A Hummer, A Police Car & a Dump Truck.
panic:what-to-do-what-to-do & repeat.
The policeman flips on his light & flies up to my window. I start saying I'm so sorry, so sorry. I didn't see the sign.
He pulls off his sunglasses & says "You ain't from around here, are ya?"
"No, I'm from The Little Town."
He shakes his head, waves me off & I start to turn & he screams "PAY ATTENTION"
I'm so shaken that I want to pull over, but I can't miss this appointment. I'm so grateful that the policeman was just disgusted with me & wanted me out of his face quickly. I'm glad only three people laid on their horns & cussed me out.
I nervously edge myself to the shrink's office, get inside, fill out the forms & wait until she calls me in.
She introduces herself, I went to shake her hand & she backs up, holding her hands up--oooookayyyy-that was awkward, we sit & she starts to interview me. Medical & mental histories clear back up the family tree. When this? Who that? How much?
And then she caught me off guard...
"Starting at 100 subtract 7"
93
"And again"
oh crap. I quickly try to get my mind in Math Mode
86. Whew. Dang, I've not used my brain cells in a while, seriously.
I take a deep cleansing breath. Glad that was over.
"Continue subtracting 7 until you get to zero."
That was the straw that did me in. Running late, no caffeine, a wrong turn on OneWay Street and now fucking Math? Really? MATH?
So that's when the tears started, she got quite excited asking questions faster, writing furiously, digging deeper into Why I'm Fucked Up and she would love to be my shrink but she's all full up of crazy.
Whatever. She doesn't have tissue. And those One Way Streets are a bitch.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
What do I do
with all these purple whiskey sacks? I've saved them for years, given some to friends & I still have enough to cover my kitchen floor. (and yeah, I did actually lay them out.)
My kids keep little toys & trinkets in them--they are great marble bags. But I just don't have the nerve to throw them away.
My girlfriend & I think making a purple and gold quilt would be gorgeous. And then, of course, when my mom saw it, she'd go from *thinking* I'm a part-time social drinker to *OMG I need to go to the Betty*. Hell, she thinks I need to anyway because of my meds.
I started drinking really young. My dad owned a liquor store and I'd sneak those little one-shot bottles into my backpack. And then I started really liking getting a buzz--so I'd snitch a big bottle from time to time. They never noticed in the inventory because--my dad drank a lot. I hid my big bottles in my 1978 giant stereo speakers. My parents really had no idea.
I'm not friends with Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker or Jim Beam anymore. They all betrayed me. Even Old Grandad is an asshole. So I switched to Crown about 8-ok maybe 10- years ago & only twice has it caused me to you know--have raging puking spells & god-awful hangovers. A couple of weeks ago I was insane enough to hit the bottle of Maker's. Yummy stuff going down, not-so-much later on. I loathe sleeping on the bathroom floor & praying that my kids don't find me there. Or the coroner.
When I'm low on cash, I'll buy Canadian Club. It's nearly 1/2 of the price & hasn't offended me yet. But for the most part, a bottle of Crown lasts me two months--so it's not like I'm spending my kids' lunch money on booze.
I just don't know what to do with all of the purple bags.
My kids keep little toys & trinkets in them--they are great marble bags. But I just don't have the nerve to throw them away.
My girlfriend & I think making a purple and gold quilt would be gorgeous. And then, of course, when my mom saw it, she'd go from *thinking* I'm a part-time social drinker to *OMG I need to go to the Betty*. Hell, she thinks I need to anyway because of my meds.
I started drinking really young. My dad owned a liquor store and I'd sneak those little one-shot bottles into my backpack. And then I started really liking getting a buzz--so I'd snitch a big bottle from time to time. They never noticed in the inventory because--my dad drank a lot. I hid my big bottles in my 1978 giant stereo speakers. My parents really had no idea.
I'm not friends with Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker or Jim Beam anymore. They all betrayed me. Even Old Grandad is an asshole. So I switched to Crown about 8-ok maybe 10- years ago & only twice has it caused me to you know--have raging puking spells & god-awful hangovers. A couple of weeks ago I was insane enough to hit the bottle of Maker's. Yummy stuff going down, not-so-much later on. I loathe sleeping on the bathroom floor & praying that my kids don't find me there. Or the coroner.
When I'm low on cash, I'll buy Canadian Club. It's nearly 1/2 of the price & hasn't offended me yet. But for the most part, a bottle of Crown lasts me two months--so it's not like I'm spending my kids' lunch money on booze.
I just don't know what to do with all of the purple bags.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
It's obvious
that I don't know what I'm doing.
I've not yet learned how to post a link & it be an underlined word.
I have no clue how to post a photo & have the 'click thru' action.
I'm not highly fond of the generic layout, but it works so far.
I don't even know how to check if anyone has been here & read this drivel. Or if it's possible thru blogger?
I need to take some obscure photos of myself. I need to hone my writing skills badly. What is sad is--I was once a writer and a proof reader. All that info left the building since I've not used my brain in a while.
I need to apply at several different websites to see if I can be a reviewer. And eventually perhaps generate a small amount of income somehow. I'd like to get a random check in the mail for $5 from time to time. Those are happy mail days, when unexpected loot shows up. Mama needs her sthmokes.
Be patient, I'm learning. Feel free to send me a "blogs for dummies" site-if you know of one. I'm digging around the Help section & ooopsie--something shiny caught my eye.
I've said "I" about forty-eleventy thousand times in the last 4 days.
Sorry.
I've not yet learned how to post a link & it be an underlined word.
I have no clue how to post a photo & have the 'click thru' action.
I'm not highly fond of the generic layout, but it works so far.
I don't even know how to check if anyone has been here & read this drivel. Or if it's possible thru blogger?
I need to take some obscure photos of myself. I need to hone my writing skills badly. What is sad is--I was once a writer and a proof reader. All that info left the building since I've not used my brain in a while.
I need to apply at several different websites to see if I can be a reviewer. And eventually perhaps generate a small amount of income somehow. I'd like to get a random check in the mail for $5 from time to time. Those are happy mail days, when unexpected loot shows up. Mama needs her sthmokes.
Be patient, I'm learning. Feel free to send me a "blogs for dummies" site-if you know of one. I'm digging around the Help section & ooopsie--something shiny caught my eye.
I've said "I" about forty-eleventy thousand times in the last 4 days.
Sorry.
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