Because Sephi needed company, I'm wearing pigtails today. I don't really care who knows it, nor does it bother me. And I won't be taking pictures. But why would I lie; unlike her, I'm not getting anything out of this at all.
This is not a meme. I am not trying to start Pigtail Thursdays. I'm just proving that it's just a silly hairstyle. Which wiggles charmingly when you do certain things. You just have to get into the spirit of it.
That is all.
We all know I love answering questions, and while I prefer to answer the sexy kind, I'm perfectly okay with answering the somewhat less sexy kind. Who knows, maybe I can twist a few of these into sexy.
Ron was nice enough to comment and ask me these five questions:
1. How many TVs do you have in your home?
We have two, but not really. The main TV is old as dirt and the other TV is tiny and black and white. I think they probably add up to about 1/3 of a modern TV, and since we only get broadcast TV (and a very narrow band of that) we barely have TV at all. I know, I'm living in the Stone Age. Except I don't want a better TV and I definitely don't want the temptation of cable. I waste enough time as it is.
2. What is in your bedside table (nightstand)?
I don't have a nightstand. I'd love to say that I have this wonderful little room, all clean and girly and filled with objet-d'art and such, but it would be a total lie. I'm cluttered. Beside my bed, I tend to have a bunch of books (with more in the bookcases close by, but I keep the ones I'm working on or want to work on right there), a box of Kleenex (not for the sexy reason, but because I suffer from terrible sinuses), and often some lube and perhaps a toy or two. Yes, I'm one of those gals who leave sex stuff lying around my room. This surprises you? Hell, my family has lube in every room of the house. Common sense.
3. How many pairs of shoes do you own?
1 pair of all-purpose sneakers. 1 pair of work boots. 1 pair of slopping around shoes to slip on when I don't feel like dealing with bare feet. 3 pairs of dressy shoes that go with pretty much anything I care to wear. And then I have the frivolous shoes that are basically costume, the ridiculous ones that I never wear. I hated shopping for them, and I keep them somewhere out of the way because I don't want to deal with them, but occasionally the moment calls for heels in gold and I have the shoe bin to draw upon. Not all of them are even mine; I'm fortunate in that I have two sisters and a mother who wear shoes I can sometimes fit into as well. So I'm counting 6 pairs of actual shoes. I am not a shoe girl. No offense to those who are, but I'm definitely more of a panties girl. Those, I own way too many of and actually enjoy shopping for.
4. Can you change a flat tire?
Debatable. It would depend on a number of factors. If I'm in a well-lit place, free of crime, dry, wearing appropriate attire, and I happen to have all the supplies needed, I think I could make a stab at it. I definitely know how, and I've done it once or twice. But in a bad neighborhood in the dark in the rain wearing a miniskirt, hell no. I've never had the perfect storm in that way, but I've certainly had enough of those factors to say, "Nope, my pride is sufficient that I can get someone else to change this tire." I'm not a car person. I get the mechanic to do things I know I could probably do myself, but I don't want to fuck about with cars. Give me a carpentry project and I'll do it. Ask me to fix your car and I'll stare blankly.
5. Do you prefer sweet treats or salty treats?
"Treats" implies sweet to me. But I don't always go for sweet. Often, I want salty. Sometimes I want both (ah, honey roasting, my old nemesis). I couldn't say; I love chocolate, but I don't like sickly sweet things. And sometimes I want something sweet. If it's what I want, I'll take it. Bring me exactly what I want!
Thanks Ron. I always take questions via comment, even if the comment is off-topic to the post you post it on. Of course, you can email me as well at lexinaughtygirly[AT]gmail.com (I trust you humans can figure out how to convert that into an email address). But I don't mind comments one bit. Helps me fool myself into thinking someone actually reads this drivel.
A friend of mine forwarded this series of images to me totally out of the blue which were just too sexy not to share. My apologies if you've seen them already. I have no idea where they come from, so I can't give proper attribution.
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"And in the semi-autonomous region of Abkhazia, I think... three regiments should do it." She was on a roll. "Now, turning to Chechnya..."
Her firm breasts, pouting lips, high, proud buttocks... who would have thought she was the most brilliant military mind of the age, perhaps of any age. I longed to penetrate her defenses, assault her rear echelon, ram my offensive column through the weak section in her line. But I was far too stupid for her.
"Sir!" My adjutant broke through the door, as expected, and his voice was shocked, as expected. He averted his eyes as I scowled at him. "Sir... dispatches from the Second Army."
He'd seen her at my desk, leaning over, totally naked. To his eyes, defiantly, she awaited my command. As it should be. As she wanted him to see her.
But once he left, red-faced, she looked down coldly at my hand which lingered on her thigh, though purely for appearances I assured her, and I quickly removed it. "Come, General," she said with a sigh. "Remember the parts we play and when we play them. Back to the map."
I'm trying, I really am, but I seem unable to have any happy endings. I suppose this is happier than sad, but there's limited sex going on. I do love the idea of a brilliant military mind planning her conquests totally naked.
A few things: in case you were wondering what the Hell the title means, BOQ stands for Bachelor Officer's Quarters. I trust you see the connection now (maybe not). Yes, I did only write this because I wanted to write erotica featuring the words, "semi-autonomous region" (hey PB, how about that for a phrase to work in?) and it seemed somewhat more East than West, so I went for Russian problems. Also, I like Russia. Feel free to read two other place names into it if you're so inclined (Mongolia and Korea, respectively, would work for a Far East flavor of apocalyptic militaria). And the phrase... limiting in the extreme. I know I've been told I can dispense with them, but that seems like cheating. Not that I'm complaining, really; this week's phrase gave me pause, that's all.
I've got nothing else to say. I can't live up to the vaunted expectations for my FFF post-game show this week, I guess. For all those looking to read an epic treatment of my mental process, why not try out Flash Fiction Friday next week and write an epic mental process treatment of your own? The only thing stopping you is your lack of participation.
So Kara and Jess posted another one of these silly Q/A things, and because I'm a sucker for them even when all I do is make fun of them and answer questions with more questions, and because it gives me something to post, I decided to steal it. Since they stole it from Sunday Stealing, which in turn stole it from high schoolers, I couldn't resist. I mean, how often do I get to appropriate memes from high schoolers? It's long, since I cut out the middle man and grabbed the whole thing from the high school blog which means the questions are silly and juvenile. I don't do this often. Deal with it.
I saw a video the other day with a creampie (everything's better with a creampie) and then afterward the camera zoomed in and the man instructed the girl to push out the cream. Which got me thinking about the difference between porn and real life, as is my wont.
In real life, I don't push cum out of myself usually. I don't want the cream to leave; it always does, but I don't want to rush it. Sure, sometimes I've done it because I was cleaning up, or because another gal was in on the action and wanted to taste, but usually when that happens it's a collaborative effort; she's eating me out and I'm pushing it out and together we have a good time.
I always thought that guys who want to watch me pushing cum out of myself were missing the point and being stupid. What, they didn't trust me? They thought I somehow faked the whole thing, that my cunt was connected to a vacuum cleaner and their cream hadn't really filled me? They demanded proof that it was still there?
But I realized something; it's hot to watch. I've never seen myself do it, so maybe it's not hot to watch me push cream out, but it is with some other women. Porn tends to show just the business end, which can be hot if the girl has sufficient muscle to really push. I've seen some very attractive pussies (and you can't always say that about porn stars) straining, legs wide-spread, to force themselves shallower and shallower, as cum drools down. I prefer it when the girl is on her back with legs open, or even pulled back; it presents a better picture. Naturally, this is porn; I would never expect someone to do it in real life.
The thing that porn misses, though, is the rest of the body. Watching a woman strain can be sexy as hell, even if she doesn't particularly get going in the pelvic area. I've cum trying to push cum out of myself. There can be this adorable tension in the body and the face. I'm not looking for suffering, but earnest effort. It's like a variation on the orgasm face, except whereas many women get this overcome look on their faces when they cum, when they're straining, they look totally different. It may also have something to do with my impregnation fetish; it's a labor face rather than an orgasm face, I guess.
So I've made my peace with the idea. Life isn't porn, and most times, it's better to just lie with your partner after, feeling the warmth of his cum spreading inside you, his cock still there too, bodies entwined (that is, if your partner is a guy; if not, your mileage may vary). But sometimes, I'm going to be okay with a little show. In fact, I can't wait to try it with Sveta, both of us getting cum and then letting the other watch as we push it back out again (of course, there will be a minimum of watching I'm sure because we won't be able to sit back and watch that for long, at least I won't).
In summation, if you're one of those people who enjoys watching a woman push the cum out, I was wrong. If we ever meet, you need only ask. For myself, I prefer to keep the cum in as long as I can, but I understand now why you feel the way you do. Oh, but one thing; cum that won't come out, cum that was so deep inside me that it takes forever to drip out, that's just incredibly sexy.
I'm sensing something of a theme recently. I think I need to get more creampies right away. Perhaps I'll talk to Mike about upping my dosage.
Mike's back. Not permanently; he's making a layover on the job hunt, which he says is going about as well as can be expected in the current economic climate. I translate that to mean that he's not having a hell of a lot of luck finding anything other than waiter work, and he's not interested in being a waiter. Not that I blame him, with all the high-priced learnin' he's got.
This is obviously a good thing even if it's also a bad things because I love having Mike around and have been reaping the whirlwind of his affections regularly. Sveta is insanely jealous, although I keep hearing hints from her that she's got something I can be jealous about too. She may want to tell me in person. I'm okay with that idea as long as it means she'll be here in person soonest (and also that she tells me while my mouth is full, since I don't want her talking with hers full). Totally selfless, that's me. Mike said he might swing up to visit her when he leaves, and I want to go in the worst way, but I couldn't because that would mean I'd have to find some other way home since Mike won't be coming back. Maybe I can swing it.
Anyway, Mike and I have friends who invited us (and Sheri, actually, but she wasn't available) to celebrate their one-year anniversary with them last weekend with a bunch of other people, house party, swimming pool, all that good crap. They actually rented several houses (cottages really, but with sufficient sleeping space) and although I was hesitant to do it because of the distances involved and my general lack of time to do much of anything, Mike talked me into it. I wanted to go to see some people and to congratulate my friends, but I didn't want to party. Ah well.
Of course, the timing worked out perfectly (for "perfectly" read the exact opposite) and I was ragging the whole trip, which pretty much removed one of my social options right off the bat. As it turned out, the party was large and not my scene at all (I'm not a big party person, really, particularly with a lot of people and nothing to do but drink) and most of the people there were unavailable anyway. I'm getting ahead of myself and I don't want to cast too much of a pall over the weekend.
We did stop at this wonderful little rest area on the interstate on the way up (I'm sounding like a terrible travel brochure now) with a scenic overlook that rather inspired us. I don't like to drive in skirts, but I wish I had because it would have made things easier. As it was, we found a secluded spot, pulled our collective pants down (now there's an idea whose time has come) and Mike fucked my ass a bit awkwardly because our legs were trapped together by pulled-down waistbands. The breeze was cool (thank God it cooled down a bit over the weekend), the sky was blue, the clouds were white, the birds were singing, and the cock was hard and satisfying sliding in and out of my anus, especially after we got into the rhythm and were past the initial awkwardness.
Mike knew I was bleeding, so in the interests of neatness more than anything else (he knows I'm not that big a fan of being fucked while bleeding unless cleanup is immediate and thorough) he just did mostly clit work with his fingers while he took me hard, and I don't know what other people who stopped there might have heard but no one looked at us askance when we came out of the bushes. Maybe they wished they could have joined us. Cum oozed out into my panties throughout the rest of the trip, which started out pleasant but finally I had to pull over again and clean myself up a bit, then despite really, really wanting to, I discouraged Mike from spoiling my clean-up efforts by leaving another load in my ass. That was really tough. Basically, all I'd wanted that day was to stay home and make love in the comfort of my own bed. Ah well. The panties were sacrificed to cum cleanup and wound up in the back seat of my car (where they are still, since I forgot to take them out again at the end of the trip; I don't want to think about how disgusting they are right now). I went commando for the rest of the trip, which wasn't as pleasant as it could have been because of having to sit in the car. One thing panties were made for was car trips. Much more comfortable, at least to me.
We got there, and apparently it was 5 o'clock somewhere because drinks were already being had. Big drinking crowd, this. I had a drink or two because there wasn't much else to do and I was thirsty, plus I kind of wanted to see if maybe getting a bit tipsy might help improve my mood. Sadly, no dice. I was tired after the long drive and I was pissy because I knew I probably wouldn't be getting any. I know, some gals might have taken the opportunity to suck some cock, but I wasn't up for that, even if it had been on offer. As I said, my ideal would have been me and Mike, still at home, still in bed, stuck together by the juices of amore.
There was celebration, but I'll draw the curtain on that because it was your basic party stuff only with wedding overtones. It seemed like all the people there were married and younger than I was, which wasn't true but made me feel old although not in a rush to get married. There were a few singles, but no one for me, plus, remember, the rag. I'm not going to ask a total stranger into the pool if there's red tide in there. My social agenda, therefore, was somewhat stilted. I think it would have been anyway though; I didn't get the real sense that any of the very few single guys were interested in me, and the bi ladies didn't appear to be in attendance at all.
Mike tried to cheer me up, convince me to have more fun, even copped a few feels, but these were not people who knew anything about our family life, so I put the kibosh on that. The only way I was having any of it would have been if he'd come with me to our assigned room, and he didn't want to leave the party. And, to be honest, I wasn't feeling that sexy; I was sober in a room of partiers, I was ragging, and no one seemed to give a shit. I spent most of the time talking to the few people I did know, which was nice enough, but there were too many other people. I'm bitching again. At a certain point, Mike gave up on me and moved on to greener pastures, bu which I mean he got a little drunk and started hitting on this older woman. This older, married woman. Older than me, anyway; probably Sheri's age. I don't have anything against him going after her, really, but it did make me jealous and there was little or nothing I could do about it. Her husband wasn't there and according to Mike she had an "open marriage" so whatever. He's not a home-wrecker, and I would have been jealous if he'd been hitting on a single guy, so I don't even know why I mention her age or marital status.
I went to my assigned bed in one of the cottages at a certain point when the party had pretty much devolved into lots of drinking and not much else because I was just tired and didn't want to watch other people have fun while seemingly being unable to do so myself. It was either be a downer at the party or in my bed, and I chose discretion. About an hour later, as I was falling asleep, Mike and the woman came in, all over each other (Mike was assigned to sleep in the same room, I suppose on the assumption that we wouldn't mind rather than that we'd like to be in the same room for sex). She saw me and said something, to which he replied, "She's asleep and she doesn't care." I almost told him I wasn't and I did, but they had nowhere else to go and while I was really jealous and kind of pissy at this point, I was still polite. So I stayed quiet. Others might judge me harshly, but it was hardly the first time I'd been in a room with Mike while he had sex. Even with another person. Even with someone I didn't know.
I wanted more than anything to "wake up" and offer to join in and see what happened, but I didn't. I was a wuss. Instead, I got to lie there and listen as Mike fucked this woman seventeen ways to Sunday. She was either really into it or faking, and I suspect the former (he's my brother, I have to suspect the former). They tried to be quiet at first but once they got into it, she was moaning every time he thrust. He fucked her once, then ate her out for what seemed like hours, then started fucking her again.
I was insanely jealous of this bitch. Not the good kind of jealousy either; I wanted her dead. In the cold light of morning I don't feel so good about that, but at the time it was a seething pot of jealousy and hatred and intense horniness that drove me crazy. I even rolled over at a certain point, when it sounded like they were too into it to care, and took a look at the action. She was nothing. A bit pudgy, droopy breasts, flabby thighs; not in my league at all. Or so I told myself at the time. It didn't help. If he'd come back alone, I would have cheerfully let him fuck my ass all night if he wanted. But no.
The next day, I was tired (I finally got to sleep while they were still at it by passing out), grumpy, hormonal, and still horny. But I managed to cut off my nose to spite my face by being incredibly cool to Mike, even though the woman had left and he was obviously perfectly willing to help me cope with at least one of my problems. We could have had a nice morning, but instead I was a jerk and didn't talk to him.
Finally, on the drive home, he asked me, "You were awake last night, weren't you?"
And it all came out, all the jealousy and resentment and nerves and all of it. We pulled over (we were still on smaller roads at that point) and yelled at each other. Why rehash the stupid shit we said. I was angry at him for doing something perfectly okay, and he was angry at me because I was angry at him and thus had left him no option but to pursue the thing for which I was angry at him. Mostly my fault in hindsight. Perhaps "mostly" might even be a very charitable understatement.
Then we drove some in angry silence. I think both of us were done being pissed, but we didn't want to admit it. Finally, I asked him, "So how was she?"
"Fat, old, and loose," he said with a slight grin. I could tell he was exaggerating at the very least. Possibly outright lying. While I might have put her down in the looks department while I was mad and tired, I doubt highly that she was loose, and she certainly wasn't old or fat, just a bit more fleshy than perhaps is my taste. But he was trying to make me feel better.
"So why did you fuck her then?"
"To make you jealous." Now he was grinning. I risked life and limb to punch him in the arm and then give him a kiss, then swerved back onto the road. I'm really glad the police weren't watching. And that there were no small children present.
So we made up. And at a rest stop on the way back, we made up properly. I confess I still had a lingering resentment and almost didn't want to let him put his cock anywhere near me until he at least took a shower and washed the bitch off. Not proud of that. Ordinarily, I couldn't care less who Mike fucks. I cheerfully take sloppy seconds. In the end, fortunately, I let him kiss me, and forgot all about anything else, and his cock probed my ass and then slid in. I pressed hard and came on him. It was a pent-up orgasm, like I'd been holding it in, and after it was done the next one was no struggle at all, like I'd worked out something and now could cum easily and freely.
Thus, my weekend trip (in case you were wondering, I had Mike's computer with me and he let me check things on it, which is why I was able to still be connected) was okay, at the end. I had not the most wonderful party on record, but I got to see some people I hadn't seen in ages. And when we got home, the feminine curse had all but stopped to the point where we took a shower (that felt great, just to be clean) and Mike gave my little pink pussy a nice long wash before thoroughly plundering its depths until I was crying his name.
Having spent all that time talking about family drama, I'm not totally sure why I told this story, except that it was kind of sexy and interesting. I've had worse weekends, and I'm not complaining. If anything, I'm somewhat ashamed of my feelings and actions. I try hard not to be a jealous person, which is important in my life, but in this case I failed. Let it be an object lesson to all; even if you're polymorphous perverse (or whatever the hell I am) and don't believe in monogamy, you can still get jealous. Be on your guard. It's not a healthy feeling. But Mike's back and we're not really angry at each other, and I get at least a week before he has to head out again, so in the balance, I could give a shit about the rest of it.
Down there, where the waves meet the sand, they say you can sometimes see her footprints from the night when the bride went to marry the sea god. They say she went naked, but that's the way these stories go. And, if you can believe them, she was beautiful, but after all aren't they all beautiful, the brides in stories?
Perhaps there is a mote of truth to it, a tale buried inside the stories that isn't pure fancy. Perhaps a girl did go to the water like a lover, walking out to be kissed by the spray, deeper and deeper. Perhaps there is a sea god, and they met in the crash of waves, and she was splashed with pure heat as he spent himself on her.
But what do they know? The sea is cold, and what the waves take is lost.
Once again, though I've managed to have a bit of sexual tension, this is rather more wistful than sexy. I would like to have gone with my first impulse, which was to make a joke based on the fact that obviously this girl is a record-breaking squirter, but the preceding phrase was about as far as that idea got me.
I'd like to think that there are two sides to the story: the narrator is obviously jaded and cynical, but the picture is more magical, willing to believe that the tales are true (it really is a beautiful picture this week). Which side you fall on is entirely up to you. I think our narrator would like to believe, but she's seen too much of the terrible side of the sea to think that it might love as well as destroy. She's damaged. Perhaps she once harbored (God, no pun intended, really, really) the idea of going down to the sea herself.
Like all metaphors, it loses something when it's explained, and so I'll let it speak for itself.
Speaking of speaking for oneself, you can speak for yourself by joining us next Friday for another exciting episode of Flash Fiction Friday. Or at least read everyone else's stories from this week. I can't link to them because I'm writing this before the links are up, but you can go to PB's site and find them easily enough. And if you are one of those people who've participated this week, isn't it great? Flash Fiction Friday, I mean, not my particular fictional accretion. Isn't Flash Fiction Friday great? There's a question worth answering.
In keeping with the recent random thoughts and filler, today I thought I'd take up the discussion of semen. Specifically, my feelings toward it, although I'll accept your feelings toward it as well if you want to tell me about them. I'm not calling it cum because I want to differentiate between all the other aspects of that word, and while semen is a more clinical term, I'm going with it.
First off, I love semen (I had to stop myself typing "cum" just now). Without it, many of my favorite things wouldn't be possible (to say nothing of life itself). I can't understand why people are scared of it, but then I guess people are grossed out by snot too. But it seems like semen and snot occupy two different categories of gross; if you've got snot on your nose, that's one thing, but semen is another completely. People who cheerfully hornk snotballs on public sidewalks would no more cum on a public sidewalk than they would lick that sidewalk to clean it. I personally think neither of them is particularly good to do. But blowing your nose and rubbing one out are essentially the same thing to me; one takes longer, but both involve fluids and Kleenex emerging. Enough about semen and snot; I think semen is way better.
I most enjoy semen inside me. I am a huge creampie junkie, as readers of this blog are well aware. There's just something about the feeling of it, when it happens and after, and even if it's such a small feeling that I can't even feel it, I still like the idea. It's a little about pregnancy and femininity, but I would still like to be creamed by a man who was guaranteed to be completely without sperm in his semen. For creampies I enjoy thick, gooey semen more than thin, but thin can sometimes be very nice too, particularly when there's a lot of it. When I get a guy who hasn't cum in ages and his orgasm is both strong and watery, that can be very nice while it's happening. It's just that after, the semen runs out more easily and the consistency isn't quite the same. But that's ideally. In practice, I'll take it whatever it is.
Second to that, I like semen on the lower half of my body, even as far as my breasts. Semen on me is fun too, but it needs to be cleaned up fairly quickly otherwise it gets kind of ookie. Obviously, if a guy is going to pull out and cum on me, I love it if there's another gal (or even another guy who's into that kind of thing) around to clean it up after. But I'll do my own dirty work. Some people have asked me why I prefer a guy to cum on me than to cum in my mouth, and in truth, it's a close call, and that preference chances. It's a textural thing for me, I think; I like feeling it on my skin. Again, thick and gooey is more enjoyable in this case than thin and watery, perhaps even more than with creampies because thin tends to make a mess and is harder to gather up and clean off with my tongue.
I know some guys really get off on pearl necklaces, but I prefer it on my belly or the small of my back if we were doing rear entry before he came. I don't really have the tits for tit-fucking, so there's another reason I get fewer pearl necklaces. And, as I reveal later, there are preferential reasons as well. I'll still let a guy cum wherever he wants, within reason, but if I get asked, I don't go neck first.
In close third is swallowing. I'm perfectly okay with swallowing, and I don't spit if a guy cums in my mouth (except by accident). I've honestly never been able to understand why women spit; if you've got it on your tongue already, just swallow it. If you're not going to let him cum in your mouth at all, that's different, but if you've tasted it, why not just swallow. Of course, there are times when letting it drool out over your chin can be sexy, but you can then gather it up again and swallow it. Saves on towels, for one thing. But it's okay; there are things I won't do that seem perfectly normal to some people. I just don't understand the reasoning.
I enjoy the taste of semen; it's usually fairly mild. That's why I don't understand why people have such a problem with it; it's not like eating shit. There's relatively little taste. The smell does put some people off, and I admit that, of all things about semen, I like the smell the least. And since taste is to a large extent just smell, I can see why people wouldn't like the taste. Still, fresh semen, right from the tap, is usually just fine.
Lastly on the menu, we come to my least favorite (but that's like saying my least favorite gold comes from Peru), facials. As I discussed a long time ago, I must have very acidic tears because semen doesn't burn my eyes as it does with some people, but still, it's not something I want to do. I don't like it when it gets in my hair either, or up my nose. Basically, a facial is just a mouthful of cum that missed to me, and thus I get all the minuses of mouthfuls of cum without the pluses.
When I was younger, I believed (perhaps stupidly) that semen helped my complexion, so I had Mike cum on my face more often than I would have otherwise. I don't know if it worked; I have fine skin today. It is an astringent, I believe. Semen face cream is probably not in the cards however. Plus, it made my face smell of semen, so it wasn't something I wanted to do if someone was going to be smelling my face (unless that someone wanted my face to smell of semen).
I enjoy rubbing semen into my skin, actually, and I do it sometimes when guys cum on my belly or breasts. I don't really know why; it's a feeling I enjoy. Not as much as feeling semen oozing around inside me, but I enjoy it.
The best tasting semen, of course, is eaten out of another girl's snatch. Ideally, you have four people: two boys, two girls. The guys cream the girls, who then eat the semen out of each other, and you've had pretty much all I want in basic semen experiences.
Foreplay is important, but too much blueballing ruins things sometimes. If you commit to enough foreplay, the semen tends to be nice and thick and strong. If you tease too long, in my experience it makes things get thin, and while it may still be strong, sometimes I'd rather have a slightly smaller output with more body. Dad cums once a day, usually, and he can go for a long time without cumming, but his semen output is magnificent. Mike's is smaller, but he can continue putting it out over and over again. I'm not sure which I like more; maybe neither because I don't want to have to choose.
I think the biggest load I ever had literally filled me up and squirted out the sides. It may have been partially me too; I do get juicy at times. But still, this was prodigious. I didn't measure, but it might have been in the multiple tablespoon range. And it was tenacious; I had cummy panties for the next day, even after showering and straining to get it all out again. I could feel it oozing around. Really a great time, and I wish I could duplicate it. Actually, Sheri says I should try this lube she's got which she claims feels exactly like cum, except you can fill up a turkey baster with it and inject yourself with as much as you want. That sounds like cheating to me. Most times, a single orgasm's output from a guy is enough to make me feel pleasantly gooey. If I get fucked with a cummy pussy, a lot of the semen comes out during, what with muscles tensing and penetration and so on, but it can build up over time. Mike has come back multiple times to fill me again and again and it's felt like more each time.
That's about all I've got to say on the subject, mostly because I want to go back to saying "cum." If you've got any responses, I'm happy to host a discussion on the topic, or if you'd like to suggest another for me to talk about, that's okay too. Soon enough I hope to have some actual things to talk about, but until then, I'm just spitballing.
I was walking down the street today and wound up walking behind a young woman pushing a stroller with a baby in it. I don't know if the baby was her child; there are certainly precedents for believing that a woman this young (and this good-looking, but more on that later) could have been a mother. Or possibly a very much older sister, or a nanny, or aunt, or cousin, or something. Hell, I don't know, maybe this woman had stolen this baby and was now on the lam. She didn't exactly seem like she was hiding, but whatever.
She was very attractive, wearing this sun-dress (yes, it's still that hot around here) which showed off every curve. Ordinarily I might have passed her in a hurry or maybe come around to indulge my maternal instinct in some baby-cooing (yeah, I do that sometimes) but I was having so much fun walking behind her because she was just fun to ogle from behind. I felt a little creepy about it and I didn't stare blatantly, but I could see the straps of her bra through the fabric, and her ass was just juicy as Hell, and her legs... yeah, I wasn't drooling, but I was taking a little vacation.
Oddly enough, though I could tell she was wearing a bra, there didn't seem to be a pantie line in evidence, although it was slightly harder to tell that because the bell of the dress flared out and mislead the eye. Still, I was wondering about it. She didn't have enormous breasts or anything, and I couldn't see a reason to wear a bra but no panties unless there were some sexy options involved. The fantasies were playing out in my mind involving the need to have easy access to the basement.
And then she reached around without paying attention to anyone around her and adjusted herself from behind. I believe the crass vulgarity is "picking a wedgie" but this was just stellar. I mean, I about dropped my bag and ran over to offer to help her remove her panties right there, just be on the safe side. It was voyeuristic in the extreme, and I'm not saying I'm particularly proud of having gaped in awe, but wow, it just wound me up unmercifully. I've been very horny the past few days (hornier than usual, I mean) as if to make up for the drought of last week.
She wasn't paying any attention to me, and I doubt anyone else was paying much attention to her. It was just a very intimate moment, made more so a few seconds later when she, seemingly absently, actually lifted the hem of her dress and reached under to pull her panties into a more comfortable position (it was a kind of short skirt, but not so short that this was something one might do accidentally). I saw everything. And her ass was just as gorgeous bare as under the dress, more so even. The movement of the dress let me see the taut globes of her cheeks, lightly tanned, not looking like she'd ever had a baby (but maybe she's just really fit). And then she pulled the panties away and I got a glimpse of the space between her legs, not the main event but just that space where two very shapely legs meet that I find really attractive in a woman.
Then down came the dress again, out came the hand, and she kept on pushing up the street, as I had to finally turn a corner and lost sight of them. Needless to say, I was insanely turned on. I almost scrubbed my obligations and went home in an attempt to get some. Actually, I almost scrubbed my obligations and kept following the woman, like a hobo follows the scent of a pie, until she finally caught on and called the police. But I did neither of those things. I may be a terrible perv, but I'm a somewhat realistic terrible perv.
So, on the offhand chance that you're a woman with a baby who was followed earlier today by a slavering redhead who ogled you as you exposed yourself (and thank you very much for the show; it made my day) please contact me so I can apologize for my perviness but offer a proper thanks in exchange. It doesn't have to be sexual, but you'd like it if you decided to let me go that way.
Okay, yes, I'm kidding. It was just one of those random experiences that were sexy enough to talk about while simultaneously making me guilty. Catholic school, remember?
It does a raise a point in my mind though. If I had been her, I think I would have wanted someone who thought my ass was hot to come up and nicely say so. I wish that compliments didn't always have to be creepy. I would have felt much better if I could have gone up to her and said, "Excuse me ma'am, but I just thought you should know that you're beautiful." Nothing creepy about that. Not me saying, "Excuse me, but I'd like to fuck you in the worst way. I'd like to jam my tongue into your tight little babymaker and taste where that one in the stroller came from." That would be in poor taste. But I wish more people were comfortable enough with the idea that a perfect stranger could just say, "Hey, you're looking good today," and leave it at that. Obviously, it my perfect fantasy world, one wouldn't have to be uncomfortable not leaving it at that, but rather saying, "Hey, you're sexy, wanna take an extra-long lunch and get busy?" "No," would of course by a viable answer, but you wouldn't hold it against someone if they asked, or if they said no.
I'm lucky because I'm a woman who likes to ogle women. I get called on it much less, and if I do, unless I was really obvious about it, I can usually explain it away as sisterly interest in fashion or wondering what gym she goes to or something like that (of course, they don't know what "sisterly interest" means to me, but we'll leave that). Poor guys are constantly bombarded by attractive women at whom they're not allowed to stare.
I've said it before, but unless someone is a total creep, I don't mind it when people stare desirously at me. It makes me feel good. It's not the only thing, but I take it as a compliment. And while I don't necessarily approve of it when I'm trying to talk to you and you're staring at my chest instead of my face, sometimes even that can be flattering. I'm not flaunting myself; far from it, I tend to wear clothing which isn't designed to induce staring. But sometimes people still stare, and I'm okay with that. And I wish everyone else was okay with it too, men and women, because then we could drop the pretense that attraction isn't happening. We could start complimenting one another without worrying about being creepy. We'd all feel better about ourselves, because let's face it, everyone is attractive to someone. And we'd maybe be a little less serious about all of it. I know I sometimes come off as being kind of shallow, but there are a lot of beautiful people in the world, many more than are conventionally beautiful, and it would be nice if I could let everyone out there know that they're not ugly, really.
That's probably why I feel guilty: not because I'm ogling this woman, but because I don't have the ovaries of steel to simply own up to it and say, "You're an attractive woman, you know that? You should feel good about yourself," and walk on without propositioning her. Instead, I skulk. Ah well. It's an inability to be open on my part, but in this case I don't think it would have ended well had I said anything.
The preceding is random thoughts and should not be construed to have any meaning beyond what I was thinking at the time. I will doubtless contradict myself in future. It's what I do.
My philosophy in writing this blog has always been somewhat different from many other bloggers (not all, but many): I try to keep personal drama to a minimum. That's not because I want to deny it or that I necessarily think that people won't find it interesting. I know some people have told me that they're happy reading whatever I write (to which I respond, "Oh yeah, that sounds like a challenge to me.") and I'm perfectly happy to read other people's diaries in blog-land, particularly the diaries of people who are interesting and post much more frequently than I do.
I can't keep personal shit out completely, of course, but my guiding principle is to include it only if it helps me tell the story I'm trying to tell (and by story I don't mean fiction, I just mean the story of whatever occurrence is currently on the list). There are drawbacks: it makes it seem like all I do is fuck, which isn't true at all. I know I have more sex than many people and I'm lucky, but my sex life isn't that exciting when it's in the context of the rest of my life. It's punctuation unless I separate it out (which is why I rated my previous weekend so-so, instead of judging it based only on the sex I had, in which case it would come up in the ratings considerably). Also, by putting the kibosh on the personal drama, I may strip away some of the things which make me seem less like a cardboard cut-out.
The thing is, I know that people don't mind reading things that aren't sexy. I know that people don't mind learning more about the gal behind the sex. I know all these things both because people have told me this and because I would probably be right there with them if I were reading the blog and not writing it. But even though I know, I still keep the non-sex stuff to a minimum... because I don't want to write about it.
I'm a private person (I know, that sounds like such bullshit, but really I'm very private about most things). Sex doesn't happen to be something that I feel private about but other things I definitely keep to myself. It may not be healthy but there it is. But beyond that, I just don't like writing about the shit that happens because it doesn't make me feel any better. It makes me feel worse sometimes because it's rehashing unpleasantness.
So for the record, I am not leading this charmed life where no one ever fights or gets mad or stops speaking to one another or yells or is depressed or sad or whatever. I don't know that anyone thought this but sometimes it seems like it to me when I think about what I write versus what I leave out. My family are big fighters. We yell and scream and curse. Doesn't make us stop loving each other and so I tend to leave out the spats. And I have worries. Plenty of them. But there's no real point in my bringing them up unless they directly affect the course of the tale unfolding. Sveta and I have our bad days. It's hard doing the long-distance thing. I do stupid shit all the time. I cry.
But that's not why I'm writing this blog. I'm writing this blog because I started out wanting to tell a few stories for a small audience of dedicated perverts and hopefully we'd all get off in the process. It has morphed somewhat away from that (if it hadn't, I would only tell stories of the past, rather than the present) but it's still about my sex life, rather than my whole life (and I still hope we all get off in the process). And that's simply because most of the rest of it doesn't make me horny. The stuff that does ends up here, the stuff that doesn't... cutting room floor. That's obviously not always true but it's a guideline.
Bottom line: I'm sorry if it's all sex all the time around here but I hope you enjoy it. And I'm sorry if it makes it seem like I have hot and cold running sex 24/7/365.25 or that I'm living the perfect life. Please don't be jealous of me; it's pretty much a perception based on faulty evidence. And please forgive me when I break my own rules and talk about personal shit or write entries like this with little in the way of sexy about them. Sometimes things come out. Probably healthy.
You can be a little jealous of me because, whatever else, I have had some terrific sex with some terrific lovers and I'm expecting that trend to continue even if everything else goes straight to shit. I shall cease with my horn-tooting now.
I said that this weekend would be tough, and I was right. Boy was I right. But I'm hopefully over that particular hump, although I'm still busy. And it wasn't totally without perks. And it got done a shade sooner than I expected.
First the bad stuff; I went for almost 72 hours without having an orgasm of any kind. This was not intentional. I was horny as a Pope on Tuesday, but it just wasn't happening. Either I was working my ass off or I was traveling (yes, I had to travel a bit) or I was exhausted. So from about Wednesday until Saturday, nothing. Nada. Excess stomach acid. I know, I could have just squeezed out a quickie somehow, but I didn't need that, I needed a nice big O, several, and I knew that a forced tiny one would just have wound my crank.
So it is with this in mind that we find our intrepid hero finishing up and watching a rehearsal of the play, only to see the panties girl (who needs a name, so we'll call her Pam because she looks a bit like a Pam, I guess; I don't watch The Office so please don't interpret a reference) flashing again. I guess she had nothing to wear that evening, or something. I was sitting directly beside the director, so I couldn't exactly do anything other than gaze in awe at the glorious expanses of thigh, the tiny stripe of black fabric between, the round ass, firmer than I would have supposed from looking at it previously, arcing into view and then away again. It was like slow motion. I could have drawn her ass and thighs from memory (if I could draw, which I can't). I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to anything after that. I was entranced by Pam. There may have been things I should have seen, but I didn't see them that evening.
I must step back in time again to say that I made discreet inquiries about Pam and found out that she has a boyfriend, almost a fiancée, that she's in her early 20s, and that it seemed like I had about a snowball's chance in the hot place of getting into her Catholic schoolgirl costume. Which really just made me want her all the more. Annoying, but true. I was definitely suffering from severe forbidden fruit syndrome.
After rehearsal, we all went out, and although I tend to avoid social events of this kind, that night I was ready to drink. Hard. Pam brought her boyfriend, Kirk, who was quite the redneck, really, but sexy in a country-fried kind of way. We all got to talking and it turned out that Pam told Kirk about our conversation. I mentioned that she had been doing the same panties-flashing that evening, and she said she knew, but she didn't really have anything else to wear and she was worried that the director wouldn't go for anything other than panties for whatever reason. Since he's about as gay as you can get, I doubted that.
When I asked Kirk how he felt about his girlfriend flashing her panties at the world, he grinned and said, "Hell, she ought to do it more often." And it was then that, in that small area of my mind where my wiles reside, I saw an opening. I am not devious by nature; I chose the moniker Naughty for a reason; I'm not sly or wicked, I just do naughty things. But apparently being cut off from the endorphins and under a great deal of stress makes me wily like a starving coyote, only more successful. I've noticed it in the past, actually. Plus, not to toot my own horn, but in small groups I'm dynamite. Big social gatherings I hate, but groups of two or three, I can sell sand to a Bedouin, retail.
I wasn't drunk, but they were well on their way. We were sort of clustered down at the end of the table, so our conversation was kind of private. And I was dripping juice, probably ruining the chair (or increasing its value, depending on your taste). The perfect storm, as they like to say about things that have nothing to do with storms. I worked that admission, that Kirk wanted his girlfriend to flash strangers, for all it was worth. Pretty soon I had him admitting that he found it sexy when other people saw her in her panties. That he found it sexy that I saw her. That he found me sexy for noticing. That he wished he'd been there when I dropped trou. And that was pretty much all I had to do.
They were drunk. I had ignored my first drink pretty much after ordering it, taking a few sips. I offered to drive them home. They accepted (thank God, because I do not approve of the amount of drunk driving that theatre folk do). Once we were out to my car, we didn't actually drive, just sat there and kept talking. I got basically their whole sexual history out of them. It was really too easy. I'm making it sound like I'm some kind of master manipulator, but I think a deaf turnip could have turned Pam and Kirk to talking about sex at that point.
I don't know exactly what I was hoping, but when they started making out in my back seat (and I was actually cheering them on a little) I started moving toward the idea that maybe I should come back to their place too and we could see what happened. From the fractured stories I'd gotten about their sex life, it seemed like they'd had a bit of experience in the swinging department, but probably nothing more than fantasy and Pam "accidentally" showing off her goods, after which they'd return home and fuck like crazy. What I was proposing was a bit off their beaten path, but they seemed ready to give it a try. At that point, we may all have been thinking I might just go back and watch them go at it. I might have been satisfied with that.
When we got to their apartment, it became apparent that Kirk was interested in something else (as was I) and Pam seemed like she would do whatever he said. So when he sat back on the couch and said, "Lemme see what all the fuss is about," she obediently pulled down her pants and stood there in those same black panties, partially covered by her sweatshirt.
"Want to compare?" I asked him, and before he could say much of anything, down came my pants too. My panties stayed on this time, and there we were, standing there with pants around our ankles. I could see Kirk had a rod in his pants, although it was tough to say how big. I'd also like to interject at this juncture that my panties were way sexier than hers.
"Go on, feel how smooth that wax gets her," said Kirk, who had obviously had every bit of the story. Well, if you force me... I reached over and slipped my fingers gently under the hem of her sweatshirt and touched her stomach. She was breathing shallowly, like she was either really turned on or really nervous, and she didn't look that nervous. Probably a bit of both. The skin was smooth. Very smooth. I slipped my fingers down until they were resting just above the waist of her panties, then I boldly slipped them under. Still very smooth. "She's smooth all the way down," said Kirk. "How about you?"
In truth, I hadn't shaved in several days, so I was probably not the poster child for shaving, even had shaving been able to achieve the results that Pam obviously got from waxing. Kirk reached up without asking and touched my panties, slipping over my pussy and the wet spot as he ventured up to the waistline, low-cut the way I like bikini bottoms, and stroked the skin. "Pam wins," we all three said, then laughed. It was another moment of ice-breaking. At first, it had been a bit like we were going to have some very freaky control play or something, but now, it was like we were best buds again, and when Kirk pulled down his pants too and stood there in tented boxer shorts, we all just kept laughing. Eventually we sat down on the sofa, the two women on either side of Kirk, and made small talk about shaving versus waxing.
And at that point, if they had said, "Thanks for the ride, see you tomorrow," my little manipulator would have been powerless to stop them. I would have cheerfully left and gone home and possibly been able to have that elusive orgasm. It would have been just fine. We were all hanging out, some silly things had been done, and now the tension was eased and it could either go one way or the other.
Thankfully for me and you, it went the right way when Kirk said, "So, are we going to stop with the pants, or do you girls want to get a bit more comfy?" And at that point I don't know who was seducing whom. He pulled off his shirt first, and Pam seemed genuinely surprised when I pulled off mine, but she hurried out of hers, and there we were in our underwear.
Things heated up quickly after that. Pam encouraged Kirk to kiss me; she didn't seem to be that interested in working on me herself, but she did put her hand on my thigh like she was deciding whether or not to commit to actually stroking my still-covered pussy. Kirk had no such inhibitions; a minute after he started kissing me, he had my bra off and one hand down my panties, and if he was drunk, it didn't show. When his finger, rough skin but gentle, slipped easily into my dripping passage, I came. I came hard, one short gasp and my entire body seemed like it was trying to force itself out of my pussy backwards for a second, then I sucked in a breath and relaxed. It was the kind of O I have when I haven't had one in a while and I've been really wound up and something sudden happens, like something slipping quickly into me. It's not a release, it's just like my body is stuttering.
Kirk turned his attention to his girlfriend, and I got to pay a little attention to her too. She's pretty, albeit in a way which is hard to see at first. The way she dresses doesn't show off her figure. The Catholic schoolgirl uniform does though, which is why she looks so hot in it. She doesn't look like me in a uniform, but her uniform makes her all curvy. Naked, she's got some flab, but it's not floppy, just a little jiggly. I haven't been with a plus-size woman in a while, and while my tastes do admittedly often run toward the skinnier, Pam was definitely worth looking at. Her breasts are still young and perky, although I foresee a certain loss of that in the coming years since they're fairly large and hang down a bit. The nipples are quite large too, but on her, they look proportional. A nice package.
Kirk wasn't bad on the eyes either. He has tattoos, but they don't distract, and his physique is kind of lanky, very little body hair, tan from going shirtless. I don't want to make him out to be a hick; he's not a farmer or anything, but he's got a twang to him. And once he turned away from me, I got a hand in his pants and found out that he was packing a very nice cock indeed. It wasn't huge, but it was all hard and rigid and hot. I got it out of his fly and started stroking it as he was pulling off Pam's panties, then when he settled in to licking her nipples and fingering her snatch, I bent down and started sucking. Pam saw me and laughed with a hint of nervousness.
In the end, Pam got to go first. We retreated to their bedroom, I pulled off my soaked panties and hoped, but Pam got to go first. She got on all fours on the bed and he hopped up behind and started plowing her, which at first seemed wrong but I realized she must like it rough because she was loving every minute of it. I petted her ass while she was taking the pounding, stroking her hair, then slipping around to cup her swaying breasts. Whatever problems she had with touching me seemed to have vanished, but she didn't seem receptive to a kiss, so I left it alone. After a decent period for a pounding like that, Kirk pulled back and stroked out several jets of cum onto her back, then sat back, reached over, and grabbed a cigarette which he preceded to smoke. Ordinarily I'm not a fan of second-hand smoke, even if the first-hand was fine by me for ages, but the room already stank of stale smoke and it's not like I haven't had smoke in my lungs before.
Pam made a move to clean up, but I stopped her and daintily licked the cum off her back. She seemed a bit nonplussed by this but allowed it. Then I whispered in her ear, "Can he get it up again?"
"Yeah, it usually takes a while though," she whispered back with a giggle.
"What are you two gals talking about?" he asked us with a laugh, but we ignored him.
"I bet we can make that faster," I whispered.
"How?"
"Well, I'm just dying to see how smooth that wax really makes you," I said in my normal voice. "What do you think, Kirk? Can I taste it?"
Here's where I should interject a public service announcement. Kids, not all women are bi. Pam probably isn't bi. And me sort of forcing her into doing something she wasn't totally comfortable with is not a good thing to imitate. Don't try this at home. I would have stopped if she said no, but let's face it, I kind of knew she wouldn't if I asked right.
"Pam?" Kirk asked, showing far more consideration than I had. She nodded quickly. She didn't seem like she was repulsed, but I could tell I wouldn't be getting any in return. I didn't worry her with kisses; I just moved down between her legs and began working on her pussy right away. It was still loosened from the fucking she'd just gotten, and it tasted of sweat and cock, but it was indeed incredibly smooth and delicious. And for all her dubiousness, Pam enjoyed herself once she could tell that I was only interested in licking her cunt for all I was worth. She came twice, small Os but she announced them like they were visitations from God. I don't know that I would have noticed had she not mentioned them. She may have been playing it up for Kirk. If so, it worked; he went over and presented her with his cock, already mostly hard, to suck.
And then it was my turn. I hadn't really known whether I would get a turn, but when Kirk moved away from Pam but made no move to make me stop giving her head, I hoped. And then I felt him ease up into me from behind and came again, another short bark which blew air across Pam's pussy and made her moan. Kirk started rutting me like he'd fucked Pam, but I made it quite plain that I needed more gentle attention, and after a few false starts he settled into a deep rhythm, harder than I might have liked but softer than he was capable of giving.
I'm afraid Pam's pussy was quite forgotten after he pressed all the way in and nudged my cervix. That doesn't always do anything for me, but in this case the sensation was perfect and I came. Or rather, I collapsed onto Pam and began wailing and twitching. It was the orgasm I'd been waiting for (and my only regret is that I wasted it on Kirk, who wasn't bad but wasn't who I'd really have loved to give it to) and it made my entire body short circuit for a second before the waves took over and made me whimper. I was whimpering, little high-pitched moans with every breath. That's what I get for starving myself of orgasms.
Kirk, to his credit, kept up the pace as I came, which made the orgasm last longer, and then when I was done, he picked up speed a little. I could feel him getting close just by the way he was acting, but when he went to pull out I said, "No, shoot it inside." Sadly, he didn't, which is really his loss because if he had I probably would have cum again and cumming in my cumming cunt is not only alliterative, it's also a damn good time.
He put a lake of cum on my back, up and down, even between my shoulder blades. And I realized that I had been lying on Pam's stomach and pubis like she was a pillow, so I sheepishly and slightly sadly got up. She made no offer to clean me up, just got some paper towels for Kirk to wipe off my back and ass.
"How was it, honey?" he asked her.
"Good," she said, with some traces of enthusiasm, but she wasn't exactly asking for seconds. Except of Kirk. They started kissing, and I sensed that I had become somewhat superfluous. Watching their partners fuck a strange woman must have turned them on immensely, because it wasn't that long before she was on her knees sucking his cock. I caught his eye and gave him a little wave, and he nodded, and that was how I left them, her hard at work getting him up for round three.
To break out of the story line, the problem with couples is often that they just want the third person as a catalyst, so being that third wheel can get you some fucking but usually not as much. Of course, sometimes couples are great; they both want to fuck only you because they're not interested in each other as avidly. But it seems like recently I've had couples who have been more interested in me as a sideshow to the main event, so to speak.
Still, I'm not complaining. Neither are they; Pam confided in me the next day that they'd gone at it twice more after that, and Kirk had seemingly been interested in proving that he could out-eat her by giving her a long, extended session of oral. They were both thrilled. I was merely pleased with myself.
I don't know if I'll do it again. The stress levels have eased somewhat, I've had some time with the old man (kidding Daddy) to ease the pain, and I hear rumors of Mike returning to visit. Still, Pam and Kirk were exciting, and if I view my actions as being a facilitator of their sex rather than an equal partner, I'm being a humanitarian by fooling around with them. I just know that the panties are still making me crazy, and while I love me a cock, I would also love to get Pam alone and show her the ropes. That she's probably not interested in that is something that has no bearing on my fantasies.
And for those worried or wondering, Sveta knows all about it. She says she may have a story to share soon too, so I look forward to that. I miss her terribly, and if she were here showing off her panties... oh yeah.
Lastly, I'm getting a wax. I loved the feel of it, and I want to surprise Sveta when she gets home. Not surprise, since she read this, but I want her to be able to feel the smoothness. I don't think I can make it a regular thing because it's such a hassle and costs too much, but I'm doing it at least once. We'll see how much of a pain it really is.
He stole into her chambers furtively, straining to stop the sound of each heavy boot, his beard pulled over his face to muffle his breathing. Past the mirror on the wall, past the poison apples, to the bath. And there she stood in the shadows, towering over him, her back turned; the candles' glow was like his rage. She was naked and beautiful, but he didn't hesitate. "This is for Snow White," Grumpy cried, then drove his vengeful blade home.
I had to edit the hell out of this to get it to work in the constraints (60 to 88 words). I actually thought it was 80, which meant I cut harder than I had to, but I think it stripped away the fat.
Where did this one come from? Okay, prepare for a bit of a roller coaster as we attempt to navigate my train of thought. It might be interesting to see how my mind works. Or terrifying.
I started out thinking about the tub as a magical portal, because the lighting was just right. But everything else was too modern. I toyed with several ideas along those lines before chucking the whole thing. Then, I was looking at the picture and realized that the camera angle is actually quite low (although now I think about it, it's almost crotch-height, so there's an avenue I didn't explore that might have been exciting). Plus it seemed kind of peering in rather than expected. So who would interrupt this scene who was also short enough to have that eye level? An animal? Nope, not going to write that one for this blog, either that or it wouldn't be terribly interesting. A kid? There's certainly an opportunity to write something about her being surprised in the bath by a child, but it didn't inspire me (and no, I'm not talking about sexually, I'm just saying that children do bust through doors with humorous consequences).
Then (I told you this was a ride) I thought about homunculi. Was this a sexy story of a creation and its creator? I started there, but for some reason began thinking dwarf instead (not dwarf as in achondroplasia, but as in Snow White and the Seven, obviously). So maybe one of the dwarves was making his way into Snow White's boudoir for some naughty time? It certainly wouldn't be the first time someone wrote a story about that. But the ass in question seemed a bit... curvy for the common image of poor Snow White, who seems to be pretty flat in several areas (she'll grow into it, of course). So maybe the dwarf in question was visiting someone else? The evil Queen? Yes, I could have had a dwarf sneaking into the Queen's boudoir for some naughty time too, not without precedent, but then it occurred to me that if I had been one of the dwarves, I would have settled that bitch's hash sharpish after she killed the only woman in my life.
Thus, nemesis, in the person of Grumpy, who seemed most likely to go for such things. It's such a short vignette for any kind of twist, so while I didn't come right out and say it up front, I think I made it pretty obvious before I actually said it at the end.
On investigation, it seems that the Queen gets killed by lightning in the film (which is consistently listed as the greatest animated movie of all time, showing just how terrible people's taste is) which I didn't remember because I haven't seen the movie but once when I was younger and didn't like it then. So I'm doing a bit of revision. Revenge is a dish best served cold. I think, actually, the events in my vignette occurred after Snow White was awakened by her prince and has told the prince and the dwarves just how much of a bitch the evil Queen really is, at which point Grumpy infiltrates the palace with his assassin skills and terminates her with extreme prejudice to revenge everything, not just the seeming death of Snow White. Then they all go back to Casa Charming to have a crazy orgy. That part is definitely not canon.
And there you have it: the explanation that's ten times longer than the piece itself. I'm such a tool. You could be a tool too if you headed over to Flash Fiction Friday and dropped some fiction on our collective asses. Then you could write something about how your piece on a guy fucking a girl in the ass is really a metaphor for the Spanish Civil War and the growth of mechanization in modern warfare. I look forward to hearing about it. Make it short.
I know I said I wouldn't have time, but I had to find time to post this because it was worth posting. Sorry to anyone who didn't get an email from me because I was taking the time to write this instead.
The play I'm currently doing is taking a lot of my time and nearly all of the energy. I'm bushed. I thought that the only reserves I had untouched by this play were my sexual urges, which have been building because I haven't had much time for release.
So last night, I'm sitting in the audience watching them rehearse, checking things, just enjoying a few moments where I didn't have to be moving because I couldn't do anything while they were rehearsing. It's a decent performance of what I think isn't a terribly good play, so I do enjoy sitting in for bits of it. But I'd never seen them working in costume before. There aren't any people in it who I would have at first classified as attractive. They're not ugly, but nothing worth mentioning. A few of the guys are cute, but they're either gay, taken, or both. And there didn't seem to be any opportunities for eye-candy anyway. But last night, they were in costume, and one of the women, who is probably around my age, who wasn't all that attractive in street clothes, was wearing a Catholic schoolgirl-type dress, and she did a cartwheel and wham, panties.
Suddenly, it was all I could do to keep from reaching into my own panties and getting myself off right there in the audience. I don't know, stress, lack of outlet, lack of sleep, whatever, and suddenly this average-looking woman, because I had seen her panties, was super-sexy. I don't want to seem so shallow, but I wouldn't ordinarily have ogled her, except panties. They weren't even that exciting, just basic black bottoms, but I was incredibly turned on.
I have said before that I try not to mix work and pleasure, and that goes for my professional life, but not with actors. I will fuck actors. I have no problem with it, really, and they don't mind either, although it's usually just a one-time thing. I've done it before. And boy oh boy was I hungry for it. I cooled down slightly for the next few minutes, and then, bam, panties again, because she was obviously not used to wearing a skirt on stage that was that easy to flash people in.
I waited for the director to mention it. Nothing. Nobody seemed to care. So in my role as supportive feminine type, I went up to her afterward, pulled her aside, and tried to be as gentle as possible in telling her that she'd better wear something else underneath her skirt if she didn't want her panties visible on Mars when she did the cartwheel. She blushed and was really embarrassed and said she would now that she knew. I don't think the poor dear had any idea. The costumer gave her something to wear, she wore it, end of story. That she hadn't figured that her ass would be visible while doing a cartwheel... I don't know. Maybe she thought the panties were less revealing than they were. They were fairly revealing.
"Was it really obvious?" she asked me. I told her that maybe it wasn't, since the director hadn't said anything, which lead to a discussion of directors and how sometimes they won't notice that half the stage is on fire. She has a lot less experience than I do, so she was shocked at a few of the stories I could tell about directors. I don't want to make myself sound like the old hand, but I have done a few plays and directors can be crazy (and I know, having been one myself). Eventually the conversation worked its way back to panties and views thereof, and she wanted me to check and see if I could see them when she was sitting in certain ways. If you think this was like asking a guy stranded in the desert if he'd mind tasting your water to see if it was any good, you'd be right.
But I was good. Oh so good. We talked about it, I confessed that I had done time in a Catholic institution in my youth, which led to me telling her stories about that too. Then I said, "Here, let me try it on so I can show you," trying to illustrate some point about Catholic uniform skirts, and without thinking pulled my pants off. Down went my panties too, of course, and there I was bare-ass. Ordinarily I'm not embarrassed at all about things like that, but in this case, it was embarrassing. We were alone, but still, she hadn't expected that. Me, I'm used to pulling off clothes in the theater; it's something you have to do. Normally, if I know I'll have to change, I wear more sensible underwear. These ones weren't the perfect fit, elastically.
"I guess we're even then," was about all I could think to say before I grabbed my pants and pulled them back up.
"What?"
"I mean, I've seen your panties, and now..."
She giggled a bit nervously. "We wouldn't be even unless there was something showing there shouldn't have been?" She tried to make a joke, but failed. "You couldn't... see everything, could you?" I assured her that, no, I couldn't. "Well, I barely saw anything," she said. "Sorry. I should have looked away or something. That's what you're supposed to do, although I've never had someone drop their pants at me quite like that."
"No, I'm sorry, I should have worn better panties today if I'd known I would be showing them off," I said with a grin.
"You didn't exactly show off your panties," she laughed. The tension was broken. She said she noticed I had a Brazilian, which I don't, so I told her so. This led into a discussion of pube removal. I was dripping, sopping wet. Maybe my panties fell down because there was too much lubrication in them, I don't know. Anyway, she said she had a Brazilian. I've never had one; I just shave. We talked about the relative merits. I've had people tell me all kinds of shit about waxing, and she didn't make me want to do it any more, but when she offered to show me how smooth it was compared to shaving... oh yeah, hold me back.
Turns out she wasn't going to pull off her panties and give me the full treatment, she just pulled her waistline down until I could just be tantalized by the glimpse of what was indeed a very smooth sector of skin just above something which I would have killed to get my lips on at that very moment. But no. I was strong. "That's smooth," said I. No, I wasn't strong, I was being a bit of a wuss. She wasn't putting off any vibe which said, "Please make a move," and I can usually tell when people are. If she'd been a guy, it might have been different, but whatever wiles I might unconsciously exude weren't working.
I offered to give her a better look at shaved, but she said that she used to shave so there was no need for that. And with that, I was pretty sure the moment wasn't going to arrive when we'd kiss, and, disappointed, I allowed my libido to sulk back into her cave and had a conversation about hair care products for some reason. Then she looked at her watch, realized that we'd been gabbing for half an hour at that point and she still had on her costume, thanked me for bringing the situation to her attention, blushed a little, and went to get changed. We hadn't been having this conversation in public, in case anyone is worried (or disappointed), but not in the dressing room either.
I sat there, exhausted and incredibly, incredibly horny, and saw, in my mind's eye, flashes of her panties beneath her skirt. I don't know what it was, exactly. She's not really my type; not skinny, blonde, kind of squat in build, not someone, as I said, I'd normally ogle. Not that I'm denigrating her looks; she's very pretty, just not in the way that would ordinarily drive me crazy like this. It was the panties. I blame them. So I tried to shove her from my mind, finished up the work that needed finishing, was last to leave (as usual) and got home and like an answer to my prayers, Dad was sitting reading a book in the living room. He's almost never up that late, yet there he was. And I ripped off my clothes, got on my hands and knees in front of him, and begged him, pleaded for him to make love to me, right now.
The sensation of his cock slowly sliding into me is something I will never get tired of. Any cock is nice, but Dad's... he's big, wide, he knows exactly how fast to move with me at any time, and he's my Daddy. "We haven't seen enough of each other this week," he said as he bottomed out, then pressed and got a little deeper just when I didn't expect it. "I thought I'd wait up."
And then he ground into me, slowly, as my pussy stretched on him, feeling every inch, and I came, slowly, then faster as he pulled back just as I was coming down and pressed in again, which picked me up again for another round of spasms and gasps and little moans. I know I didn't cum for the entire time he was fucking me, but I remember it like that. It was just a low, slow orgasm, with punctuation. When my knees got tired, I rolled over and let him lie between the cradle of my thighs and kiss me for the first time, and we stopped talking and just made love for a few minutes until he pulled back, gripped my hips, and pumped in and out with blazing speed until finally he pressed in, stopped, and I felt the warm spread of cum inside me.
I'm really feeling a bit guilty though, because the entire time, the whole time I was with Dad, those black panties were flashing through my mind. He even mentioned that I seemed preoccupied, and when I told him why, he grinned and said he didn't mind. I don't think he did, but I did a little, because it was like I was obsessed.
Of course, waking up the next morning, the panties were banished, that is until I see them again. I would really, really like to get in them. Were it not for my harried state of mind, I might make more of an effort, or at least do a better job with the efforts I am making. But you never know. Maybe I'll need to name this actress because she'll be featured again. But if not, she certainly wound my crank to the breaking point with those panties. It's odd, because the last time I was this stressed, it was bra straps that were bugging me, but apparently this is panties season. It'd be nice to have a fuck-buddy in this show, too, because then I'd be able to blow off some steam on the job. Actor sex is fun, and techies aren't castigated for having it. It's almost like it's expected. I've known so many techies who've fucked their way through actors like it was going out of style; I'm pretty tame by comparison to some people. But then I know lots of techies who fuck their way through the entire production staff too, and that's where I draw the line because I know how people talk about tech-whores.
Anyway, that was longer than expected and took longer than I thought to write, but I hope it was some consolation for the spotty updates of recent weeks. I'd say my chances of scoring with this actress are pretty small, actually, but it was a sexy story that seemed like it would be perfect to share, even if it ended in a certain degree of disappointment. Except for Dad, who was anything but disappointing. Sexy, embarrassing, disappointing, and then back to sexy; a full circle of enjoyment.
