Strange Days

Yesterday was a bit odd, from a mental-health standpoint. I didn't sleep at all; I dozed briefly with the TV on because I was trying to sleep, but couldn't drop off completely so I just missed most of what I was watching. Then I had to get up ass-early and go to work, sort of to make up for having skipped out last Saturday.

Work was interesting, because I was essentially stoned. Not actually, but my mental state was such that I wouldn't have put it past me had I been stoned. I wasn't a terribly good worker and my brain was completely out to lunch, not to mention feeling very disconnected from the world. And then I had an hour-long discussion of sexy women with my coworkers. We discussed whether we'd have sex with Anna Chapman even though she's a spy. Consensus was yes. We talked about models on Sports Illustrated, a magazine I find hysterically ridiculous in every way. But I do enjoy sexy pictures. We were really, really inappropriate. Like I've said in the past, I'm just one of the guys at work, for the most part.

Then I got home and saw an email from Annie saying that she was alone in her house and did I want to come over when I got a chance for dinner. I didn't care about dinner, but I went over anyway, later than I should have. I was really stupid; I should have just gone to bed.

She'd made this enormous bowl of salad, so we ate salad. Then she asked if I was feeling okay and I said, truthfully, that I was feeling a little tired and lightheaded. So she led me to the couch, laid me down, and brought me some juice. I must have dropped off, just for a minute, because I opened my eyes and she was gone. She came back though, in a sweatshirt and panties, then took a look in my eyes and said, "Oh, sorry, I never would have invited you if I thought you were this tired."

"No, it's my fault," I said. "I should have taken a rain check." My blood sugar was improved by the food, and my pulse was improved by her standing there in her panties, and I sat up, drained the juice, and said, "But since I'm here..."

"I don't want you to think that I'm interested in a relationship," she said suddenly, covering herself with her hands. "I just... I mean, I like how you make me feel, and I enjoy doing things with you. I felt a little guilty after last time, but I think it's okay. David knows that I have these needs. He said he doesn't want to know how I fill them."

"I don't want to make you feel guilty," I said. "But I do like making you feel good. And you give dynamite head." She giggled and blushed at that. "No, I'm serious; you're great at it. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't come back just in hope of you eating me out again."

"Then lie back," she said. I leaned back and she pulled my pants off and then slipped my panties down, and without further ado began tickling my cunt with her delicate little tongue.

I don't like to fuck fucked up. There's no way that being in an altered state improves good lovemaking, although I guess it can improve bad. I've never been on the drugs which are said to improve the experience, and I don't know that I believe they really do. So being in a sleep-deprived state which was similar to being either drunk or stoned or both, I was not at my best for receiving, let alone giving. It took me ages to cum, by my standards, to the point where I was afraid she'd give up, and I really wasn't in a state where I could fully appreciate delicate touches. When I came, it was practically nothing, just a hiccup, but I played it up to reward her because I felt bad for not being more receptive. Yes, in this case it was my fault. Not always. But in this case.

She sat back after she'd finished, and I was about to get up and try to return the favor somehow, but she just said, "No, you're tired. I'm just going to sit here for a minute and give you a show like you did last time." I confess, to my great shame, that I took absolutely no convincing to just lie back again and watch as she pulled her panties off, leaving her sweatshirt, and displayed her shaved pussy. "I liked the feel of yours," she said by way of explanation, diving a finger into her snatch.

"Aw, I thought your pubes were pretty," I said.

"David was shocked," she said with a small smile. Her finger kept moving between her legs. "I think he suspects that something's going on, but he doesn't want to ask."

"Do you want him to ask?" I asked, because I'm stupid. In my ordinary frame of mind, I would have let sleeping dogs lie, since it's somewhat bad form to attempt to analyze someone while they're fingering themselves for your amusement.

"Yeah," she said, her finger stopping. "I wish sometimes he could be more... I don't know."

"Open?"

"Something like that." Her finger started again. "He's never once been too busy for me, you know, in bed, but it's just not enough."

"You wish he'd try other positions, or invite a friend, or what?" What I was thinking I don't know. Seriously, there was a big part of me which was sitting back outside myself at this point and wondering just who was in charge. It may seem fascinating after the fact, but at the time, it was not the right time, and I admit that. Still, when you're raised having deep conversations while fucking, old habits are hard to break.

"All of that." She laughed suddenly. "Geez, you're not shy about it, are you? I think if I asked you to talk to him, you would. You'd probably talk him into a threesome with you too."

"No, I probably wouldn't. I'm bad at confrontation." But I laughed too, then beckoned with my hand until she slid over and let me take over with my fingers what hers had been doing. "You really don't think he's capable of having a conversation about it? At all? I mean, not about a threesome or anything, but maybe, 'Hey honey, can we try from behind tonight?'"

She giggled at my impersonation of her, which made her pussy giggle too, which felt nice and probably would have felt even better had I had a cock inside her. "We don't just do it with him on top," she said. "But it's usually that way."

"I prefer missionary myself, and I never seem to get enough of it because all the guys want to fuck me from behind," I said with a laugh.

"When I was in college I dated a guy who liked it with me on top," Annie said, blushing a little. "I never told David about that. He thinks he was my first."

"Did you have sex with him before you got married?" Seriously, in hindsight, what the hell was wrong with me?

"No. He's traditional, like I said. And the first time... it was magical." She was relaxing on my fingers, and the heat was building.

"You are a space heater down there, I swear," I said, marveling.

"Thanks," she said with a shy smile. "I'm getting pretty close, that's why."

"Do you cum when you fuck him?" That I remember everything I said is the worst part; if I'd blacked out, at least I wouldn't get to analyze myself post-facto.

"Oh yes. Well, sometimes. Sometimes I have to go in the bathroom and finish myself. I don't tell David. He knows I enjoy it, and he enjoys it, and that's what matters. It's not about the goal." She tensed up suddenly on my fingers. "Speaking of which..." And then those little twitches, and she relaxed. "Mmmm, it's more fun when someone else does it," she said with a giggle, then hopped up and pulled her panties back on. "Now, you really should go home and get some sleep." It was strangely maternal, and it reminded me that she is older than I am, although probably not as many years as she thinks.

I got my bottom back together and drove carefully home because I was on the verge of crashing. Not the car, my brain. Fell asleep immediately, without really processing anything of what had happened. Now I've had a chance to process it and I've probably fucked some things up in remembering it, but that's about what I recall happening. Further conversation on the subject, anyway.

I do wish I could talk to Annie's husband. Because he has a treasure, and obviously loves her, but he should wake up and smell the coffee because I can see someday her needs becoming too much. I respect people who have beliefs about sex that run counter to my own, but even if he'd just man up and hear her out, that would be something. I mean, it's one thing to say, "No, I don't think I can be in a marriage where things like that happen." It's another to be willfully ignoring both her needs and the way she takes care of them. Sticking your head in the sand isn't a solution.

But as I told her, I don't know that I could talk to him because I can't talk to people I know sometimes. I have my own communications problems, and I should probably see to my own house before I invade someone else's.

I wrote her an email today telling her that I wanted to take a raincheck after the fact because I'd totally failed as a lover, but if she gave me a bit of prep time I'd be ready to rock her world. Not sure if that was the appropriate response; maybe I'll frighten her away. But if not, I'm thinking of bringing a toy next time, maybe some exciting underwear. Maybe, if she's so interested in novelty, I'll introduce her to ass play. Who knows. If all I can do is make her happy a little, I'll do that, for the very selfish reason that she's attractive and I have few other options at present.

Flash Fiction Friday - Growing

Picture courtesy of my ramblings on the Internet. Source unremembered, title and creator unknown.

"...Late at night when you are sleepin' Poison Ivy comes a-creepin' all around..." The radio crackled, static from some distant storm. Here it was dry as a bone.

She sat atop him, the reflection of the light across the street bathing her in glow. She was fertility, promise, growth, new life. "Suppose it'll rain tomorrow?" he asked her, eyes closed, feeling rather than seeing her wetness spread over his stomach where she squatted, planting herself.

"No. No rain." The warm mellifluence of her accent was a contrast to the sere air around them. "The sky still stores her tears."

Desire grew in her, a humid longing, to plant seeds, to watch the black earth bring forth green shoots. Nectar coursed in her veins, and she eased herself back until his stalk was enshrined in the hothouse of her womanhood, a transplant that felt natural. He was growing too, his own cycle started, spring in his loins.

"Ay Madre," she swore softly. "It was so dry without you. The air was like razors."

Laconic, he merely ran his hands, coarse and calloused, over her shadowed flanks, gripping her like he was about to uproot her. His succulent. His thirsty jungle flower.

---

Jade plucked a lotus in her garden and pondered the clouds, always in motion, restless. Some days felt like that.

"And is it not so that all things change?" asked Kong, knowing her mind better than any other. "Are we not all as the clouds."

"Heaven is unchanging," Jade said. "What seems to be motion is really stillness. If a rock is in a stream, does it move because the water moves around it?"

Kong laughed. It was a good laugh, without malice or mockery. Jade remembered why she had brought him here. "Mistress, when I was born I was not fully made. Not until I met you did I become whole." And he kissed her, audaciously, ignoring boundaries, ignoring propriety. She let herself be kissed, let his hands remove her robes and his, and they coupled in the grass, in the garden beneath the ever-changing clouds. She felt him move inside her as no man had ever done. His deep truth grew in her.

After, as they lay in the grass, sweat glinting off his skin, she asked, smiling, "So, Master, was it you who entered me, or did you stand still and merely allow me to surround you?"

---

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above to write a flash fiction of exactly 200 words ('cause I'm a stinker). To further add complications, you filled in the Mad-Lib below and used that phrase in your writing:

"...[A FEELING] grew in her..."

As usual, nobody's checking word counts (really, because I can't count and can't be arsed to try), or the key phrase (because I complain about it so much it would be hypocritical), but you only cheat yourself if you break the rules. I don't give spankings; I will merely voice my disappointment in you in such a way as to make you feel far worse. Far, far worse.

Click here to skip my ramblings and get straight to the other players.

---

Two this week, mostly because 200 words on the nose is a tough nut to crack. I was being cute and it cost me. Well, no, not really. Actually, I realized that I hadn't used the phrase in the second one even though I thought I had. The word count was just a matter of removing a word or two here or there.

Two, neither of which are what I started out to do. My original phrase, for those interested, was "doubt grew in her" and I riffed on similarly grim topics in my brain while looking at the picture, until I realized that insisting on that as a phrase would pretty much steer a certain course, and I didn't want to do that. So I Mad-Libbed it up, because feelings growing seemed easier to deal with than any particular feeling growing.

So you'd think that I would have at least used "doubt grew in her" once. But no. The first one was sort of the atmosphere I was going for in my mind, but instead of being dry, it got all wet, which I didn't mind. The verdure of the prose may be a bit much, but it's really more of a tone poem than anything else. It's fairly open-ended; it's a moment in time, rather than a whole arc. We just dropped in to see what condition its condition was in.

The second... well, I'll postpone discussion of the second for a moment. If you don't know the song being played on the radio at the beginning of the first one, it's a classic and you should, not because it's the greatest song ever but just because it's something people should know. I've heard various different versions of it, and I wish I could find the Coasters doing it way back when, but in any case, that's the song if it helps to have the soundtrack playing.

Okay, now the second. Astute readers will notice that Kong and Jade's names bear a striking resemblance to certain characters in Chinese myths. Please don't hate me because I made the August Personage of Jade a woman. Or that I had Confucius have sex with her. He's a product of divine and mortal in some stories, and I didn't do Confucius/August Personage slash fic.

Confucius, or Kong Fu Tze (and Fu Tze is a title of respect akin to Master, not actually part of his name, like how Jesus' last name wasn't Christ) was a fairly important person in China, if you're unaware. He didn't just write corny sayings in fortune cookies. Heck, look him up; I'm not a scholar.

The August Personage of Jade is the Emperor of everything, according to Chinese mythology (simplification, I know). In religious Confucianism, the August Personage is the top of the pyramid, because Heaven is organized in the same way that Earth should be, with a hierarchy of benevolence. This concept is also echoed in the ideal family, so it stands to reason that the August Personage is also the head of the divine family. Again, not a scholar, please consult the oracles on the subject.

If plants came immediately to mind in the first one, the second was a bit less straightforward. I wanted to write two because it seemed like there had to be more than one way to look at the picture (and I'm sure our other players will oblige you in that regard as well), but nothing sprang to mind. Maybe she was an alien? Maybe the Incredible Hulk? Then I remembered that I'd lamented a while back that I was being entirely too Western in my fantasy, so I said to myself, "Okay self, how about an Eastern fantasy?" And then I thought, "Okay, she's green, jade is green, no one will ever forgive me if I make the August Personage of Jade a woman, but what the hell, I'm doomed anyway and there needs to be some feminism in Confucianism."

So I imagined a story where Confucius arrived in Heaven and found that he'd been sort of right, that there were rulers in Heaven and they were ideal in the way he thought they'd be, but he was also wrong because the ruler was a woman. And unlike living humans, dead humans can sometimes be flexible in their approaches to the situation, so Confucius, being the wise man he was, realized that it was okay. His ideals of humanity and law were still perfectly fine and good, but instead of "the father" being the ruler of everything, maybe mothers might get to rule things too. And he laughed at himself, and at how blinkered he'd been and how much better things were when there was more humanity, and the August Personage heard his laughter and fell in love with him.

Obviously, that's not quite what happens in my story, but that's sort of what I was thinking. The black background of the photo fights a bit with the idea of a heavenly garden, but that's okay; it's the green and the flower that matter. I tried to think of it a bit like a sexual koan too, or a piece of Chinese poetry where there are many levels. And who's to say whether the August Personage of Jade isn't both a man and a woman; it would make sense that way. Or perhaps divinity transcends gender (no perhaps about it, in my humble opinion). But it's more fun if she's a hot woman for this scene.

Your words of the day are mellifluence and sere.

---

Here's a list of the people who I know for a fact are playing this week. If you're not on the list, it's because you didn't tell me you were playing and I didn't happen to see your entry when I made my rounds of the usual suspects at some point (possibly not even Friday, but I'll try). But you can be on this list even now; if you let me know you played, I will put you on the list, even if it's Sunday evening. Monday I'll probably give up on anyone else letting me know, mostly because it'll be time for a new challenge, courtesy of the hostest with the mostest, PB, whose enormous shoes (and we all know what big shoes mean, don't we ladies?) I could never hope to fill. The list is in order of when people let me know, because it's easier that way, and because last isn't always least.

• Rozewolf - http://wordwytch.wordpress.com
• Advizor - http://advizortoall.blogspot.com/
• David - http://dsinvegas.blogspot.com/
• Max - http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com/

Mystery Solved

Okay, everyone who had,"she's a space alien who seeks to steal human genetic material via a tiny lab located where her cunt would be," raise your hands. Good. You're wrong. Very, very wrong. But it was an interesting guess.

In case I haven't been clear (and I haven't) I'm talking about Annie, my erstwhile handjob partner. You can read the other parts of this particular saga here (part 1 and part 2). No, she's not an alien. Nor is she a post-op transsexual. Or secretly underage. Or any of the other Machiavellian schemes I could come up with. She's just a bit strange in the sexuality department.

We were invited out for a party to Annie's house, and I was a bit concerned because I thought I'd be meeting her husband and things might get awkward. What if she'd told him everything? What if he suspected? What if he were a total asshole? A lot of conflicting thoughts there. I almost didn't go, with the excuse that I had too much work to do, etc. I'm not a particularly party person as has been established, and often enough I let the actors go off and be social and wave goodbye. But this cast has been a nice one to work with, and they convinced me to go, and at a certain point I couldn't not go without it seeming strange, so I went.

As it turns out, I needn't have worried; he wasn't there. I had a nice time hanging out with people for a little while; it wasn't a party really, just an informal get-together. It was a weekday, so everyone didn't want to stay out too late, and things broke up after a while. I was all set to head out, but Annie pulled me aside and said, "Stick around." It was really just like that. So I let everyone else trickle out, made some excuse about finding my jacket or using the bathroom, and when everyone else was gone, found Annie sitting on her sofa pulling off her pants. She really moves like lightning when things are moving.

Much as I wanted to just leap in there, rip my clothes off, and do whatever it was she wanted to do (I may have been slightly sated by my weekend, but my sex drive is a never-ending series of ravening whines at this point) I forced myself to stay put. "Okay, Annie, before we do whatever it is you want to do," I said, and grinned to show that I was totally at her mercy as far as commands were concerned. She smiled back and patted the sofa beside her. "But before that, I've got to know. What's going on?"

"What's going on with what?"

"With... this. All this. I mean, I don't mind it at all, but you're married, and you've been acting like nothing happened, and..." I may have babbled a bit more. Coherence is not my middle name. Not in situations like this, anyway. Confrontation isn't my middle name either.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you didn't mind."

"I don't, I said I don't, but I'd just like to know where I stand. Should I be worried about your husband finding out? What's going on?"

She gave me this confused look herself. "Worried about my husband? He's not here."

"Yes, but in future. Does he know about this?"

She looked shocked then. "No! Of course not. You think I tell him stuff like this?"

"I've had it happen." That's true. "And I don't want to be a home-wrecker or anything like that."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. David knows I have needs, and he's okay with that."

Now we were getting somewhere. I finally sat down. "So he's okay with you wanting to sleep with women?"

She blushed a little. It's so odd, how shy she is. "Nothing like that," she said. "He just knows that I like to do things that he can't do."

"The two of you don't have sex at all?"

She looked shocked again. "Of course we do. It's just... not enough for me, I guess. For a long time..." She stopped and looked embarrassed.

"It's okay, I know the feeling," I said with a little laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. "One man isn't enough for me either."

"Oh! You never said anything about having a man."

"I'm bi."

"Oh." That seemed to explain it for her. "I guess I'm that too. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I figured we could just have a bit of fun, you know. Not have to worry about it so much."

"How did you know to try it with me?"

"I didn't. The last woman I tried to pick up rejected me. I guess I just got lucky." I'm not sure I believe her. She must have heard something. But I didn't press the issue.

"So you've had other women?"

"Some." She kept coy about the number. "David is the only man I love, the only man I want to be with. But he... early on, it seemed like we might get a divorce because I just needed it too much and he couldn't give it to me. I tried to talk him into having... you know, with another woman too, but he's traditional." Suddenly it was like she wasn't talking to me, really, just getting stuff off her chest. "If he thought I was seeing another man, he'd do something horrible, I just know it. And I love him. It seemed like maybe we'd break up, even though we loved each other, until finally he said he didn't want to know if I was doing things, but for the sake of the marriage I could do them. I guess I could probably get another man too, if he never found out, but that would be like cheating on him. With you, it's just like... I don't know." She laughed and blushed again. "Why am I telling you all this stuff? I just wanted to have a good time. I'm sorry the first time you didn't get anything in return, and I guess I'm sorry you've been confused."

"That's okay." It wasn't, really, but it sort of had to be. "So... just fingers, or now that we're in more comfortable surroundings..."

"I don't know," she said, laughing and blushing again. She's got this girlish quality to her, despite her age (not that I'm implying she's ancient, just that she's too old to be a girl any more, as am I). "When you kissed me... I felt a little guilty."

"I won't do it again then."

"No... it's okay. I guess it's okay." She sighed. "The thing is... I need new things. Doing it with David, it's always wonderful because of the love, but it doesn't always... you know, make me feel as good as other things do. He's traditional." She sighed again and then without much fanfare pulled her top over her head, and there she was in bra and panties, both lace, both very sexy. Her breasts are smaller than I expected, and the one area of her body that isn't toned seems to be her upper arms; they betray some flab. But I'm not an arm fetishist, and she looked very nice. "I... I don't think I could do it on our bed," she said, jolting me out of my reverie. "I've never even done it in the house before."

"We can go somewhere else, I guess, if you want..."

"No, it's fine, just sorry about not being on a bed." She reached around and unhooked her bra, slipped it off. Her breasts show signs of drooping too, although when she was a teenager they must have been just about the perkiest things ever. Large reddish nipples which were out of character with her looks, a bit lower than they must have been in their heyday, but still perfectly fine. A realistic set of breasts. I enjoy real.

Then she leaned over and let me kiss her. It was a bit strange, but that's what it was like; she leaned in, and then presented herself to be kissed. It was underwhelming, as far as kisses go, and I stopped after a moment because it didn't seem worth it to make her awkward. Instead, I moved my hands to her breasts and cupped them, feeling the nipples rise under my palms. I squeezed them lightly, then complimented her on them, which she took with a blush and a giggle.

"Can I taste them?" I asked, checking boundaries, and she nodded eagerly this time, then arched her back a little. I couldn't help myself; I kissed my way down her neck to her breasts, then took each in turn in my mouth, licking over the pebbled surface of her excited nipple, smelling that perfume again. She sighed and shifted down slightly, and her breathing picked up tempo.

I was still fully dressed and she was in nothing but her panties, but I went lower and kissed just above her belly button impishly, then eased myself to the floor and reached up to hook her panties and slip them off. Her thighs are really just gorgeous, and I kissed each of them for a while, feeling the heat between them rising. I saw her slip a finger down and stroke herself lightly, and I cheekily pushed my head in to give her a quick kiss before standing up again. "Do you mind if I get more comfortable?" I asked, and she nodded, so I slipped my clothes off rapidly, not bothering with sensuality, and then sat naked next to her again. "Seriously, if anything other than fingers makes you uncomfortable..."

"No... I liked when you licked me," she said with a small smile. "I don't know if I can do the same for you..."

"If you don't want to..."

"I'll try." And then she threw herself into it like she was jumping into cold water. Not a reaction I like to see, because I don't like people to have to force themselves to pleasure me, but I wasn't going to stop her. She kissed me, with the same strange awkwardness, then moved to my breasts and suckled at them with the lack of skill of someone who hasn't put her mouth on a tit since she was a baby, if even then. I let her work out her obvious feelings of awkwardness on my nipples for a while, until I was afraid she'd leave marks, then I tried to be as nice as possible in giving her a few pointers.

Then it seemed like she was going to go for the main event, and I confess that I was slightly worried she would try to use her teeth on my clit or something, in her earnestness, but instead, when she got between my legs and started kissing me, it was like she'd been born to eat cunt. She was one of the best first-timers I've ever had. She was hesitant until I encouraged her with some moans and yeses, but even in hesitation, she had a delicate touch of both tongue and lips which teased my clitoris from her hiding place in record time, then teased me over the edge, surprising me. She only really worked the outside to begin with, and when I came the first time she didn't even seem to notice, which with a more assertive technique might have been a problem, but with her little delicate touches was wonderful. So many people stop when they see they've gotten me off, and that's the last thing you ought to do.

She got a finger working the inside and that delicate touch on the outside, and when I hit stride and was about to go for number two, I realized that I'd better give her some kind of sign otherwise she might assume that she had to go on for ever. So I amped up number two a bit, then pulled her up again and said, "That was wonderful. Just wonderful." Which was the truth.

I kissed her again because I couldn't help it, and this time she responded a little better, so we cuddled for a moment, then I slipped my finger down between her legs and started stroking her while we kept kissing. That seemed to awaken in her the idea that kissing could be an enjoyable part of the process, and she opened up even more, letting me run my tongue across hers, our breaths mingling. I finally was the one who broke away, as her pussy was getting so hot and wet it was obvious she was in dire need. Ordinarily, I might have postponed things a bit with some more foreplay, but in this case she was read to go, so I moved immediately between her legs and started working on her, finger curling up against the front of her pussy, tongue licking and tickling.

You can be the greatest lover in the world (and I'm not in any way saying I am) and still not really know what to do with a new partner, particularly if she's not terribly communicative. I tried to take my cues from her responses, but in the end she was probably better at eating me out than I was at eating her out. That's okay; I'm not really all that proud. It bruises the ego slightly to be outplayed by a novice, but the pleasure more than made up for it. And there was that damned perfume again, which got in my nose and obscured her very enjoyable smells and tastes. Still, I managed, and since we weren't in a location where anyone was likely to hear us, she gave much fuller voice to her satisfaction, was much less inhibited, and when she came, although it was the same quiet tension and release, it seemed like she was able to enjoy herself more. I kept going through, easing up a bit at the end, then started in again, until she begged me to stop. "One's my limit," she said, skin flushed, eyes sparkling.

"Are you sure?" I asked with a wicked grin.

"I get really tender after. Maybe in a little bit."

So we sat and cooled off. She offered to go down on me again, but I said that wouldn't be fair, although I did let her reach over and put her fingers inside me. But she looked beat, and in the end I gently took her hand away, spread my legs, and stroked myself to orgasm while she watched, mildly enthusiastic but really unable to do anything about it. "Well..." I said finally.

"Well..." she said. And for some reason, the weight of it all must have hit us at the same time. Before I knew what was going on, I was curious but didn't feel anything particularly bad about having done things. When I found out, I guess I didn't get a chance to process things. But after, I suddenly took it all in and felt bad about it. I don't know why; I didn't feel guilty so much as I felt bad for her, for having to be in her situation. She just looked tired, but maybe she was feeling guilty, for having gone farther than she intended maybe? I don't know. In the end, it was late and after a bit of small talk, I started to get my clothes on while she ran for a robe so she could see me out.

It didn't get awkward at the end, just a bit sad or something. She gave me a kiss on the cheek at the door, and said she was really glad I'd stayed. I said I'd be happy to come over some other time. She said she'd think about it.

Now I'm not sure what will happen. I'm still slightly curious about her, because even if I know what's going on, she acts in a way which is contrary to the way she is normally, when she wants to have sex with me. And most of the time she behaves like nothing has happened. Maybe that'll be different now. But she's so shy ordinarily; picturing her propositioning anyone would not enter into your mind, I promise you, if you saw her. And she's so matter-of-fact about it, but she's strangely prudish in her sensibilities for someone who knows what they want and goes after it the way she does. And then there's the whole thing with her marriage. I don't know what it is she needs that he doesn't give her. Maybe he's a once-a-week-Sunday kind of guy. Or maybe he can't make her cum. Or any number of things. And he's "traditional." What does that mean, exactly? I have an idea, but... yeah, there's a lot of mystery still.

I imagine that, once this show is over, the whole thing will dry up and she'll move on to someone else. Maybe not. But from her talk of novelty, I wonder how long she can keep it up. Will moving on to someone else be enough, or will she eventually have to escalate to things she swore she'd never do? Will the whole thing tear the marriage apart because eventually she won't be able to get by on surreptitiousness? It's not a healthy situation. I wish I could help her, in some odd way, even though I'm not a sex-therapist. I don't like it when people are in situations like that. It's unfortunate that it seems to be the norm rather than the exception in our culture.

Communication, kids. It's not just a college major.

Thoughts On Coed Bathrooms

Dan was kind enough to start a conversation about the shower scene in my previous story, which got us onto the subject of coed bathrooms, and then he was kind enough to let me continue my ruminations on the subject in public for the entertainment of all.

First of all, at Sveta's college, they are coed by dorm but not by room. I went to a school where you could literally room with anyone you wanted, and had my living situation not worked out so well I might have considered, foolishly, rooming with a guy, and no one would have made much of it. I say "foolishly" however because while it was completely normal to room with a member of the opposite gender, it didn't happen all that often and when it did happen it often wound up being a really bad idea. The people who made it work were usually not sexually involved, for reasons of sexuality or just because they were friends, not lovers. Lovers who decided to room together often wound up broken up by the end of the term and absolutely miserable in their living arrangements. Moving in together is not something to be taken lightly.

Anyway, Ernst could have Sveta over to his room with no problem, and she often sleeps there I'm told, but she couldn't be his official roommate. But she can use the bathroom in his hallway with no problem; there's only one bathroom for four or five rooms, and it's cheerfully coed. I remember a certain degree of bathroom fun when I was in college, but I'm given to understand that Ernst and Sveta have never done anything like that, although they may get around to it.

So it wasn't gender proscriptions that kept Ernst from joining us in the shower, it was simple physics; two objects can't occupy the same space, no matter how much fun it is to try, and two was probably more than the limit of those small showers, so three would have been impossible. Again, it might have been fun to try.

It's funny though; I've never lived in a situation where I didn't have to share my bathroom with someone, usually too many people. Sveta, lucky minx that she is, actually only has to share her bathroom with her roomie; they have their own bathroom as part of their room. It's not huge, but still. And I've heard stories that some colleges have singles with bathrooms attached. I had to share my college bathroom with all sorts of people, and it wasn't exactly private either, so people who didn't live in the dorm could use our bathrooms as well.

And then there's my home life. It's a bit better now, but despite having a very nice bathroom, we only have one, and as Dan commented, with six people, four of them women (although to be fair I'm usually quite quick in my morning ablutions) the bathroom becomes crowded in a hurry. Even in a family like mine, where one person could be showering, one could be using the toilet, and one could be at the sink, that's still only half the people in the house at any given time, and certain activities take longer than others.

So, when we were all still in school and having to leave at about the same time, we had to work in shifts. There was a schedule posted. I was always in the middle somewhere, which kind of sucked, so at a certain point in my life I started showering in the evening, which also kind of sucked, so I went back to the schedule. The plus side was that often enough I didn't need an alarm; whoever was ahead of me in the queue would poke me when they were through. In the mornings, we usually didn't take all that long in the actual bathroom, and brushing your teeth in the kitchen was sometimes required, to say nothing of running around naked, which was normal, dripping wet, which made my parents yell at us for leaving puddles.

At a certain point, Mike and I came to an agreement, since he was usually last in, being the youngest. We'd shower together and attempt not to do anything distracting. Our tub is big enough that it can easily work to shower two at a time, and for a while we were pretty good about it. It meant that we had more hot water and more time, and it was a decent arrangement. But unless things were really running behind, we would often find ourselves unable to resist, and while that didn't usually mean anything much beyond a bit of teasing, sometimes it would mean a whole lot more. Better than coffee, I tell you.

Mike is a guy who can last for a respectable amount of time, not epic but more than enough to make me happy, but unlike my Dad who is pretty much a marathon, Mike can dial back on his resilience or something. I don't know what exactly he does, and if he forces it too much it doesn't work out well, but he can say, "Okay, we've got precisely 7 minutes here, and so I'm going to get you off once and then I'll finish up as quickly as I can." Not that we ever said anything like that, but he can fuck to fit the time, I guess is what I'm saying.

Normally we'd clean up first, and depending on the time (of course we had to have a clock in the bathroom so people would keep on schedule; my family can sometimes be a bit Prussian) we'd do various things with what remained. I have fond memories of brushing my teeth while bent over the sink, Mike's cock thrusting in and out as he built toward climax. Sometimes, if things were rushed or if it just happened, we'd get each other off while soaping up. Only occasionally would Mike be the only one who got something out of it; I might give him a blowjob while he was shaving, but even then often enough he'd pull me up and cream me after a few thrusts, just so I'd get a little something out of it.

I don't want it to seem like I was getting morning sex every day; for one thing, Mike and I didn't start showering together until fairly late (I often wish we'd started earlier) and then many days we were too tired or stressed or hurried. And then once Mari went to college, things eased up a little. And of course summers were totally different. Not that I wasn't getting sex other times of the day, but Mike had Sheri and Mom to satisfy too.

I miss it sometimes, when I'm forced to wake up early for something. I miss just being in the shower with him, even if nothing was going on but bathing. I miss being in the steamy room brushing my teeth, elbowing him out of the way of the mirror, sneaking little touches of his skin. I definitely miss his hand covered in soap lathering up between my legs, then slipping a finger in cheekily, knowing that we didn't have any time to do anything else but be cheeky. Going to school, cum soaking my panties, sometimes so badly that I'd have to go to the bathroom before first period and take them off, wipe myself off, and then either go the rest of the day without or put the soiled ones back on after blotting them a bit.

Weekends, of course, were when I might luck out and get some time in the tub with the old man, and that was completely different but also wonderful. I remember once Mike bought this soap which was supposed to be specially formulated to clean your asshole, and he put it all over his cock and then bent me over in the shower and fucked my ass with his soapy cock until we both discovered that it was more abrasive than it seemed. That wasn't a weekday, but still, it's a nice, if somewhat painful, memory. Don't use anus soap as lube, kids. That's my message for today.

Presidents' Day: The Most Romantic Holiday

I just love the look on my sweetheart's face when I give her a copy of the Constitution and a stovepipe hat and tell her that I think she's sexier than Hayes and sweeter than Harrison. Then we go buy furniture and cars together.

In case you haven't gotten it, I'm joking. Maybe you don't know about our lesser-known presidents whom this day is also supposed to be celebrating. Maybe you thought I was talking about Isaac Hayes and George Harrison, and felt that it was too soon. Maybe you live in a country which doesn't deify your past supreme political leaders. It's called Family Day in parts of Canada; maybe I should go for that instead.

Anyway, Presidents' Day (opinion seems to be slightly divided on the subject of where to put the apostrophe, but that's probably because most people don't know how apostrophes work) has never been a big deal for me, mostly because I've never held a job which got off work for silly reasons like that. Since I get Mondays off frequently and seldom get weekends, the concept of a three-day weekend is lost on me in any case. I had no idea it was Presidents' Day until I started seeing advertisements for sales, and even then it's hard to tell whether they're advertising a sale to coincide with the holiday or merely because they felt like including Abraham Lincoln in their laxative commercial. Getting off-topic here.

I decided last week that I had had enough, and I was going to take a personal day or two and visit Sveta at college, because there was no way I was going to be able to last until Easter. I pondered trying to surprise her, but my track record on things like that is pretty bad, and I figured I'd probably show up and she'd have gone home to visit me as a surprise or something. So I just dropped enormous hints without promising I was coming to visit. I'm pretty sure she knew exactly what was on my mind, but she was kind enough to pretend not to know. "So, if I were to come up this weekend, not that I would, would you be there? Would Ernst be there? Or have you found a new boy toy? Would he be there? Strictly hypothetically, of course." Yeah, I was the master of subtlety. I should go to work for the CIA.

I was all set to leave on Friday, but then wham, I had to work. Couldn't get out of it. And then got the news that I'd have to work Saturday too. I was crushed. I was all set to lie and call in sick. But then I finagled a deal whereby if I came in for Saturday morning and knocked out what I needed to knock out, I could leave when it was done, and then not work Sunday at all. I'm afraid I cut a few corners getting out of there on Saturday; my coworkers were sympathetic and helped me shoot in and out as quickly as possible. I'm pretty sure I owe several of them a beer for cleaning up after me.

I had shoved a clean pair of underwear and a change of clothes into a bag in my car, and I drove to Sveta's school at faster than the recommended speed. Got up there before she expected me, which was the extent of the surprise; I got to meet her roomie, finally, who seems like a nice sort of roommate to have in college. I wanted to rip Sveta's clothes right off as soon as I got in the door, but instead we kissed chastely and sat and chatted with her roomie for a while. I was ruining my panties in my extreme need to be doing something sexual; just sitting next to her was driving me crazy. Her roomie knows, I think, what was on my mind; she's not a total prude, just not the sort who would say, "Okay, now you two get naked and let me watch." Or join in. I would have let her, and it would have blown her mind. But anyway, Sveta doesn't seem to have lied and said I was just a friend, which is good.

Finally Sveta took me to dinner, and on the walk over to the dining hall I managed to feel her up like the reprobate I am, which made her squirm and giggle and then finally when no one was looking kiss me with abandon, pressing against me so tightly I thought she would pass through my body and out the other side. We were both horny as hell, although I understand she's been getting regular loving from Ernst. Sounds like it might be getting a bit serious. I don't know what will happen when he graduates, and I hope it won't hurt Sveta if the relationship ends.

My mind wasn't on food. Sveta said that Ernst was in his room and that we could go over there for the evening, where there were adult entertainments to be had of various types, both libational and sexual. So over we headed.

Ernst wasn't exactly how I'd pictured him, even having seen pictures (Sveta sent me one of the two of them, perfectly innocent on the surface, and then told me that shortly thereafter he'd reamed her ass in a sweaty marathon of sex). He's not imposing; he might be shorter than me. But he has charisma and he wasn't nervous at all at meeting me, nor was he over-eager. It was a bit like meeting her boyfriend as a sibling or something, or even as her mother. Not that awkward though. And he knew that I was there for a threesome, which did make him pleased, you could tell.

We were all a bit unsure how to begin, which is more a testament to my feelings of being out of place than anything else. We had a few drinks, nothing particularly strong, just enough to be social and hang out for a while, and then Sveta and Ernst started making out when she pulled her top off, "to get comfortable," she said. I followed suit, and Ernst was in his boxers shortly thereafter, and when Sveta switched from kissing him to kissing me, I felt comfortable enough to reach over and stroke his cock which was tenting his boxers. It's decent. Nothing huge, but respectable. He was obviously enjoying seeing the two of us lock lips while both our hands stroked him, to the point where he pulled down his boxers too, and there was the main event.

I don't often make mention of circumcision because it matters very little to my estimation of most cocks. He was circumcised, and the head of his cock was enormous, which was the notable feature about his cock; otherwise it was pretty standard in size, girth, angle, shape, and so forth. But the head was dark compared to his lighter skin, and it seemed like it was a large proportion of the shaft until I realized that there was a line which wasn't the head of his cock but extended down the shaft a ways. It was a bit odd-looking, having half his cock florid and half quite pale, but it didn't seem to be tender or anything like that.

I gave him a kiss for the first time while Sveta pulled her skirt and panties down in one fell swoop and knelt to work on his cock. He was wearing some cologne which I found mildly off-putting; the scent was just a bit too medicinal and strong for my taste. But then I'm not a scent gal. I didn't let it get to me. He put his hand on my breast and started squeezing in time with Sveta's head bobbing on his dick, which was a nice touch but possibly unintentional. I'll give him credit for it.

Pretty soon his other hand was on her head; he's still young and inexperienced so I let that slide. He broke away from kissing me to grunt tighten up, and he got the most precious face on him when he came. I can't even describe it; it was like he'd suddenly become a little boy. Sveta popped up once he was done and shared a taste with me, and then I pulled down my pants and panties and pulled her down to the bed where we kissed heavily, hands roving over each other's bodies. I wished in that instant, no matter how much I was looking forward to getting some cock, that I could have kicked him out and just had the rest of the evening with her.

We ground together for a while until Ernst started stroking her pussy from the side, then I hopped up and straddled her face and began eating her out, feeling her tongue on my cunt lapping away, letting all the stress drain out of me at the taste of her sweetness. Between my tongue and lips and his finger we got her off, a strong, pulsing orgasm that seemed like it might have been a multiple, and certainly drenched the bedclothes. For some reason I hadn't cum yet, and when Sveta said, somewhat weakly, "Ernst babe, you ready to show Lexi what you can do?" I was kind of glad that my first orgasm of the evening would be on a cock.

He was hard again, hopped up on the bed without us moving, slipped on a condom, and as I felt Sveta kissing my clit he took my hips gently and pressed that monster head between my labia. She must have told him what to do or something, because he was pretty good for his first time with me. When he bottomed out and I felt her tongue go from my clit to his balls, I came. And what an O it was. I gasped and let my body fall between her thighs, just the hips and ass raised, and my back seemed to go through a wave, the tension starting at the base of the spine where it meets the hips, then traveling up to my ribs, my shoulder blades, and then exploding into my skull. And again, and again. It was very nice, the combination of penetration and clit-tonguing.

Once I came down from that, he started to work more quickly, in and out of me, which felt so nice I came again within moments, a smaller, slower orgasm, but one which was nicely heightened by the pair of sensations in my nethers. After that, I even tried to work a little on the cunt which was right in front of my face, but in the end I just licked up the juice and tasted and smelled and felt until finally he pulled out, pulled the condom off, and fired several spurts into Sveta's waiting mouth again.

We were all sweaty and sticky and hot, and so we lounged around naked for a while, had another drink, stroked and enjoyed ourselves. Ernst offered the shower, so Sveta and I streaked giggling down the hall into the bathroom, both blushing even though I could have cared less whether anyone saw. As it happened most of the dorm was out, it being Saturday evening, and we made it into the shower stall unscathed. It was cramped but fun, and when someone came in to use the bathroom, we tried to stay quiet but probably failed. It was mostly cleanliness, but fingers made their way into various orifices, and I had another quickie O on Sveta's talented digits before we shut the water off, realized we hadn't brought towels, and ran, dripping and giggling and blushing, back to Ernst's room.

Sveta spends a reasonable amount of time in Ernst's room, given that he has a single, but she doesn't have any of her toiletries there, so we made do with a proffered towel that was much too small, while Ernst sat back and enjoyed the sight of two naked women doing a very poor job of drying off. Then back to bed, and this time Sveta was the lucky gal; Ernst had the condom on and waiting for her to climb aboard, which she did with gusto. She's got more boob than I do, and watching her ride him was fun, so much fun that I didn't do what I'd intended and go down to where the action was, but rather climbed up myself and without asking sat on Ernst's face where I could kiss Sveta and hold her breasts to feel them bounce.

He's not much of a pussy-eater, is Ernst; his technique is pretty basic, but he's enthusiastic. Of course, it was probably the first time he'd ever had to eat out one woman while fucking another, and while that position was the best one for the neophyte, it still is asking a lot. I enjoyed myself but didn't cum, until it seemed like things were heating up and I went around to give him some help getting her off before he went off himself. I stroked his balls and reached around to finger her clit as she ground down on him, then stuck my finger up her ass, which made her start and giggle and then keep on bouncing, slowly, as the sensations got away from her and she began oozing, then drenching his pubes with moisture. She really is something to watch cum, I tell you.

Then she basically fell off him, and I pulled off the condom and sucked his cock for about five seconds before he unloaded in my mouth. There wasn't much; he was obviously running out of steam, and who can blame him? I left him lying on his back contemplating his good fortune and snuggled up with Sveta, stroking her still-sensitive lips, kissing her, feeling the heat radiate from her body.

After that, I could have gone for a lot more because I'm insatiable, but the two junior partners were tuckered out, so we lay there in bed, Sveta in the middle, and cuddled and chatted. It was nice, talking about stuff, lying there, slowly cooling off. It had been pretty warm in the room to start with, but the temperature dropped and we pulled the slightly-soggy blanket over ourselves and kept talking. Sveta fell asleep first, and then Ernst and I watched a movie for a while until we both dropped off too. It had been a long day for me, and while I had a bit of trouble, on the whole, falling asleep like that was fine with me.

The bed was tiny, and we all wound up tossing and turning and waking up. I woke to them spooning beside me, gave Sveta a kiss, and left them to it, slipping on panties and heading to the bathroom. I don't know why I put on panties and nothing else; it wasn't like it was particularly modest to do that. I didn't meet anyone in the hall, so it didn't matter.

When I came back, she was on her face and he was on top of her, nothing moving but their hips, up and down in rhythm, little movements. Surely he couldn't be in her ass, not this early, I thought, but I thought wrong, because that's just what he was in. It was a nice way to get anal for her; not violent, just easy and slow, rubbing together. I reached under and got my fingers into her, then lay back and felt them pressing my hand down each time.

She gasped and so did he, and by the way she flowed she was cumming and then he was too. It was cute, watching the two of them cum at the same time. "Wow," he said, rolling off her after a few minutes. "She's never cum with me in her ass before." Her asshole was a bit distended, and there was a trickle of white from it.

"You don't wear a condom for anal?" I asked, mostly by way of conversation. I wasn't being judgmental.

"Oh God, it totally slipped my mind," he said, looking stricken. "Quick, go rinse off or something."

"No babe, it's okay," she said, rolling over and glowing, smile on her face. "I was going to ask, but I figured it didn't matter. I hope I didn't make a mess on your cock or anything."

Just the way she looked was enough, and I had to kiss her, and I kissed her pleasantly until we both realized that he was really worried still. "She's fine," I said. "Go wash up. She doesn't mind."

"Really, I don't," she said. He didn't look like he believed her completely, but what was he going to say? He went out in his boxers.

"He seems nice," I said. "Nice enough to worry, or has he heard rumors that you've got horrible diseases?"

"He is nice. He's never been anything but a gentleman. I've never asked him to wear a condom; he just does. And this was really the first time he's ever been in even my ass without. I've wanted it, Lexi, I really have. You're lucky; creampies on demand."

"Well, not really." And I filled her in a bit more on the situation with the lack of sex for yours truly. Which persists, annoyingly. Perhaps I'll go into more detail at some point. Perhaps not. It's more personal than interesting, and less interesting than annoying.

We snuggled, cum no doubt staining his sheets, until he came back, looking worried again. We smiled at him. "Come to breakfast with us?" we asked, almost in unison. It was ridiculously cutesy, or it would have been had we planned it. That seemed to diffuse his worry, and we all pulled on clothes, although Sveta left her underwear on the floor, a trophy no doubt. I'll have to bring her more undies when I see her again.

Breakfast was a sleepy affair; after the first excitement of the morning had worn off, it was clear to my brain that I hadn't slept well in a few days now, and my brain wanted nothing more than to sleep for a few days. Since I couldn't kick Ernst out of his room and he looked like he might go back there and sleep himself, and since Sveta's roomie was in her room, we sat in the dining hall until they kicked us out, then we found a quiet spot and sat there where it was warm, just talking about things, nothing serious, just funny stories about stupid professors and bad actors and so forth.

Finally, I said, "Honey, I want to stay here forever, I really do, but if I don't leave now, I'll have to spend the night because I'll never make it home without falling asleep." She snuggled for a minute, then got up rather abruptly and pulled me up too, then planted a big kiss on my lips, with bodies pressed together, and walked me to my car in silence. We didn't really say anything else, just goodbyes and another kiss, which threatened to turn into either crying or public nudity until we sensibly broke away and I drove off home.

It was nice visiting, and after having slept for longer than I intended this morning, I don't even feel particularly the worse for wear. I called her when I got home and we talked a bit on the phone. Everything seems normal. I'm pretty happy about how it turned out, and while I would have liked to get some more loving or some more sex or even just some more time alone with Sveta, I'm not particularly depressed or missing her terribly. All in all, a great trip, and even if it's basically the only thing that's gone right for me in what feels like forever, I'll take it. Hope you enjoyed your vicarious lightning vacation.

Happy Presidents' Day, and may all your cherry trees be chopped.

Flash Fiction Fill-in

Since PB is out of communication this week, and since I managed to say, "I'll do it!" first (and feel free to correct me on that if I'm wrong) I am going to post a challenge for this week.

Flash Fiction Friday Challenge for 02-25-2011

Picture courtesy of my ramblings on the Internet. Source unremembered, title and creator unknown.

Your challenge this Friday, 02-25-2011, is to use the picture above to write a flash fiction of exactly 200 words ('cause I'm a stinker). To further add complications, please fill in the Mad-Lib below and use that phrase in your writing:

"...[A FEELING] grew in her..."

As usual, nobody's checking word counts (really, because I can't count and can't be arsed to try), or the key phrase (because I complain about it so much it would be hypocritical), but you only cheat yourself if you break the rules. I don't give spankings; I will merely voice my disappointment in you in such a way as to make you feel far worse. Far, far worse.

Because I'm not PB and I don't have a little gadget for the collection of the links, please tell me you're doing this so I can link to you. I'll probably make the rounds of the usual suspects at some point just to see if anyone else even bothered, but you'll be up first if you let me know before Friday. Or on Friday. I'll update the list if you tell me at some point that you did it and give me a link. Definitely give me a link though, because otherwise I'll be in the unfortunate position of not knowing who you are.

You could link back here if you wanted, but if you do that, please be sure to link to PB as well, because it's his baby. Please see last week's entry for an example of how it works when PB, who is like unto a god about this, works his magic, rather than yours truly, a humble substitute. Any questions, let me know.

The Flash Fiction Friday FAQ is also the link you should visit if you're new to the whole FFF thing and have questions. But if you have further questions, don't ask PB because he doesn't have time this week. Direct questions my way, lexinaughtygirly[AT]gmail.com. I won't guarantee good answers, but then when have I ever guaranteed that?

I am merely channeling PB this week. Any errors, problems, etc. are my fault, not his. Any compliments should go to him.

Flash Fiction Friday - Given To Fly

They had taken their feathers and flown, and she was left to mourn them, her brothers, her swans. Weeping she wandered the woodlands, hoping to see them returning, knowing she never would. All her work, all her suffering, was in vain, for they would never again embrace her except with stiff wings.

And so they left, one by one, believing that to stay would only cause her further misery. She might have told them that she loved them no matter what their form, but her tongue was stopped, disuse robbing her of speech.

Now she stood poised on the precipice, never looking away from the west where the sun had set on her love. Now she spread her wings, rude, unfeathered forms, and gave herself to the air. Now she flew away to them, to their home in the sky. Now she was free.

---

I can't write another one. I was going to, but then I started crying and I couldn't stop. I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to end like that.

I had a bunch of stuff to talk about. All about Swan Lake and the fairy tale of The Six Swans (from which this is obviously drawn, although the ending is very different) and the Pearl Jam song from whence I stole the title, and all of that. I was going to reassure everyone in a comic way that I hadn't cheated, that I'd merely provided quite an eclectic assortment of images to PB and let him pick one, so I was no more prepared for this than anyone else. I was probably going to talk about some deep literary shit too.

But I'm not doing any of that, beyond what I just said.

I'm not depressed, my life isn't taking a turn for the worse, and no one I know has jumped off a cliff recently. Please save your sympathy for people who really need it, people who are alone and unloved and just want to fly home. I'm going to go back to crying for them in a minute.

But I can't stop without saying that Flash Fiction Friday is great and you should do it and there's no time like the present. That's the least enthusiastic plug for FFF I've ever done.

Banner

I'm toying with the banner because the old one seemed like it took up half the screen and pushed all the actual content down so far that it was poor design. However, I am open to all opinions on the subject. Hence, the poll on your right. Please take a moment to let me know just how much you hate the new banner, or how much you hated the old one, or that you want me to give up blogging and do graphic design full-time (not really an option).

And if there are comments you have that aren't covered by the poll, you can always leave them here or send me an email. lexinaughtygirly[AT]gmail.com is the address, and I trust that all of my readers who aren't address-collecting spambots can translate that into an actual address, or can look at my profile and click the little "Email" link there. Those of my readers who are address-collecting spambots: how do you like the blog? Does it make you robo-horny? How exactly does a robot achieve sexual release? Would you like to see more features relating to robots?

First Porn

Lola invited a rumination on the first time I saw porn, and since I've got precious little else to write about at the moment, I thought I'd take a crack at it.

Then I thought to myself, "Lexi, can you even remember your first experience with porn?" It was a long time ago, I can say that for sure. My parents had some rules about porn; it was to be watched/consumed in the rumpus room downstairs, it was to be approved by them, and it was to be a special treat, not an all-day-every-day thing. Decent rules all, particularly for kids just starting out. It was kind of like all other TV; we didn't have TVs in our rooms, and we weren't supposed to watch things without Mom and Dad's approval and certainly not if our homework and chores weren't done.

Mari was never much into porn videos; she would watch them with others, but she had a collection of very tasteful erotic pictures that she enjoyed looking at, all naked women. I'm not sure she knew there were scads of lesbian porn available, or she might have been more interested. But anyway, she was more of a reader, and she didn't waste much time with smut or porn of any kind.

Sheri was into porn, but she was into viewing it on the sly. She was the one who had the stash of porn which was more extreme than our parents wanted us watching. I know, that sounds odd, but my parents wanted us to be able to explore sexuality, not watch brutal and demeaning hardcore or various other things. If Mari had asked, I'm sure lesbian porn would have been made available, but we didn't watch really raunchy stuff, groups, any BDSM-type material, or other more difficult subject matter. Not that we didn't know they existed, just that my parents didn't want us watching things like that when we were younger. I'm actually completely in agreement with their decision; sex is one thing, smut is another.

Anyway, Sheri had all the "good stuff" and she'd sometimes let me or Mike look at them with her. But honestly, when I was young, the fairly "vanilla" porn was more than enough for me; I wasn't interested in fake sex anyway. I wanted the real thing. But masturbation sometimes quieted the itch a little, and every so often I'd look at some porn.

Once I lost my virginity, of course, porn was there for when I didn't have someone else with whom to make love, which was more often than I would have liked but less often than the norm, certainly. And I can masturbate without porn, or with things that don't qualify as porn. I shudder to confess that once I came while reading the Bible. Going to Hell and I already knew it, so no need to remind me on that score.

Now, I don't have any rules about porn to keep me in check and I watch too much porn, but then I watch too much TV too (well, not TV but DVDs), so one can hardly blame my upbringing. I'm pretty catholic in my porn tastes (small c, small c) and many different things can get me off, although no porn is anywhere close to an orgasm with another person, even if it's just mutual masturbation. Sometimes, it's just easier. That's not a good thing, really, but when you need an O and the options are write a blog post(which regularly turns my crank, depending on what I'm blogging about, and gives me a much bigger orgasm) and then maybe finish off with some porn (I seldom get off while writing, but once I'm done, the O is bigger) or find porn right away, I'll frequently go for option B because it takes less time or effort.

But the question was, "Lexi, can you even remember your first experience with porn?" The answer is, shockingly, yes. I don't know that I remember it as much as I remember the events; a lot of the time, I have memories that don't bring up my thoughts or feelings at the time, but I do remember the event, like it had been told to me third-person or something. This is one of those, probably because it just isn't that big a deal.

It was after I got the birds and bees talk. At a certain point, I guess my parents decided that it was likely that we'd run into porn at some point, and it was better that we knew about it than stumbling into it. I remember a long spiel about how it wasn't real, how the whole thing was for people to watch, that sex wasn't actually like that, etc. and so on. Then they showed us some women posing, which was sexy but nothing I hadn't seen before. Then they put in a video which was some scene, I don't even remember what, with a couple fucking in a bedroom. I can't even remember whether there was any penetration shown. It revved me up because at that point anything sexual excited me a little, but I could tell it was all fake. Then Mom and Dad said, okay, that was the fake stuff, now who wants to watch the real thing. And they turned off the video and made love while we watched. It wasn't the first time they'd done that, but it was still exciting. It was love, not sex, and it just reinforced the idea that porn was fine and all, but it wasn't much compared with love.

So yeah, I think my porn problems stem from something other than my upbringing. But I tell you what: I'd rather bring my children up watching sex than watching violence. All my friends at school had seen all the latest Hollywood gorefests and had no idea what sex was, whereas I knew what sex was but hadn't seen Bloodbath on Explosion Island II: The Deadening. I'll leave it to the historians to figure out who was right there.

I know my experience in this regard is totally opposite to most people's. I do remember clearly the first time Sheri let me watch her secret porn with her. My parents were out of the house, and Sheri and I sneaked down to the basement and put in a tape she had which was a foursome, two guys, two girls. When they started doing anal and swapping partners, I was so turned on that I grabbed Sheri and kissed her, and the rest of the movie is mostly snippets and sounds in my memory. It was after my first time, but I was still fairly new to the idea of sex, and the images were really novel. It may have been the first time I saw anal sex, though I don't know that that's true; I think my parents may have covered that at some point. It was definitely dirtier than the porn we were allowed to watch.

Afterward, I felt a little dirty for having watched it, but I wanted to see it again. There was something enticing about the forbidden aspect of it. In hindsight, it was really mild porn, and chances are decent that my parents, at that point, might have let us watch something like it if we'd brought it up. But little rebellions are a part of growing up too. I rebelled a little, but nothing compared with Sheri. But we're different people.\

Anyway, that's porn for you. Now I'm going to find some nice porn and get off, hopefully more than once.

Further Developments

I just got home from the theater a little while ago, mind completely befuddled. Work will do that to you, but in this case it wasn't from overwork, although that certainly contributed to it.

I can't say, "You remember Annie?" because I didn't give her a name. She's the short, shy, blonde actress whom I gave a handjob (I'm assuming here that it's still a handjob if I'm doing it to a woman with my hands; I'd never thought about it because usually fingers are only part of the package, rather than the complete event) in the audience a short while ago. Her name is now Annie. It always was, I just forgot to mention it. It's a pity I can't use her real name (civilians always get aliases around here) because her real name suits her to a tee, but Annie is as close as I'm going to get.

Anyway, after the events in the post linked above, I went out of my way to reassure her that I wasn't going to be weird about it and that she could talk about it. So ready for her to talk about it, because I was somewhat confused by the whole thing. She, in turn, was nothing but as nice as normal to me, didn't avoid me, didn't avoid my eyes or look ashamed or nervous. But she never brought it up, and I never got around to bringing it up either. Part of that was that we weren't all that alone most of the time, but there were a few times when I could have but didn't because it was just weirding me out a bit. I'm used to either normal reaction: shame or interest. Acting like it never happened, and not in a denial way, is a new one for me in this situation.

I got some advice from various quarters on the subject, and I tried to follow it, sort of. I tried. But it just didn't work, somehow. I didn't want to freak her out by coming on to her, but for crying out loud, she'd had my fingers inside her. I'm pretty sure I made her cum. And she's acting like it never happened at all.

And there was a certain amount of curiosity going on too: what brought it on? It's not like I advertise my open sexual nature. She's married and I never would have suspected she was remotely interested in anything outside her marriage. What made it happen?

Finally, today, I asked her, point-blank, "What was last time all about?" She didn't know what I was talking about for a minute, then she understood.

"Nothing."

Nothing? Really? Come on now. No, "My husband doesn't give me what I need." No, "I was curious about how it would feel." I mean, those would be adequate explanations had she gotten drunk with me and we wound up making out. But to suddenly start me fingering her in public, without saying anything, I require more of a response than, "Nothing," by way of explanation.

"Nothing? Come on, it wasn't nothing."

"You want to do it again?" At least she was asking this time.

"You want me to finger you in the audience again, or something more intimate?"

"Five minutes, in the downstairs bathroom." And she was off. I swear, it just gets weirder and weirder. If you met her, it would be the last thing you'd expect, it really would.

The downstairs bathrooms are isolated and large enough for more than one person to be in them, plus they're not the bathrooms actors normally use so it was more private. I figured, what the hell, pennies and pounds and all that good crap, so I hitched up my big-girl panties and went down.

Annie was sitting on the sink ledge, looking totally normal except that her pants were missing. She was wearing these cute pink panties which would have looked strange on someone my size, but on her petite little figure they were cute as hell. She laughed and blushed a little bit. "Thank God it's you and not someone else," she said with a little grin.

"So..."

"Can we do it here? It's not really comfortable, but where else is there?"

I could have suggested a few better places, although perhaps with people still in the building this was the most private spot. But I didn't suggest anything, because seeing her sitting there, legs spread, little pink cotton showing between thighs that were way too toned for their own good, had pretty much ensured that I was going to have her, right there, right away, before someone else came in, and even if they did, maybe I'd just keep right on going. Sex drive took over. Explanations could wait.

She shied away when I came closer and tried to kiss her. Eventually she let our lips meet, but it was a total dud, as far as kisses go. Her hand reached for mine and she moved my hand over her pussy, still covered in fabric, and started me rubbing. She allowed me to nuzzle her neck a little, but didn't return the favor. I slipped my hand into her panties much more quickly and stroked her labia, then reached down with both hands and slid her panties down over those gorgeous, jaw-dropping thighs, not muscle-y at all, just fit and toned and strokable. I'm not sure she was expecting to lose the panties completely, but she let them slip down around her ankles and then off.

She laughed when I brought them up to sniff. I laughed too, because I was being a goof, although I admit that I was perfectly happy to smell her on her panties. She must use perfume; she smelled somewhat floral. I'm not against a bit of scent, and this was nice without being overpowering, but I usually prefer natural smells. I put the panties on the sink beside her, and then, without asking because I didn't think I needed to ask, I bent down and kissed her, just above her clit.

She was startled. "What are you doing?" she asked, closing her legs slightly.

"I'm sorry, I thought..."

"Oh, I see." She relaxed. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting that. You like that?"

"Very much." I wasn't going to say otherwise. "Ever since I felt you the first time on my fingers, I wondered how you'd feel on my tongue."

"You're not expecting me to do that to you?" That was the first I'd heard of any possibility of getting something in return.

"Not unless you want to." Reel, reel, nice and slow, keep her on the hook, please let me get at least someone else's fingers inside me out of this evening, please.

"I'll think about it." She grinned a bit sheepishly. "Okay, go ahead." Her legs opened again and presented me with her delightful flowery labia again. She's got skin almost as pale as mine, although she looks like she might tan in the summer. Her pussy is this delicate little thing, much younger-looking than it actually is, and the hair around it is delicate too, although lighter than the hair on her head. Maybe she dyes.

When I finally got around to dipping my tongue into her, fingers spreading her slightly, she was just as hot as I remembered. She tasted slightly of gin, strangely enough; the perfume, I imagine. It wasn't alcoholic, but it was that kind of slightly floral gin taste. Or maybe lilacs. I don't know. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but after I got used to the hints of it, her natural tastes and smells were delicate too, not too strong, but definitely womanly.

After a shockingly short time, even for me (hear my horn?) she had her fingers in my hair, her burning thighs around my ears, and she was sighing softly. I had a finger inside her as I licked her clit, and I felt that same spasm as before. She sucked in her breath, then released it and leaned back against the mirror, her thighs relaxing, head billowing off her pubis like it was a sauna.

"I don't know which I enjoyed more," she said with a sigh, then hopped off the sink and pulled her panties on again, then her pants. "Do you think we have time?"

"Time?"

"For you. I don't think I'm up for kissing you down there, but I should at least give you a hand. Come on, hop up and I'll sit beside you and I'll put my hand down there." The way she talked was slightly strange too. It wasn't like she was afraid to say it, it was just slightly distant.

I shucked my jeans and panties in one movement and sat in the warm spot she'd just left. "You shave?" she asked rhetorically, looking at my cunt.

"Yeah, it's just easier and I like the feeling."

She hopped up beside me and without fanfare reached her hand down between my legs. "I've never tried it," she said as her fingers stroked my slit. She wasn't shy about touching my pussy at all, which I had expected her to be. She started slowly, but pretty soon her nimble little fingers were darting in and out of me. It was a nice feeling, different from some fingering I've had. Novel.

"Your pubic hair's so pretty as it is," I said. I have no problem talking while being fingered, at least until blastoff.

"Thanks." She smiled. "Is yours red when it comes in?"

"A bit lighter than my hair." Her finger slipped in and out again. "You've got a very interesting style."

"Style?" In and out.

"You know, the way you're fingering me." I confess that, even with my experiences, I felt a bit surreal.

"Oh, sorry, should I do something different? I just like to do it this way. I can try..."

"No, no, it's different than I do, but that's good." I felt her fingers slide juicily over the bud of my clit. "So, seriously, before I cum and we have to go, what's up with this?"

"You don't like it?" She stopped.

"No, I do, I just..."

"It's really no big deal." There was that answer again. It sure as hell was a big deal, or at least a bigger deal than would warrant the excuse that it was no big deal. But there's a lesson you learn when you need sex as much as I do: let them finish before you go screwing things up. I let it slide again, because I was approaching a nice orgasm, nothing to write home about but enhanced by the novelty of the feeling of her tiny little fingers and the whole situation.

"You're making me really wet," I said with a bit of a laugh. "But you're so hot. I felt like you were on fire."

"We're going to have to wipe up after this," she said with a little smile, then she ran her fingers over my joy buzzer again and I got so close I could almost taste the orgasm hanging in the air.

When it came, I enjoyed it, although not as much as I might have had she had her face between my legs. Or had we been in slightly more congenial surroundings. But I enjoyed it, and I told her so. She was already hopping up and grabbing paper towels, and she shooed me off the counter with rather more alacrity than I would have liked, wiped up the spot where we'd sat, tossed the towel, and looked set to head out the door.

"So, is this routine?" I asked.

"We'll see," she said, and out the door she went.

And I stood there, still just as perplexed as before, still feeling as surreal as before, still as clueless as before. I spoke with her several times after that, and she never seemed like anything was wrong, but at the same time she didn't mention it and avoided my hints.

I would not mind this at all if I weren't so horny. If I were getting mine regularly, I would view this as a crazy escapade, something to savor as an adventure. One of those weird things that happens in life (I know, you're all saying, "Why can't it happen in mine?") But in my current mental state, I'd really like to go back to her place, or have her come to mine, get naked, and do some lovemaking rather than these random instances of orgasm.

The odd thing is that she never reacted as if she was opposed to the idea of eating me out. She just appeared to believe that it wasn't the right time or place. Or something. And while she didn't want to kiss, she didn't react with disgust, just with a lack of interest. I can't help wondering, with good reason perhaps, if in a different circumstance, she would be completely open to doing all the usual things.

And then there's her husband. I have no idea what's going on with that. And how she came to get the idea that I would be the person to approach.

I seem to wind up getting into situations like this with older actresses. I'm remembering the first few times with Kate, and I felt a little similar, although with Kate it was more that I didn't know what she was up to, not that she was behaving particularly weirdly. Plus, for Kate, how she is is much more in character. Annie doesn't seem like the type at all, and it's all happened in such an odd way. Like I said, if we'd gotten drunk and made out, that would be one thing, but this... it's all different.

I hope to have further installments of this, if for no other reason than that I want to know what's going on, plus I'd like to actually fuck Annie at some point, rather than this strange limbo area we're currently in. Hell, right now I'd just like to see her breasts, see if the top half is as gorgeous as the bottom. Get her to bend over for me, show me what I'm sure is a glorious ass. And she's older than I am, damn her. Anyway, we'll see what happens.

Flash Fiction Friday - What They Want To See

Naked, nervous, glistening with sweat, he eyed the shining plane before him. It sang like the wet lip of a wine glass or the cold steel of a blade, beckoning him to his doom. He was close enough to touch it, tumescent shaft bobbing, purplish head straining to press against the chilled surface. He stood a long moment seeing only what it wanted him to see. He was beautiful.

Then with a caress he felt it steal over him, the icy calm, the shadow. The heat leaped in his core, shooting out white-hot from his manhood, the orgasm not emptying his body but his soul. He splashed onto the mirror and was gone, now only a pale reflection, trapped forever behind glass in the moment of ecstasy.

---

"Tell me I'm handsome."

The mirror was silent, as it always was outside of story books. He ran his fingers over the etched glass as if willing it to come to life, tell him he was fairest of them all. Nothing but silence and a pale reflection of himself, mocking him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and eyed the spot where she had slept. He still thought he could smell her hair, feel her soft hands on his back, calling him back to bed. But she was gone.

"Tell me! Please!" He was no longer talking to the mirror, but it took the brunt of his fury. "Tell me!" His fist struck the silvery surface and it shattered, covered in blood and tears.

---

Grim, very grim this week. Not because the picture wasn't eye-candy. No sir. Although I have to say that it would have been a more timeless statement of art without the tattoo. Nitpicky, that's me. But what a sexy picture. I could eat it up.

As I wrote the first one, I thought of the mirror scene from the first Matrix. That wasn't the genesis of the piece; the genesis was the phrase this week, strangely enough. But I did think, "Oh hell, people are going to think I'm making a Matrix reference." I wasn't. But I have now, so I suppose there's no escaping it.

Mirrors are potent things. Reflection is something magical, even if you know exactly how it works scientifically. Why else are there mirror-worlds or magic mirrors. There are all sorts of philosophical undertones to mirrors too: is my reflection in a mirror really myself, or is it something else entirely? Do I see myself in a mirror as other people see me, or does the act of reflection change my identity? What happens to my doppelganger when I step away from the mirror.

Mirrors and magic. Mirrors and vanity. Mirrors and seeing what you want to see. It's no accident that I have very few mirrors in my house. I'm not afraid of what I look like, but all the same, I don't believe that my reflection is all there is to it.

Anyway, now I've got a question: what's with PB and the beefcake and the mirrors? This is only the second time I can recall the picture being purely beefcake, and it's the second time with mirrors. And I already did Snow White for a picture entirely unrelated to mirrors.

Since PB has instituted a new policy of link-collection, there's no longer any excuse. You still have time to write a Flash Fiction Friday for this week. THIS WEEK! It's like the future is now! Yeah, you can write it right now, head over to Flash Fiction Friday headquarters, and put your link up there with all the rest of us, and just think about how good that would feel. Pretty good, is how. Pretty damn good.

I Need

I need to feel the tip of his cock jutting against my cervix. Normally I don't care; I'll take any depth as long as it's inside me. But I need deep.

I need to feel the bounce of his balls against the top of my pussy, each thrust as deep as it can go, his balls, even tight as they have become, still pressing briefly, almost teasingly, against my clitoris. They're drawing up, preparing to explode, but I need to feel them against my body.

I need to feel the base of his cock, so wide, spreading me open. It doesn't matter what position. On my back, on my knees, face, side, bouncing on him, held up by strong arms, pressed against the wall, rutting like wild animals or soft as new lovers, I don't care. As he bottoms out inside me, I need to feel that tension at the base of him, like neither of us is completely sure he could have pushed in any further, even if his cock were a mile long. I need to feel tight around him, like a glove, like a waistband after all-you-can-eat, like he's wearing my skin around him.

I need to hear the soft grunt, barely audible, that he makes without thinking each time he presses his hips into my pelvis. The exhalation of breath, not really a noise but an instinct, that he makes, that I can only hear when his lips are close to my ear, his body pressing against me. I need to feel the warm humidity of his breath on my skin.

I need to feel the last thrust, just before he explodes. It's hard to tell which thrust will be the last, but when it happens, I know. There's a thrust and then a grind, forcing himself as deep as he can, trying to burrow inside me, every muscle in him tensed.

I need to feel the spasm, feel the splash, as deep as it can be, the warmth filling me up magically. I need to feel each exquisite tension and release in him, each corresponding surge up from his balls, up his shaft, and out into me in a rush. I don't always feel it, but I need to feel it now.

And then I need to feel him grow soft inside me. I need to feel his lips on mine. I need to feel his gift inside, in my deepest spaces, no longer white-hot but still warm with the afterglow. I need to see him smile.

Itch Still Needs Scratching

Yesterday was my "day off" which meant I didn't have to work all day. Hooray. But in compensation, I was given today as a "day off" too, and since I was in the neighborhood, I dropped in on Kate basically unannounced this evening.

The kids were home, but Roger hadn't gotten home from work yet, and contrary to expectations I spent a good long while sitting in Kate's kitchen drinking brandy straight from the bottle and shooting the shit about all sorts of stuff. We kissed a little but it didn't progress.

I told her what was going on in my life, including how incredibly horny I was (yet she didn't take a damn hint) and the business with the actress last week (I haven't given her a name yet, and I should probably do that at some point). Kate was suitably awed by that; she wanted to know why I'd never given her a handy in the audience.

I'd never really had brandy before, and for the life of me I have no idea how I wound up taking slugs of it straight from the bottle, by the way. It was a pleasant buzz, talkative, sociable, not sloppy. Or at least that was my impression of the situation; maybe I was fucked up all around and just never noticed.

Roger showed up and found us still in the kitchen, Kate topless and doing the hula, me applauding. If this sounds like we were really trashed, I should explain that Kate was demonstrating her hula technique, which she claimed couldn't be done in a blouse. I was nowhere near drunk enough to try dancing the hula myself.

I'm not so sure Roger likes me very much. I mean, he likes to look at me and fuck me when he gets the chance, but while Kate is perfectly happy to spend time with me, Roger basically wants me around to spice up the bedroom and then to fuck off. That's okay; I don't like Roger either. He's a putz. I was trying to be nice to him, give him the benefit of the doubt, but while he's not the worst person I've ever met, he's an ass and if Kate weren't married to him that would be fine by me. She could do better.

I mention all of this because you should know just how desperate I am that I was practically falling out of my clothes to get him to notice me. He just wanted dinner. See, ass. Kate served him and then I tried hard to weasel my way into her panties while she shooed me away. Liam (their eldest, if you're new, although if you're new you should catch up on Kate and Roger too I guess; the tag's right over there) came in while I was feeling his mother up; he grabbed a drink from the fridge and went out again, but his eyes got wider when he saw me. I bet he hightailed it back to his room to flog his little meat puppet for all he was worth. It wouldn't be the first time.

Eventually Roger finished his dinner, and since Kate and I were practically fucking at that point on the kitchen counter, he suggested that we adjourn to the bedroom if this was the way the evening was going to go, only it couldn't go too late because he had to get up early the next day. I was naked on their bed before he could finish his sentence, and Kate hopped right in with me. Roger just sat and watched for a while, stroking his cock and seeming somewhat disinterested in the whole proceedings until Kate pulled him over eventually and... I'm getting ahead of myself.

Kate got me off the first time while we were still in what would technically be called foreplay; we were kissing and her fingers groped my cunt in just the right way and whammo, instant O for Lexi. I locked up for a second but then it passed; it was just one of those tiny little preparatory orgasms. Then she swung around to straddle my face and started licking enthusiastically if somewhat ineptly at my clit. I returned the favor with my customary aplomb (at least compared to hers) and she didn't get far before she was totally ignoring my cunt in favor of moaning and grinding her pussy down on my face until it was all I could do to breath.

At this point, she hopped off me and grabbed Roger, and we both got the "pleasure" of giving him sloppy double head while he fingered Kate like he wished he were somewhere else. Then without asking, he got behind Kate and pressed into her, then only a few minutes later (probably he hurried himself along) pulled out and shot on my face without so much as a howdydo. I'm not saying I minded, but it was a bit of a shock, although not unexpected since I was down there licking her cunt and his balls alternately.

Then he kicked us out of the bedroom. That's right, he wanted to go to sleep. And me completely without cock. I was kind of pissed, but Kate talked me into coming with her to the living room where she apologized for him and then gave me pouty eyes until I couldn't stand it and let her get to work in earnest between my legs to give me, as she put it, "the orgasm you deserve, poor baby."

Actually, I got three of the orgasms I deserved, which fooled me into thinking that I might be sated, and then we lounged naked and sort of cuddled for a while until Liam and Kevin came looking for their mother to put them to bed. Yeah, that's right, Kate was totally nonchalant about them showing up in the living room and seeing her and me cradled on the couch, totally naked. Liam was thrilled, I could tell, and even Kevin, who before now hadn't evinced much interest, was interested.

Kate hopped up, not like she was trying to hide but more like she had to get them into bed pronto, pulled on a robe, and led them off. I confess that I did very little to cover myself; I even smiled at Liam as he gaped. Poor guy is going to have wet dreams tonight. But in my family it would be no big deal, and I was just doing like the Romans do in this case, I guess. Or I'm a horrible perv. Both.

At that point, it seemed best to pull on my clothes again in preparation for returning home. The buzz was gone, and my body had awakened to the fact that, far from satiation, I had only added fuel to the fire. There was no chance of cock, none at all, and while Kate's fun and all, she's not good enough to make me forget about my desperate need for cock. When she came back from tucking in and threw off her robe, I was dressed again and told her I really had to go. She said I should come by more often, but maybe call first or something. I'd care more about having disrupted the schedule if Roger weren't such a dick about it.

Now here I am, sober, lonely, horny. I swear, one step forward and two steps back.