I No Longer Care About Numbers

Just a brief update on Sunday night/Monday morning because hey, it's August. But as the sign says, I no longer care about numbers, so I'm not counting posts. Actually, at this point what I aim for is having posted a number of times which averages to about once every two days, a respectable pace but a manageable one. I know some bloggers post multiple times every day, but either they've got much more time, more motivation, more excitement, or they just post filler and repost other people's stuff. Which isn't a judgment on them; I like a good collection of erotica as much as the next gal. Perhaps more than the next gal. But anyway, I'm not counting, I'm averaging, and thus far this year I've managed to hit my goal, which is a good thing.

I've been under the weather the past week, off and on; nothing earth-shattering or likely to make me miss work, but just... less able to handle life than normal. I don't have a good excuse for it either; it's not like I've been partying or I've got some exotic hemorrhagic fever. I blame menstruation because I'm a girl and I can do that, damn it. Honestly, gals, if you're not blaming menstruation for at least one thing a month, you're doing it wrong. It's fun. You don't even have to be currently menstruating.

I've scared all the men off now. They think I'm going to get all PMS on their asses. Don't worry guys, I'm not. I just enjoy making people squirm by talking about blood coming out of my vagina. Blood comes out of my vagina, and it's all your fault!

Kidding again. You may be able to tell from my tone and my rambling that I'm not entirely there, brain-wise. You'd be right.

Anyway, I'm alive, if feeling crappy. And while I said I don't count any more, since Blogger counts for me, for the record, we're up to 701. I can't help it.

Flash Fiction Friday - Science Gone Wrong

“It gives me no pleasure to do this,” she said. Strapped to a table for so long that it had been ages since I’d even twitched helplessly, I just lay and tried to remain calm despite knowing what was coming. She wheeled in the machine, cold and clinical, and inserted various probes into various places. What information they could hope to glean from me was anyone’s guess.

“Your contribution is vital to our efforts,” she said, turning away as the clicks and hisses began. “We must only learn a little more about your species’ reproduction and then we will be able to do it ourselves.” The gag in my mouth prevented me from telling her that I would gladly have simply shown her what she wanted to know. She was doing it all wrong anyway. That didn’t go there.

---

I called her in, the last suture in place. “Igorina, have you readied the device?” I sighed. My hands twitched helplessly, despairingly, a mockery of the healing motions I had just performed. But then my “healing” was a mockery in any case. I wondered, in the back of my mind, just what I was playing with.

“Yes, mistress.” We moved to the rooftop, lightning crashing around us, and for what I swore was the last time I connected the leads and threw the breakers. “Life! Give my creation life!” I cried to the heavens.

And then I heard it. The muffled buzzing signifying success. The once-dead cock rose to erection. I crowed. I had created the thing I lusted after most: a living vibrator!

“But mistress,” said Igorina softly, “Couldn’t you just buy a silicone one like everyone else?”

---

I blame the picture. There just weren't that many normal things I could write about it. So I may have been a bit silly. I mean, really, the second one, who didn't see that coming a mile away?

The first one started life as something else, but became what it wound up being when I considered the problem of alien anal probes. I mean, that nurse looks pretty alien to me. A gray in disguise, maybe. And I was thinking about (geek alert) the Asgard on Stargate, and how they can't reproduce asexually any more because their genome is too degraded. So, what if the aliens are coming to earth to try to save their species and learn about sexual reproduction. Except they really don't get it, and they never ask, so they think that humans reproduce anally. And then I thought about goofy, error-prone aliens for a while, which... may have colored the second one, state-of-mind-wise.

And then the second one. Oh man, the second one. It was either going to be this, or she'd accidentally damaged her lover's tool doing a particularly complicated move, and now she had to revivify it. Either way, it was only going to get silly. I went with the sillier option.

I am fairly, nay almost completely, certain that there will be some more serious entries this week from other, more sober people, so you should probably go over to FFF headquarters and check those out. As I've mentioned many times, my first entry, way back when, was an elaborate roleplaying scenario involving fictional vampire ants, so what can you really expect from me?

Buttless Chaps

I've never been that into crazy outfits just for the purpose of sex, outfits that you can only wear for that purpose. I mean, sure, I suppose you could wear crotchless panties out and about under your clothes, for instance, but I'd rather just go without. And things like leather gear or crazy lingerie items, while they can be amusing for an evening, are not something I spend my money on. I don't have anything against them, but I just don't see the need.

Because what I do like is crazy outfits that are fun to fuck in but which can also be used for other reasons, or at least could ostensibly be used for other purposes even if I personally don't. Like my tutu. Or a costume of some sort. Or my school uniform. Any of those things are both spicy in the bedroom and could be worn out, even if I never actually do. I realize that the line between these two things is fairly blurry, but most lines are. This isn't a hard and fast rule, it's just a general inclination.

When I was younger, some well-meaning but misguided friend or relative gave all the kids well-meaning but misguided gifts, and I wound up with the pajamas. I'd say that it was only slightly misguided, because I haven't worn pajamas in my life; I've slept nude pretty much since I was a baby. Clearly I wasn't going to tell this person, "Hey, I sleep naked, take them back." I felt a bit slighted though, because I was of that age. They were kids PJs too, which just made me feel like this well-meaning (I say in hindsight) but misguided person was implying that I was a kid when I really, really wanted to be a grown-up. You know the age I'm talking about. We all went through it. Anyway, the misguided quotient increases slightly when one takes into account the fact that, while they were pink, they were one-piece jobs that had the flap at the back. I didn't know they made them like that any more, certainly not in the size I got, or in pink. I figured the only people who wore things like that were mountain men.

So after polite replies were made, these PJs languished in obscurity for a few years, consigned to a drawer. Something to understand about my family is that we aren't quite as good about getting rid of things we don't need or want as we should be. We're not pack-rats or hoarders, but we tend to make a pile of things which "we should get rid of" and then keep forgetting to get rid of them until they've migrated into places where we don't remember them. Sometimes we carry out surgical strikes against clutter and do eliminate things, but that's a grand adventure, not an ongoing process.

Anyway, at a certain point, after Mike had been deflowered and he and I were going at it like rabbits, one of those surgical strikes was taking place, and the PJs resurfaced. Much fun was made of them, I'm afraid, butt-flap in particular. And then someone said, "I bet you'd still fit into those..." So anti-clutter brigade was put on hold for a few minutes while I wriggled into them. Since I'd never worn them, I'd never seen just how large they were, and while I probably would have been swimming in them before, now they fit. Not a great fit, a bit snug, but that snugness brought out certain attributes of them which wouldn't have been immediately apparent. In a word, hot.

Despite Mom's insistence that we had to keep cleaning, Mike slipped his hand into the flap and started fooling around, goosing me, making me wet, and pretty soon he had the flap open and me on my hands and knees while he fucked me through it. And I couldn't believe that we hadn't done this before. All those wasted opportunities. Because like I've said, I like sex in clothes and I like costumes and I like crazy, and this was a bit of all three.

So for the next few days, those PJs got a workout. Thank goodness it was winter; they were fairly warm and even in the chill I heated up. They got a bit sweaty, and a bit juicy, and while Mike was always fairly contained with his shooting, there were even a few dribbles of cum which leaked out and contaminated things.

It was decided that we couldn't really get rid of the PJs because of the aforementioned, so we kept them, even after the novelty faded and Mike and I moved on to other pursuits. I pulled them out later and tried to get into them for old times' sake but I'd finally gotten too big (not too fat, mind you, but too tall; my ego made me say that). Then, finally, we consigned them to the garbage because there didn't seem to be anything else to do with them.

And now I wish we hadn't, because I'd love to see Sveta in them. Her cute little ass peaking out the back... damn, I'm drenched just picturing it. I may have to go hunting for matching pairs of butt-flap pajamas now. Which gives the lie to all my protestations above; I do like impractical sex-wear, just perhaps of a slightly different type than some.

Car Trips Apparently Make Sveta Horny

I could probably just leave it at the title. Not much mystery there. But I won't because that's no fun.

So Sveta made her way back from the land of Ernst yesterday, showing up on my doorstep in the evening. Despite my title for this post, I don't know that it was the car trip that did it; it may have been being deprived of Ernst's ministrations for the first time in a week, or it may have been that the ministrations revved the motor. Or all three. My ego would like to put in that it could have been that she'd been deprived of my ministrations for a week, but that's less likely.

She was glowing. Not pregnant (I know that's code) but just well-satisfied. Except she couldn't have been that satisfied because it wasn't five minutes before we were in my bed coiled in osculatory bliss. Clothes were shucked (to be fair, I was already pretty much naked) and flesh was pressed and lips locked and temperatures rose and all the good stuff happened that tends to happen with reunion sex. After we got tired of kissing, I gave her breasts full-service treatment, something which I hadn't done in a while, while I slipped first one, then two fingers into her, my palm rubbing her clit while I curled up and stroked her inside. She came on my hand, which was slightly disappointing because I do love to be closer to the action when it happens, but she really enjoyed the twin sensations of fingers and lips on her nipples.

Then she ate me out, "to prove I haven't forgotten how," she said with a giggle. She hadn't forgotten anything. I tell you, sometimes I think back to the awkward, shy girl she was when I first met her and it breaks my brain just a little to think about the transformation. I wonder whether her friends or relatives have noticed, not that they'd notice that suddenly she was really good at going down on women (and men, or so I hear) but that she's blossomed a little. She does hide it; in public, it's not like she's suddenly become outgoing and pushy or anything like that. But there's a new confidence in her. It's inspiring. Or something like that.

Then we went downstairs and Sveta told me and Mom and Dad all about her trip. My statements to the affect that she got plenty are true, but since he was at his parents' house, "plenty" wasn't as much as either of them could have had, given privacy. Ernst's family sounds nice, if perhaps not as sexually open as mine; they didn't mind him having his girlfriend visit, and they turned a blind eye to the fact that her bed was never slept in. But it wasn't a colossal free-for-all of sex, unfortunately, which may be the real explanation why she was so happy to see me. I wish Ernst could have come to my house, because in a week, Sveta and I could have milked him dry. But it's okay; she got to express her independence a little, travel on her own, and get, if not as much as she would have liked, at least more than a little action.

She did drop what wasn't much of a bombshell really; she and Ernst have finally joined the bareback club. I knew at some point they would, no matter how ill-advised it might be. I can't even be outraged because I almost never made guys wear condoms in college. Actually, I would say that most of the times when a guy fucked me with a condom, it was his choice rather than mine. My parents made the obligatory noises of concern and then said, "Okay, fine, you're old enough to know better," and left it at that. We're getting her to the doctor to get checked out, but what can you do, really? I'm not a sterling example in this department, and it's not like Sveta's never had a guy without a condom before. If Ernst were some random hookup, maybe I'd be a bit more shocked, but they've been practically monogamous for months. It was time, and she's on the pill, and whether I worry a little hypocritically or not, she can make her own decisions. Do as I say, not as I do, has never worked well for me.

The first time, it was actually because he didn't have any condoms available. So he pulled out. But then she told him that she was very, very interested in a little internal action, and he said, okay, twist my arm (actually, she didn't say whether he was thrilled or reticent, but if I'd been he, I would have been thrilled) and they dispensed with condoms and pulling out for the remainder of the trip. She had this look on her face when she talked about feeling his cum inside her that I know well, and I'm afraid she's a hopeless creampie addict just like I am. It was tough to keep my hands off her after that; she just looked so sexy talking about it. So I called Dad in for support and together the two of us went to town on Sveta, until she was trying hard to eat me out while being delved expertly by Dad's nimble tongue. After an orgasm by yours truly, she flipped around and let me work on her while she worked on Dad, and she managed to get an orgasm out of him after some effort and an O on her own part, which was nice for everyone. I looked up at one point and saw Mom stroking herself and watching too, which was nice to think about.

She had to go home a little wobbly and sweaty, but definitely still glowing. I hope her family doesn't notice and think something's amiss.

So that was Sveta's road trip. And now that she's back and will need some more creampies with her new supplier cut off, I have additional leverage on Dad to get him to try out some things to maybe make that happen. I'm shameless, but it's for his own good. He really needs to recover physically so he can recover mentally, and I'm trying to be encouraging and supportive rather than pushy, but I might have to push a little. Expect to hear more about that soon, because I'm not leaving it alone.

Stealing Stealing... Stealing?

I promise this week I'll be a bit better about posting, because I've got some time to myself and I have plans. But in lieu of being better about posting today, I'm going to steal Lola's Sunday Stealing and do it on Monday. Haha! Can't stop me, I'm wily like a fox.

1. Tell us about something that made you laugh last night.

There were some fairly amusing moments at rehearsal, actually.

2. What were you doing at 8 PM last night?

At the afore-mentioned rehearsal.

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?

Answering emails.

4. What happened to you in 2006? (Feel free to republish an old post from '06.)

Um... I can't remember what I was doing last month, so five years ago is a bit of a stretch. Probably much the same thing I'm doing now, only probably with a bit more sex from some quarters and much less from others. My life hasn't changed much in five years. God, that's a depressing thought.

5. What was the last thing you said out loud?

Something about my rehearsal last night to my mother. Well, more about the play than the rehearsal.

6. How many beverages did you have today?

I haven't had anything to drink today. I really need to get something; I'm parched.

7. What color is your hairbrush?

Brown. It's wood.

8. What was the last thing you paid for?

Delicious Greek food. Well, actually, the last time I was in, I got free food, but I still tipped, so I'm counting that.

9. Where were you last night?

ANSWER What is this, a police interrogation? Trying to break me down and get me to admit that I was actually at the Cumberbottom place doing in Old Mrs. McBeemish? You'll never get me, copper, see! I'm above the law, see! No prison can hold me, see! I was at a perfectly legitimate business meeting between my associates, and I'm sure they'd be happy to vouch for my presence all evening, including whatever time it was that the old broad bit it.

10. What color is your front door?

Brown.

11. Where do you keep your change?

In piles on the table. Or in my car. I hate carrying change; it falls out when I'm on ladders too, so I avoid that.

12. What’s the weather like today?

Beastly. Better than the weekend, I guess, but it could still get much cooler and I'd be happy.

13. What’s the best ice-cream flavor?

Chocolate. Or mango sorbet. Actually, I'd almost rather you didn't waste chocolate on ice cream; give me mango sorbet, or pina colada, or something exciting and fruity, for ice-cream-ish purposes.

14. What excites you?

According to my last answer, fruit sorbets. I may have mentioned in the past various things which excite me, so I'll just say that the prospect of anal sex would really excite me right about now.

15. Do you want to cut your hair?

A little. It's getting pretty long.

16. Are you over the age of 35?

Why, are you looking for a running mate? Because I'm sorry Ms. Palin, but I just couldn't. Even if it were legal.

17. Do you talk a lot?

Sometimes.

18. Do you watch Franklin and Bash?

No. Why, was it on at the time Mrs. McBeemish was being stabbed brutally with a bread knife five times? Allegedly stabbed. I have no knowledge of the incident.

19. Do you know anyone named Steven?

I do.

20. Do you make up your own words?

Absomolutitatively.

21. Are you a jealous person?

A little. I try to practice jealousy as a motivational factor, to make me want to better myself, rather than to make me hate the person of whom I'm jealous. Sometimes that works.

22. What does the last text message you received say?

Why does anyone care? No, that's not what it said; I don't get text messages and frankly I don't see the interest these questions always have in them.

23. Where’s the next place you’re going to?

Going to what? Oh, you mean where's the next place I'm going to go. Probably the theater again. Just because I've got some time to myself doesn't mean I don't have to show up occasionally.

24. Who’s the rudest person in your life?

That's a very good question. I'm probably pretty rude, so maybe I'm a bad judge. Know thyself and all that.

25. Are you crushing on anyone that you shouldn't be?

The verb "to crush" changed meaning at some point when I wasn't looking. Crushes used to be things one had, not something one did (unless one worked in an auto wrecking yard). I actually do have a crush, on someone who's kind of out of my league and whom I would never actually make it with as a couple. But it doesn't stop me dreaming. Actually, I really just want to have sex with this person, except that I don't find them tremendously attractive, physically. It's a strange feeling. And unlike some situations, nothing will ever come of it because I'm neither looking for a steady relationship nor looking to have a one-night stand with this individual. We'll just draw a curtain over it, because it's not likely to come up again.

Okay, you caught me; I have a crush on Mrs. McBeemish's foolish but charming daughter, okay! You forced it out of me! That's why I did it! And now that I've confessed, I can never be with her! Damn you, cruel fate! Damn you!

Flash Fiction Friday - Rock of Ages

One time the Unnamed was playing at creator, and made the up and the down and so forth, like it says in the book, and scalies in the deep blue and flutters in the sky and all legged wonders of the green growish places. Then the Unnamed put down onto the ground place a man, all alone, no one but.

Man tried to make the leggies and the flutters his friends, and they were all right for friends, but not much for speakish things, like a man might want. And he talked to the rocks and they only made echoes. And the Unnamed put down a woman to talk to the man, to take away the sad. But man and woman spent all their time with gruntish, gaspish frolics, no apples necessary, and the Unnamed gave up creating and sent everyone away.

---

I remember her song. When I dove over the side my comrades begged me to stay, telling me I would die, that she was a monster. Washed up naked on the pristine shore, I lay, wondering if this was death.

But she came to me and sang a song that showed me her love and desire, and we coupled there on the wet sand. She was warm and willing. There was a part of me which wished the naysayers could have been there to see how wrong they were.

Then as I spent myself she passed into the rock and left me alone, no matter how tightly I clung to her. I remember this as I hold the empty space she left. I cannot leave this place, not because of doom but because of what I remember.

Leave me now. Turn your proud ships and sail for the horizon.

---

Unlike last week, when I cheerfully used the required phrase, this week I'm going to cheerfully not use it. Cheating though that might seem, it just didn't work in either of the things I wrote, and I had to edit the second one so severely that any further shoehorning to get the phrase in would have turned it into total crap rather than just marginal crap. So I left it out. Spank me if you must, but I should warn you that I am perfectly willing to practice my wiles on anyone who tries, and most people who try to spank me wind up doing other things instead which turn out to be much more rewarding.

I don't know about the first one; the tone just happened. I started out trying to tell a fairly straightforward story about the creation of Adam and how he was miserable until he had Eve around, but things went a bit pear-shaped, as 'twere. I like the idea of a disgruntled creator getting fed up with his creations constantly fucking rather than talking, which is why He/She/It had made more than one of them in the first place. Maybe it's just me.

The second one... well, it's about sirens, I guess. Or selkies. Or both. Why is the man embracing an empty space in the rock? My theory is above. I expect to see some other, probably better, theories when I get a chance to check them all tomorrow afternoon. Yours could be among them; just go to Flash Fiction Friday headquarters and submit your particulars. Like I said, I won't be checking until later in the afternoon, so you've got time if you want me to come by and say nice things about your piece(s).

Oh, and lastly, the title... I'm sorry for that, but I couldn't help it, really.

Playing Catch-Up

This weekend and start of the week has been rather confused and blog-free because of various reasons. I had some computer hiccups which were annoying rather than fatal but underscore the joy of computation. I was busy, and tired, and sick, not necessarily in that order. I was lonesome too. And I was profoundly un-sexy throughout I'm afraid. I couldn't even muster mild smoldering.

The drama of the previous week has receded into memory, as all players attempt to pretend that nothing happened. I'm fine with that; keep me out of it, I say. It did result in a few days of tension, which only exacerbated my somewhat-tense condition. Then I think I may have gotten either heat stroke or dehydration from working in a building which has, charitably, "air conditioning." I'm very sensitive to temperature, I'm afraid, and I dehydrate at the drop of a hat. My throat bugged me too. I'm not saying all of this for sympathy, just as a report. Please don't be sympathetic. And if you're going to be, my favorite online sympathy gift is questions to answer or porn, remember that.

The big news was that I loaned my car to Sveta (who can drive, despite it perhaps seeming like she can't because I never talk about her driving, but doesn't have a car) so she can drive to see Ernst. I wish I could have gone with her. She's sending me little snippet emails every so often suggesting that the getting is good, and she's getting plenty. "His cock is so tasty," was the last one I got, some hours ago. Damn it.

This was all part of a big plan, involving Sveta lying to her parents and arranging with me to get a car, which I let her have because my parents are sympathetic sorts who are suckers for romance, so they said I could borrow their car during the times I need to have a car this week, and other times I can live without it. I just hope she doesn't break down on the road home; my cars have been known to do that in the past. Once I broke down in the middle of nowhere on my way back to college after surprising my family for Thanksgiving. Yeah, that was fun.

In other news, I got a fun email from Sheri, who is, of course, still crazy. She sent a picture which she said I could share, just in case people have gotten tired of looking at me.

She's still working the job she's sworn she's going to quit for the past five years it seems like, and doing quite well for herself. Still the irrepressible scamp, despite being a button-down businesswoman now. I don't get it; I bet everyone in our youth was convinced that I would be the businesswoman and Sheri would be either living in a commune somewhere or in jail. Okay, maybe that's a bit harsh; I just can't fathom my crazy sister being in an office. Of course, it doesn't help that she's screwing the boss seventeen ways to Sunday. I'd say it was getting serious, because this is one of the longer relationships she's had, except for the fact that he's married, they always meet on the sly, and she's fucking other people at the same time. Her sex life makes mine look positively Puritanical by comparison.

Maybe I'm feeling a bit jealous. She's got a good job, all kinds of sex, a life which really should be blogged, and money. I've got very little of any of that at the moment. The solution is probably to seek out some excitement, and I keep meaning to do that. Maybe I will. Sheri's not lording it over me or anything; she wants me to have a fun time too, which is why she keeps inviting me to come to her place and have a threesome with her boss. Because that wouldn't get her a promotion at all, would it?

Anyway, the prolonged silence isn't anything but life. I'm alive and okay, for the most part. Don't worry about me.

Flash Fiction Friday - Wordplay

McClaren held the stock still against his shoulder, his breathing even, hand caressing the places where imperceptible indentations had formed from habit. The barrel directed his eye, the bulge of the suppressor almost obscene. He stared at his target, who was momentarily distracted by the display. McClaren allowed himself a moment of appreciation for the shapely flesh, then exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger, the muffled ejaculation making the target wilt, tumescence turned flaccid. A shudder ran through the assassin as he caught the model’s eye. She licked her lips. He hardened instantly, and, stepping over the corpse, ignored the professional part of his mind which thought of escape routes and time tables. He was inside her when they came for him, and he no longer cared.

---

He examined me, then the picture, then me again. It was only stock; still, the model had looked sufficiently like me to fool an amateur. He wasn’t one of those.

"Your vulva is bigger, your nipples smaller," he said finally, having decided. It was simultaneously thrilling and degrading to be eyed like a slab of meat, compared to a photo which should never have been blown up. "I paid for that one. Where is she?"

I thought of all the excuses I could make, but I knew, deep down, that none of them would satisfy him. So perhaps I had to satisfy him. "I’m sorry for any deception," I said finally, pitching my tone low and pleading, knowing his type. "But perhaps you could try me and see."

---

This week I decided to play with the phrase rather than the picture, and wound up playing a bit with the picture too. It's one I found on my jaunts through the Internet, but I should mention that my modus operandi as far as FFF pictures are concerned is to gather some together, upload them all, and let PB root through them for gold. So I had no more idea of what the picture this week would be than anyone else. I can't really take any credit for it; PB is the master selector.

"Stock still" is a phrase which immediately brought to mind stock photography, and having decided to twist the phrase once, it seemed only reasonable to do one which didn't involve any punctuation trickery. "Stock" also brings to mind guns. I won't claim to be an expert in firearms, but while I suppose "butt" might be a more appropriate double entendre, "stock" was the word I was given.

I should also mention that the first one was never intended to end like that, but as the assassin put down his target he caught her eye, and, well, I couldn't stop the music. I hope it was worth it for him. I don't know whether they were in cahoots and just got carried away or whether she was totally clueless as to his intentions but was as turned on by violence as he was. I just wanted to write something Sam Peckinpah-ish. Not really, and the sexualization of violence has never appealed to me, but I took it for a test drive.

Speaking of test drives, even though PB is away on business, Flash Fiction Friday marches on, and you could take it for a test drive right now. But who wants to test when you can buy. Go ahead, take the plunge, buy the Maserati, write a FFF piece and submit it. We'll love it, I'm sure.

Because I Did It Last Week

More TMI, even though there was TMI yesterday too. Deal with it.

1. Which would you rather do and why?

a. yard work or house work

Housework I guess. Particularly at this time of year.

b. hike or run

Bike, if forced to make a choice rather than doing neither. Can you tell I'm not much for the great outdoors these days?

c. outdoor sports or indoor sports

No sports? Is that an option? Can I sit inside and watch other foolish people play sports?

d. fast food burger from the drive-thru or sit-down salad

I like them both, and I try not to do the former that often; as a theatrical type I often have to eat my meals when and where I can get them, but I do try not to eat nothing but fast food hamburgers. I go to the salad bar at the grocery store or make myself a sandwich to take with me to work or go to a "fast food" place which serves things other than burgers but is just as fast as the chains. Lately, I've been doing Greek a lot.

e. yoga or aerobics

I guess yoga, because while I'm not flexible, at least it's not aerobics.

f. ice-cream or cake; what kind?

People always either go for ice cream or talk about cake when what they really want is the icing. I think there's a severe shortage of good cake in this world, and most people don't appreciate cake. I, on the other hand, don't really like ice cream or icing, so I'll take a good cake any day. A spice cake, a pumpkin cake, a delicious chocolate cake, any of them will do. I like cake. A lot. And I don't want ice cream on top of it. Cake plain please, if it's good cake.

g. ice cubes or hot wax; where? why?

Hot wax? No thanks. Ice cubes for me, although I'm not that big a fan of them either.

h. beneath the sheets or on top?

I sleep beneath the sheets, but most other times I push them to one side if I'm planning a romantic agenda because that way I only get the bottom sheet wet.

2. What was your favorite subject in high school/secondary school/upper school?

I liked history, and certain literature classes, and computers. We didn't have "theatre" classes, and while I didn't dislike science, I didn't like it that much. And then some lit classes I couldn't stand. There's a big difference between, "Okay, we're going to read this book and talk about it," and, "Okay, we're going to read this book and then I'm going to make you recite the particulars of its plot to prove that you read it, plus we're going to spend six weeks on each book."

3. Do you get a full 8 hours of sleep a night? Why or why not?

Sometimes. It doesn't seem to help.

4. What is your favorite comfort food?

If I really need to be comforted by food, I guess peanut butter and jelly. I don't seek particular food items for comfort much; I enjoy eating some foods, but as far as comfort?

5. Do you match up your socks after washing and drying them, and before putting them away?

No. Everything goes in the pile. I had worked my way to having nothing but the same type of sock, but then I ruined it, so now I just root through my socks to find pairs when I need them. I know, it's so slobby, but I've got no time or interest in socks.

6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

Some lascivious red color. I was never that into crayons though; I always liked colored pencils better.

Bonus: When you have sexual dreams or dreams about sex, what does the dream generally involve? Is it a recurring theme?

I get memory dreams about various past encounters occasionally, and once or twice anticipation dreams about upcoming encounters, but shockingly, for the most part I don't dream about sex. I don't remember my dreams that well, and most of them are bullshit anyway, but sex doesn't feature in the newsreels of my mind that often. It doesn't seem to be about having gotten some recently or not either; I dream about sex once in a great while whether I'm getting nonstop sex or haven't had any for weeks.

It's Not Sunday But...

I got these from Max, who in turn got them from Sunday Stealing. Why not?

1. When showering, do you start the water and then get in, or get in then start the water?

Who gets in and then starts the water? Is that really something people do? Because that seems like a really bad way to do it.

2. Have you ever showered with someone of the opposite sex?

Showers are more fun with friends.

3. Were you ever been forced to shower with one of your siblings?

Forced, no.

4. Have you ever dropped your soap on your foot?

I've done that while trying to catch the soap on top of my foot so I don't have to bend all the way over to pick it up and get shampoo in my hair. It seldom works.

5. How old do people say you look?

If they know what's good for them, my age or younger. No, only kidding; people don't usually say how old I look because it's the sort of thing that tends to come across as a faux pas even if I don't personally care. I mean, I don't want to hear that people think I look 90 or anything, but if people think I look slightly older than I am, I don't hold it against them. I'm a terrible judge of age myself, so I don't guess about other people either.

6. How old do you act?

Depends on what the role calls for.

7. What's the last song you sang?

Out loud? I don't know. I sing plenty, but I usually do it in my head. Or along with the radio or something. Oh, I know: I was noodling on the guitar and singing Robert Earl Keen's Merry Christmas from the Family. I know, it's July, but I like the song.

8. Have you recently become a member of anything?

A cast. Does that count? If we're looking for secret societies, no.

9. What are your plans for next weekend?

Work.

10. Do you kiss with your eyes open or closed?

Half and half, probably. I don't know that I have a preference.

11. Whats the sexiest thing about Sarah Palin?

Um... her body? She's attractive enough for a woman her age and demographic, but I can't say that I've got a massive thing for how she looks. And knowing who she is and what she stands for turns me off completely.

12. Who's the sexiest famous woman alive?

I can't answer; it requires far too much prioritization. There are a lot, repeat, a lot of hot famous women, and a lot of hot non-famous women, out there.

13. Who's the sexiest famous man alive?

Again, difficult to say, because there are just too damn many of them.

14. Does your family have a crazy uncle?

Yes. I suppose it depends on what you mean by "crazy" but it's a good kind of crazy.

15. Have you ever smuggled something into another country?

If I had the requisite anatomy I'd say, "Yeah, I smuggled a sausage into Down Under." But as I've never left the country and have no penis, I can't say that.

16. Do you live in a city with a good sports team?

I don't live in a city. Pretty sure we don't have any sports teams. Maybe the college football team is okay, but I hate collegiate sports so I don't know or care.

17. What is the most unusual?

Well, Tom Jones taught us that it's not unusual to be loved by anyone, so that can't be it. I might debate the lack of relativity as far as unusual is concerned: can you really be more unusual than something else? Is it like being unique? I suppose a person could be more or less unusual because they would be a collection of parts which could be unusual or not, just as certain aspects of something could be unique and when taken as a whole that would make the accretion more or less unique when compared to a similar composite, but in the end, can things exist in anything other than a binary state of usual/unusual? I suppose, as a synonym of "rare," "unusual" can be made superlative, because there are relative aspects of rarity and therefore... well, since unusual doesn't have a noun form, suppose we just say that this question is a strange one which might or might not be incorrectly-formulated and move on.

18. How do feel about the Goth people?

Sometimes I get tired of the ones who are clearly only doing it because of their issues and rubbing our faces in it, but then I get tired of lots of people for that reason. As a lifestyle choice, it's not really any worse than most others. If they're not abrasive about it, I could care less. I'm not one, never have been, and I'm fine with that.

19. Can you [del] or your significant other [fix] your own car?

Max already pointed out the error in this question. I'd just like to ask whether there are people who can't fix their own cars but can fix other people's. I don't even like to think about fixing my own or anyone else's car. It's not a girl thing, it's a hoodoo thing; I'm afraid I'll cause my car to stop working if I try to fix it. I have similar issues with certain other technological devices. But I can pull apart a light switch or lamp and fix it. I'm pretty handy when it comes to some things, just not others.

20. Would you want to kill Casey Anthony yourself if you were guaranteed to get away with it?

My initial response was, "Who's Casey Anthony?" Then I remembered "the trial of the century" that I had been able to successfully avoid until last week (seriously, I had no idea it was happening), at which point I wondered what the heck the news was talking about. I don't believe in killing people, whether or not I was guaranteed to get away with it, and I won't even sully my mortal soul by considering the question if it's about this bullshit. What's next, asking me if I'd kill OJ? Robert Blake? Who cares?

Nothing Like Drama

I've been a little quiet this week because of business (no, busy-ness) issues. I had hoped I might have something to report on the sexy side, but... well, I'll tell the story.

There's a seemingly-nice guy in the play I'm in, and while I wasn't pushing it, we seemed to be hitting it off and I thought, hey, I'm an actor, I can slum a little and have a torrid show romance, and maybe this guy would be into that. So some harmless flirting ensued. Really, this was incredibly low-key flirting, flirting which could barely be described as anything more than banter of the type that theatricals tend to enjoy, the slightly innuendo-ish kind but not really directed. Eyes were made though, which made it flirting. He got to see me in various states of undress as a result of the natural order of theatre, and I in return flaunted it just a bit, just a whisker.

I thought things were progressing well. The rare occasions when I find myself as an actor romancing another actor, I don't feel bad about it but I do proceed with caution because actor-romance tends to be rife with drama. As 'twas on this occasion.

Because you see, there's another actress with whom he has history that I didn't know about, and while he claims that it's over and done with, she doesn't see it that way. And she's... a little crazy. Which meant that she was seeing all the harmless flirting and implying a great deal more than even I was implying to myself. It put her on the slow boil, but when she boiled, God help us all.

Things came to a head the other night. Strangely enough, while I don't think she likes me much, she didn't get mad at me; she flew off the handle at him back stage and they started fighting, calling each other names, etc. Camps were formed; either you were on his side or hers. And the thing of it was, I didn't really want to be in a camp at all, even as people assumed I'd be on his side because I was interested in him or her side because she was a gal and so was I. I should state that I think they're both being ridiculous, because he was giving as good as he got and I don't know that she was entirely unjustified in her perceptions either. Both crazy.

Ugly. I backed off, tried to avoid both of them whenever possible, and things calmed to a simmer, but I really hope they don't boil over again because I don't like backstage drama, which is why I'm usually pretty careful about involving myself in it. Sometimes it hits me out of the blue, and sometimes I do it without realizing it, but when I can, I remove myself from the drama, even if it means no sexy fun times for me. Anyway, I have hopes for a visit from Sveta soon, so that will make me forget all about the two crazy actors. And probably about remembering my lines too. Damn distractions.

She's worth it though.

Flash Fiction Friday - Queues

Charming

They filed in, one by one, arms restrained so they wouldn’t be tempted. He sat in his chair, looking for all the world like a businessman, except for the erection poking from his pants. He was kind, in a wordless way, holding out a hand to get them in position, then guiding them as they squatted uncomfortably, lowering themselves until his cock slipped into them.

They were usually tight, from anticipation or nerves, but he had no trouble, lubricated as he was. But even if he enjoyed the sensation, after a moment he would always shake his head, somewhat sadly, and they were led away. Until she came in, needing no help, and lowered herself confidently, gracefully, his hard shaft spearing her but without an invasion. Chair leather creaked as she settled onto him, accepting him with a smile. He sighed with relief and knew, instantly, that she had been at the party. He knew she would be his queen.

---

Cycle

Every night, they played the game. Less dangerous than Russian roulette, but with the same thrill for all of them. The harem lined up, bare-bottomed, arms tied and mouths gagged so they wouldn’t try to persuade him to let them stay just a moment longer. And then, one by one, they went to him, were given their appointed time to try, and then were shooed away.

Sometimes, on difficult nights, he might go through the lineup multiple times, each girl, as the game went longer, hoping they would get lucky. Sometimes he never even made it to the end. The third or fourth girl would lower herself onto him and receive an instant geyser.

The winner would retreat, carrying her precious bounty, hoping she might now be with child. The losers were given a consolation prize; all got to bat cleanup.

---

I'm not sure where the idea came from, looking at the picture. Maybe it was because I don't particularly go for bondage. Maybe I wanted to turn it on its head. But I've always thought that the Cinderella story would be much more interesting if the prince had to try on something else for size.

Hell, for all my talk of not being into bondage, the idea of a file of women coming in, one by one, and lowering themselves helplessly onto a man is erotic. Which is why I did the second one, a variation on the theme. Maybe that's what Prince Charming did in the castle after he was married. Maybe it's just a fun idea. Either way, Pregnancy Roulette sounds like a lot of fun, in theory. Just two fantasies, really, nothing more.

Now go and visit Flash Fiction Friday headquarters. I'm too busy and tired to entreat you, so just do it or I'll smack you upside the head.

TMI Wednesday?

I never remember on Tuesday. Anyway, this week I'm stealing and then cheating, because there were a fair number of multiple-choice questions that were more interesting if I left off the choices and just answered. HEDONE should receive all the credit and none of the blame.

1. If you could clone yourself, what part of your duties would you hand over to the clone?

If I could clone myself, I'd be twice as awesome in bed, I can tell you that. I've answered questions previously about having sex with myself, but in this case it would be more like I could be in two places at once. Maybe more than twice as awesome, since I probably get better on the logarithmic scale. Other than that, I'd make my clone go to work, do the dishes... pretty much everything I don't like to do. But then how would I know whether I was the clone or not? I guess we'd just both be happier doing half of the crappy stuff; that way life would be half as crappy and twice as awesome. If you don't know me and have never read this blog before, I am being pretty doggone ironic at the moment.

2. When you are performing oral sex on a lover, for what reason is it generally?

I like giving head. It's not my favorite thing, and if all that's going to happen is head-giving I'm a bit disappointed, so I suppose I like to give head as part of extended foreplay. On the other hand, I enjoy the hell out of eating pussy, and I can happily spend the entire encounter with a woman eating her out as long as I get some lovin' in return. It's a double standard, but there's not much I can do about that.

3. What part of love making does your partner speed through?

Which partner? Right now, foreplay tends to fall by the wayside with some people mostly because I'm in a hurry, not them. I don't get enough sex at present, but the sex I've been getting has been pretty high-quality, so I can't really complain.

4. What part do you wish they’d speed through?

It's not a generalization, but sometimes I really want to skip straight to penetration. Some guys are very considerate, and sometimes I want them to be a little less considerate. This happens with "well-trained" guys who've never been with me before; their previous partner(s) conditioned them to make sure that the woman gets plenty of attention because those partners may have had less of an orgasmic nature than I. I appreciate the consideration, and most of the time I enjoy it, but occasionally I just want to scream, "I know you think you're making me feel good, but I want cock and I want it now, and I like giving you pleasure too!" Not often, but that's the closest I can come to wanting a partner to speed up.

5. Who is the last person to grab your ass? When?

Good question. Possibly Sveta. Possibly Dad. It'd pretty much have to be one or the other; if Dad hasn't grabbed my ass since Sunday, then it's Sveta.

Bonus: Describe your partner’s/lover’s/plaything’s/significant other’s penis or pussy in 10 words or less.

Delicious, satisfying, but always leaves me wanting more, damn it.

That's the safe response that I could use to describe any of my current sexual fixations.

Stand and Deliver

[Editor's note: I originally planned to post this shortly after the FFF of several weeks ago but then things caught up with me. It's still valid, but in response to something a bit less up-to-date]

I love moving around with a cock inside me. I'm not talking about fucking, I'm talking about moving places while being penetrated. I mean, obviously I enjoy moving while having sex; it'd be pretty poor sex if both partners were statues. But I like various other types of movement while penetration is occurring.

For one, sex in vehicles as they move. Sure, it's the lowest on the totem pole, but bumps in the road add spice to lovemaking, I won't deny. Many's the time I've been sitting on a cock in the back seat of a car when we hit a pothole, and the motion there is breathtaking, in the traditional meaning of that word. Suddenly the floor falls out and then slams back up, which causes a corresponding jolt to the internals of the situation, which is something that you just can't duplicate, even if the guy is ramming away at you. I don't know that I'd want to go over nothing but potholes, but a bumpy dirt road...

Once I had sex in the back of an old beat up pickup truck as we went down a dirt road. At the start, we were fucking doggy-style, but once we realized how had that was on the knees, I got on top and I barely had to do any work at all. All we had to do was hang on to each other and the truck, and the road did the rest. I won't deny that I was a bit sore afterward, but it was worth it for the experience.

But that's just one way. Another (and I love this) is when a man hooks his arms under my knees as he's fucking me, then picks me up and walks around. Dad used to do that all the time back when I was smaller and he was younger and had a better back. And I was more flexible. But anyway, he would pick me up, cock still inside me, and then bounce me as he walked, like he was using me as a masturbation sleeve or something. He'd just rock my pelvis back and forth, slipping in and out, and while it wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, I didn't care.

Now, of course, I weigh a bit more than I did as a kid, and I can't really get my thighs in quite the same position, but occasionally I'll be with a guy who's strong enough and I'll just wrap myself around him while he stands and we'll fuck like that. It's just standing sex, really, but I do enjoy it when he walks me around. I was with a guy once who walked me out to the kitchen to get a drink, then back to the bedroom, and that involved going up and down stairs. He slipped out once, but was able to get back in. It was sillier than sexy, I guess; I giggled a certain amount, and he made jokes about his decrepit back, but it was still lots of fun.

But the thing I like most and get least is conjoined walking. It started out as crawling, where Mike would be behind me, hands on my hips, and we'd both crawl around like that. But eventually it became walking. We'd start out up against a wall or a couch, and then I'd put my feet on his and we'd try to walk like that, him inside me, holding my hips, me trying hard not to fall down, reaching back to brace myself. Even small shifts like that are wonderful; they make muscles work that don't usually work while fucking. There's a tension in trying to stay upright. And while it's only in my experience, I've found that anal makes it easier; the angles are better or something, and walking with something in your ass is exquisite torture.

Being not into bondage really but thinking about it a certain amount as an accent rather than a means of pain and punishment (not that there's anything wrong with the latter, just that it's not my bag) I've often wanted to incorporate some kind of harness into this. I've spoken before about the idea of being harnessed together with a lover, but I think my first foray might be simpler; I'd just strap our legs together, back to front, so we could walk in tandem more easily. As I said, I think anal might be easier, just because of the angles, or maybe give me something with a wheel to hold in front, something which would let me keep my balance a little but wouldn't let me release all the tension of trying to keep my balance. We'd work it out. And I bet it'd be fun. If I ever get Mike for an extended period, I'll try it.

I'd love to stay with Mike for a month. Not a vacation, like living together for a bit. If I could swing it, I would. And we'd try all the crazy stuff we've built up over the years of separation. I'd even try to find him a nice guy to take his black cherry, while I sucked his cock. He wouldn't have to find the guy attractive; he could just enjoy the cock. But anyway, if that ever happens, that's my plan.

So give movement a try. If you've never walked with a lover connected, it's an experience I can recommend, and it's not terribly kinky and doesn't require props or other interested parties. What have you got to lose? If you fall down the stairs, I wash my hands of it.

Fireworks

It's no secret that I enjoy the Fourth of July for reasons other than patriotic. Not that I dislike the United States or anything like that, just that I like exploding things more. And if there are fireworks in the bedroom (well, to use that euphemism isn't exactly accurate since oftentimes the fireworks aren't in the actual bedroom, but you get the point) as well, then I'm a happy camper.

I'm a bit stressed out about some things at the moment: lines need to be learned, work completed, jobs sought, etc. But I had some time yesterday evening, and Sveta was free, so we went to a pre-Fourth shindig some people I know were having. Casual acquaintances, not fuckbuddies. And it was a family crowd, so no fooling around was done.

Neither of us were particularly comfortable, for whatever reason; I was a bit too hot, even with the cooling temperatures, and neither of us knew many people and weren't feeling terribly social. We had gone to see promised fireworks of a nature not entirely legal, but we decided to leave early because we just weren't into it. We got about a mile away before Sveta had her middle finger so far into me that I swear I could feel it on the back of my tongue, and rather than drive off the road, we abandoned the trip and pulled into a deserted area. The nice thing about being more rural is that there are plenty of places to park without being disturbed.

It had been more than a week, and while the plan had been to get rid of some of the tension beforehand, I was running too late for that, so we'd been eying each other all through the picnic. Now the pressure had built to boiling point, and she wouldn't even let me get out of my seat; she just kept working with her finger and started groping my tits through my shirt, until I came, messy and uncomfortable.

The car was too hot, so we decamped to the grass beside, a towel providing a modicum of protection from creepy-crawlies (I am not a huge fan of insects), where I had her dress over her head in an instant, didn't bother with taking off her bra, just pulled down her panties and dove in. It was strange, half-desperate, a little angry (not really at her, but just at life in general), a bit rougher than normal, no talking, just a fuck on the side of the road. We'd never really done that before, even with our adventures in the car. I don't know whether she was feeding off my emotions or I off hers, but either way, we were both feeling strange.

Not that the sex wasn't great. Because it was, sweaty, humid, tired notwithstanding. I had a finger in her ass and my tongue in her cunt, not teasing, licking hard, from inside up and over her clit and then diving in again as I built up speed with my fingering. Her back was arched slightly, raising her ass off the towel into the air, and I slipped my other hand under her to support her and pull her even further up until she was in a position that can't have been comfortable but which she couldn't really stand to leave. When she came, she spasmed, her entire body shaking and then collapsing onto the towel. It wasn't like porn, but she was drenched with liquid, slightly cloudy, tasting of sweat as well as pussy.

I didn't let her off with just one; I kept my finger in her ass, added another, and then, while her clit recovered a little, moved up her body to suck at her nipples under the bra. Finally she reached behind and unhooked, and I devoured her nipples while still spreading her ass, a bit more roughly than I wanted. But it was like I couldn't stop myself, and she didn't try to stop me. She just whimpered a little, not pitiful but spent, as I put my other hand on her pussy and began fingering from both sides, stretching her, until she came, an orgasm like there was nothing left in the tank, just slow moans and a wave of tension and moisture.

I lay on top of her and kissed her for the first time, and she wrapped herself around me and kissed me back, and we didn't talk about it because we couldn't. It started to rain and our clothes got soaked before we got back in the car, her wrapped in the soiled towel, me in a soaking dress, both disheveled and feeling a bit dirty. When we got home, the rain had stopped but we still rushed in like it was still raining, and I'm glad I went second because it meant I got to catch glimpses of naked flesh as she dashed. It revived me, made me want more, and since she was still fairly worn out from the double dose, I got to be the center of attention in the shower as we washed off the grime and sweat and stink of our outing.

Eventually I was on my hands and knees in the shower and she was licking me like that, fingers in my cunt, her tongue going over my asshole without me asking or caring. Neither of us wanted to get out, to get messy again, so we kept the water running for far too long, and she made me cum hard, over and over again, before I finally called a halt and gathered her into my arms, where we kissed and cuddled under the still-falling water that had become tepid as we used up most of the reservoir of heat.

Then out, drying off, and to bed with both of us, cuddling, falling asleep together, and if I woke her up with tossing and turning, she never said anything.

All in all, memorable, even if we missed the explosions. Or did we? In any case, tonight we're having our own fireworks, less impressive perhaps but more fun, and then she's spending another night before we both have to go back to the grindstone.

Flash Fiction Friday - Twin Beds

She squatted astride him, fistfuls of chest hair anchoring her as she lowered her aching space down onto his completion. Her buttocks tensed, muscles under soft skin rippling, and his head nestled against her depths. A small cry escaped her, a basic sound, a plea, whether for more or less he couldn’t be sure. The sweaty, smooth skin of her thighs married with the outside of his stomach, and for a moment, they both stayed frozen, as if neither wanted to be the first to break the spell.

Then she gave up and shifted, hands to the headboard pressing her back and down onto him, his girth spreading her, hands moving to her waist to root her there. She slowly ground down as he slowly ground up, the tension of friction the only thing giving pleasure, and yet such pleasure it gave. She gasped again, his name or a prayer or both, but his ears were more interested in the animal sounds they made, sounds older than humanity, exchanging a dingy hotel room for the bower of a smoky cave or the boll of a tree, where men first learned that there was more to mating than penetration. She lifted herself and pressed down again, the absence making the reunion that much fonder, and he felt her joy, riding high.

---

I was deep inside her, fistfuls of her gorgeous flesh throbbing between my fingers, when I realized that we were alone. “Where are Mark and Cindy?” I asked, slowing my pace.

“They went to get some air,” she said with a smile. “Why do you care?”

“Because it’s not the same without them,” I said, looking over at the tousled sheets of the other bed. “I like to hear them.”

“I’m not enough for you?” she pouted, but gave it the lie by tightening her cunt deliciously.

“Of course you are,” I hastened to reply, petting her flanks. “It’s just...”

“I know,” she said, leaning down to lie on my chest, her hips moving slightly, suggestively, temptingly. “I knew after the first time it wouldn’t be the same without them.” She kissed me, then looked into my eyes. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Why would I be jealous?” I asked, wrapping her in my arms and gently pressing up into her.

“Because she’s your wife.”

“And he’s your husband.” I kissed her again. “It doesn’t matter. I just like them there. Beside us. It feels...” I trailed off as she kissed me again, our movements becoming more animated. We didn’t notice when they returned and resumed their own lovemaking in the bed next to ours, but it felt right.

---

Twin beds. Same room? I don't know. I wasn't really thinking of linking them in any way, but who knows, maybe the first is the story of the couple who got some air in the second.

I had the second idea first, but as I was writing it, it turned into the first one, so I had to write another for the idea. Something like that. Probably more coherent. I liked the picture because it was framed in an interesting way; if I'd had the inclination, I could have written a third one which was about her leaving her bed to join him in his (and I have some ideas in that regard, but not the energy) but as it is, I think two fits the concept better.

The first one wasn't inspired by the Bob Dylan song (You Ain't Goin' Nowhere, for which I wish I had a good youTube to demonstrate, but you can look it up), but after I wrote the last line, I heard the song in my head, although it's not in an easy chair. It's a decent song, although Dylan's version isn't the best version of it (sacrilege I know). I heard some friends and acquaintances singing it around a fire once which was just magical. But it's a pretty silly song, if you dig down to the lyrics. Ah well. I'd say the piece was just fluff, and it started out so being, basically me getting out my "I wanna write something erotic" ya-yas. But then I got to the bit about it being primal, and I thought about that for a while but didn't have enough words to explore the topic further. I sometimes wonder when humans first separated the concepts of sex from the various other entangled concepts, or if we ever did.

The second was the one I wanted to write. The way the picture frames the scene, it's almost screaming the question of why there's not another couple in the other bed, at least to me (although as I said, it could be that they had separate beds and then moved to one). It encapsulates something of a situation I'd like to be in, and have been in, somewhat. I enjoy swapping partners. It's different from a group; there are bits of etiquette which make it more nuanced. I don't know whether this foursome ever switches back, or whether the two guys ever team up on one woman, or anything like that. I think probably not. Maybe they meet at a hotel every so often, wives and husbands swap, and then they enjoy the freedom of being with another partner for an evening while still feeling the intimacy of being with their own partner. It sounds nice in my head, although I'm sure in the real world there might be problems with it. But not necessarily.

Anyway, two, one for each bed. You could fold open the couch, and by that I mean you could throw your own hat into the ring for Flash Fiction Friday. Or you could just peek through the window. But the neighborhood has plenty of windows, and by that I mean that you should head over to FFF headquarters and see what PB and the rest of the gang have written. Don't let your breath steam up the glass too much.