TMI Tuesday Substitution

I found this random list of questions and am going to answer them because this week's TMI is all questions that I either can't or don't want to answer. Nothing against them, but it's not my week.

1. What is more difficult for you; looking into someone’s eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someone’s eyes when they are telling you how they feel?

Wow, those are both tough. I'm not great at telling people how I feel, and I feel like everyone else probably feels the same way, even though I know that's not true. But I guess hearing someone else telling me how they feel while looking into their eyes would be slightly easier. Particularly if they don't seem to mind.

2. Think of the last time you were REALLY angry.

The past week had a few moments. One day in particular. It wasn't pleasant. But technically, this "question" didn't say anything about telling you, just that I should think about it. What kind of sadistic question is that, anyway?

3. You are on a flight from Honolulu to Chicago non-stop. There is a fire in the back of the plane. You get enough time to make ONE phone call. Who would you call?

Superman? I don't like planes. I guess I'd call my parents and tell them I love them. Boring answer, but true. It'd be hard just saying that to them, and not to other people I love, but I knew them first so they get the call. Sorry everyone else.

4. You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) I don't know. Possibly not, not because I don't want to burden people, but because I don't want to deal with the shit that comes of people knowing you're going to die. Or I might parlay it into pity. I'm not a saint, never claimed to be.

b) Possibly kill myself and get it over with if it looked like I was going to die painfully. Grim, but possible. Or I might try to do some of the things I've always wanted to do. Or I might be responsible and try to get my affairs in order. Or I might spend all of it in a haze of depression. I mean, hell, I know I'm going to die soon enough right now, and it doesn't exactly give me motivation.

c) Terrified. At least, I think I would be.

5. You can have one of the following two things: trust/love.

I don't think you can really have one without the other. You can have a type of love without trust, but that's not the kind of love I'd like. And trust implies a certain species of love, not romantic but fellow-human-love. Yes, I'm weaseling out of the question. But I really can't think of a way I'd like to have love without trust, and I like love a lot.

6. You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

I don't like to work places like that. But I work in the theatre, and that means that the curtain rises when it does and if I'm not there, bad things can happen. Which is why I try to be early, because I'd have to try to save the dog. I think I could dive into the canal, pull the dog out, and be on my way in a few minutes, and if a few minutes is going to make a difference, then either I deserved to get fired because I was late before with bad excuses, or it's a terrible job and I'm better off without it. This is not saintliness, I'd like to stress. I'd save the dog, but I'd do it quickly and try to make it to work at a run, wet clothes and all.

7. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?

I'd like to go to Egypt when things have calmed down. Or Russia. I'm not much of a traveler; I'd really like to go some of these places as part of something which made me feel less tourist-y. Like if I got a job in Russia, or joined an archaeological excavation in Egypt. I'm bad at being a tourist.

8. Think of the last person who you really knew that died. You have the chance to give them 1 hour of life back, but you have to give one year of your life. Do you?

Yes. Not saintly; brutal calculus. That last hour of their lives, they could make better use of since they'd know it was their last hour.

9. Are you the kind of friend that you would want to have as a friend?

Maybe not. A friend with benefits, sure. I put out like crazy in the benefits department. But I sometimes wonder how good a friend I really am.

10. Does love = sex?

I'm not sure what this question is asking, really. If it means, "Does having sex presuppose love between the partners?" then absolutely not. I think sex is a great expression of love, sex without love tends not to be as good as equally-good sex but with love, and of course sex doesn't create love.

11. Your best friend dies, what would you do?

ANSWER Be sad. You want a detailed analysis, you're out of luck. I'm not great with death.

12. When and how was the last time you told someone HONESTLY how you felt?

I try not to lie, which means that most of what I do is simply not say things. And I do that a lot. I'm good at certain types of communication, not so good at others. Before Sveta, I hadn't told anyone (besides people I'd already told) I loved them and meant it for a long time. Modern society seems hell-bent on making sure we're tactful, and that's no bad thing. But it does cripple our ability to tell people things that probably need to be told. It's figuring out when that's true and making it happen that are the problem.

13. What would be harder for you, to tell someone you love them or that you do not love them back?

It's hard to tell someone you don't feel that way, but I find it easier than telling someone I love them, mostly because I don't give out "I love you" lightly. See above.

14. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up on?

Orgasms. Followed closely by chocolate and red meat. The Trifecta of Doom, I call it. I've tried to give up all three in the past, and while I've quit things which were supposed to be hard in the past, I can't get over the big three.

15. Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them?

I tell my family that all the time. But pretty much only them. I'm not a big "I love you" person. Perhaps I should be.

16. If you had to go back in time and change one thing, if you HAD to, even if you had “no regrets” what would it be?

I have the opposite problem: I have too damn many regrets. Because this has been too serious, I'd like to go back and make my young self stick to music lessons so I could be a rock star now.

17. Imagine. It is a dark night, you are alone, it is raining outside, you hear someone walking around outside your window. Who do you call?

Superman? No, seriously, I'd probably call one or the other of my parents if it seemed like a call-someone situation.

18. Would you give a homeless person CPR if they were dying?

Absolutely, because thanks to advances in modern medicine, one no longer has to be shy about giving CPR because it no longer has to involve mouth-to-mouth. You no longer have any excuse. Okay, so that really only applies to cardiac arrest, but how often do you see a homeless person drowning? I would probably go "Ick ick ick!" all the way through giving mouth to mouth to someone disgusting (although just who said that homeless people should be the gold standard of disgusting? In the current economic climate, pretty much anyone could be homeless). I never liked having to move the tongue out of the way for drowning victims. What can I say? I'm weird.

19. Are you old fashioned?

In some ways, very. In others, probably not.

20. Which would you choose, true love with a guarantee of a heart break or to have never loved before?

Superman? Damn it, rule of threes, I get a pass on that one. I guess I'd take true love, if the heartbreak is losing my true love tragically. If it's heartbreak because I love someone and they don't love me or leave me for someone else or something, that sounds pretty shitty.

21. If you could do anything OR wish for anything that would come true, what would you wish?

I'm not going to make the Steve Martin joke again. In all seriousness, with full knowledge that wishes don't turn out how you'd like, I'd wish to die happy. Whether I died instantly or way down the line, I'd like to die truly happy.

List of Things I Am Not

1. I am not dead, killed by earthquakes or hurricanes.
2. I am not receiving a tremendous amount of job satisfaction of late.
3. I am not surprised by #2, nor should you be because I seem not to receive tremendous amounts of job satisfaction often enough.
4. I am not giving up on blogging.
5. I am not inspired.
6. I am not breaking up with Sveta.
7. I am not entirely pleased with how I handled her last week home.
8. I am not in the mood to talk about that further.
9. I am not feeling overly sexy.
10. I am not getting laid with any degree of regularity.
11. I am not saying that I deserve to get laid at all, but I am missing the comfort of regular visits to nookie town.
12. I am not up to seeking out new partners, and my old partners are either MIA or not worth bothering with.
13. I am not as busy as I've ever been, which doesn't explain why I feel like I've got no time.
14. I am not sleeping well.
15. I am not going to do more filler just to keep my post count up.
16. I am a bit sorry that it came to this, but see #5.

Flash Fiction Friday - Developments

She and the camera were inseparable. She longed to document every moment in still, always seeking the perfect angle, the instant, the action. But she never saw herself; it was as if she were simply part of the background in every shot.

I saw us growing older, negative by negative: our joys, our sorrows, lovemaking, fights, reconciliations, celebrations. I saw her hair grow or cut as the days passed, but I never saw her face; the camera she saw through obscured the view.

Maybe she didn’t exist in my world. Maybe I was on film, and she was merely the instrument of my being. The viewfinder made the universe small.

---

Ivy rushed into my office, face flushed, panting. “I’ve got it, chief!” she said with triumph. “The perfect angle!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted a story on sex in the work place...”

“Okay, pitch it,” I said, unconvinced.

But she just grabbed me and dragged me bodily into the bathroom, then started ripping off my clothes. I put up token resistance when I saw the camera in her hand, but she made it clear she wasn’t trying to blackmail me.

In a short time, I was between her thighs, wondering why I hadn’t done this before, and she was taking shot after shot, before taking shot after shot.

---

These are both not terribly good or terribly polished, and they really don't deserve the picture, which would have made me hard if I had the requisite parts for that. But I'm out of gas. This week has been... interesting. Anyway, in barely under the wire, but in nonetheless.

I'm so tired right now, all I can say is Flash Fiction Friday.

TMI Randomness

Because I like random questions. Also, because I'm kinda busy this week, and getting busier. From the TMI blog via HEDONE.

1. When you go to a party, would you rather show up accidentally underdressed or overdressed?

That's actually a really good question. Underdressed (not undressed, which was my first impulse) is annoying because I look like a slob, but overdressed is annoying because I might be called on to participate in activities for which I'm overdressed, like swimming or volleyball or something. Either way, I'd stand out, and I don't like standing out at parties. I guess I usually avoid the whole thing by not going to parties, but in the case of having to make a decision, I guess I'll go with overdressed, because I clean up nicely and I'd rather people thought I was overdressed than a slob.

2. What is something you have won and how did you win it?

I won a history award in high school simply by being good at history. I didn't even know I was nominated, and then at graduation suddenly I got this award. It was nice, particularly because the teacher who put me in for it was a good teacher and I felt like it was his way of giving me a gift.

3. Do you squeeze the toothpaste from the middle, end, or top?

I squeeze from all over until a certain point, at which I start to roll. Perhaps too late.

4. What is something your parents used to say to you that you promised yourself you would never say–but now you catch yourself saying frequently?

I think it's less a specific thing and more a general attitude. I swore I would never look down on people because they were younger, never take shortcuts around the facts, that kind of thing. And yet I do it. It's just the way of things, I suppose.

5. What 3 lies did you regularly tell your parents? If applicable, what 3 lies do you tell your parents now?

I used to lie about certain aspects of my sexual life to my parents. I know, most people do, but in this case it was different because I was lying specifically, since I talked with my parents about sex when I was growing up. I'd lie about always using a condom. I'd lie about who I was with. I've lied about other things as well. Also, I lied to them about drinking and smoking too. I still lie about some of these things, if they come up. My parents are very, very anti-tobacco, and they'd be very disappointed in me, even now, or maybe disappointed in themselves for not stopping me.

6. What is something that you intended to do today but didn’t? Why not? Will you do it tomorrow?

Wake up earlier and get some things done. I was a wreck this morning. I'm still a bit of a wreck now. I'll likely be a wreck tomorrow too, so while things may get done, they'll probably get done late.

7. What is something that people do in traffic that really bothers you?

Honking. Contrary to popular belief, cars are not equipped with disintegration beams which activate when you honk, allowing you to pass through traffic. Nor are they provided with magic speed-up beams. Basically, honking should be reserved for emergencies, scaring away deer or other animals in the road, and possibly one brief blast of frustration when someone does something extremely stupid and dangerous. That last one is something I don't like, but do anyway.

8. Whose autographs have you collected? (You can stop at five, in case you’re an autograph hound or celebrity stalker).

I don't have any autographs. I've never really met any famous people in a context of autograph.

Bonus: Where do you go to find solitude, tranquility, or connection to a higher power?

Books. I'm not being flippant.

The Blargroll

I really hate blogrolls. Not on other people's sites, but on my own. Because I can't decide who to put on them. I mean, I want to put a blog up that I read, but there are also blogs that, while I don't regularly follow, I'd still like to give traffic. And then there's the ones that I follow but not avidly, and don't really feel like making a big deal out of them. And then others which really don't need my help in the followers or traffic departments. Sure, I could put on my blogroll that I follow some blogs, but really, who doesn't?

Still, everyone else has one, and I had one until I felt guilty about it and deleted it. So I'm bringing it back. It's down there somewhere. Perhaps you see your blog on it. Perhaps you don't. If you do, it means that I read your blog and care enough about it to tell everyone. I'm not looking for quid pro quo or anything. If your blog isn't, maybe it's because I don't know about it. In fact, let's assume that's why. Because I don't want to be insulting, and not every blog is my cup of tea, and I'm only one woman with a limited amount of time to read blogs let alone write them, and so if you're not there, it's a horrible oversight and I'll probably get around to putting yours up eventually. Not insulting.

See, this is why I hate the damn things. Because I feel like I should include everyone, and if I do that, then it's meaningless. You're all special.

I don't want to institute a "most recent N published blogs" rule, although I did think about it. But it's not really a solution, and I want to highlight a few blogs who may not publish ever ten minutes. Hell, I don't publish every ten minutes.

Don't expect the blorgle (I'm only able to stomach it if I mispronounce it) to grow to encyclopedic length. Don't expect it to have all the blogs I read on it. Don't expect much of anything. I hate blahgroles. Blarg. On a roll.

Dreams

"Lexi, Lexi, wake up!"

I was in a cloud. Or maybe I was in a puff pastry, eating my way to freedom; either way, his voice was destroying the fluffiness. I tried to lash out at him and managed a weak shudder and a groan, eyes still closed, the last vestiges of dreamland winging away to some other, more deserving girl, one who never lied and brushed her teeth three times a day and didn't call people names. I hated that girl right then. If she'd been there, I would have tried to kill her and probably would just have flailed around and groaned some more.

"Lexi, seriously, wake up, it's an emergency."

That got my attention. "Wha?" I said. Coherent, that's me.

"Wake up."

I finally mustered the muscular control to raise my eyelids slightly. Mike was sitting on the side of my bed looking suitably concerned. "Okay, I'm up," I said. In truth, if the house had been on fire at that moment, I would have traded my current state for the sweet embrace of death by smoke inhalation in a heartbeat. Mike was lucky I couldn't think straight.

"I'm going to explode."

This was the first inkling I had that maybe, just maybe, this emergency wasn't quite as dire as Mike thought. Because he'd been about to explode a bunch of times before and he'd never actually done so. "Mike, what the hell..."

"Seriously Lexi, my cock is about to explode. I had this dream about you and when I woke up it was like I was harder than I've ever been."

"You know, most guys would just jerk off and let me sleep."

"I can't. It wouldn't be right. I'm serious, I was dreaming about you and I woke up right in the middle."

"Middle of what?" I was keeping him talking until I could wrest control of my arms from wherever it had gone, so I could strangle him for waking me up because he was horny.

"You were taking all your clothes off and then you rubbed yourself all over with oil and waggled your butt in my face and I couldn't touch you, I just had to watch."

"This couldn't have waited?"

"You don't want to get fucked with the hardest cock ever? Ever? Because you'd be missing out. I guess I can go find some other way..." He trailed off.

Truth was, now that I was somewhat awake, I realized it was still dark out, and the house was sleeping, and I felt a stirring that suggested that, while my brain might really want to kill Mike and then go back to sleep, my body had other ideas. Not to mention the fact that I've never been good at getting back to sleep.

"The hardest ever?"

"Yeah. I mean, look." He stood up and I had to admit, it was pretty hard-looking. "It's been like this for a long time too. Every time it touches anything it's like it's about ready to go off."

I thought about it for a minute, looking at it. Then, finally, I rolled onto my back, kicked the sheet off, and said, "Okay, climb aboard."

I closed my eyes, not because I wanted to blot anything out or even that I wanted to go back to sleep, but the strain of keeping them open was too much, and in the dark it wasn't that easy to see anything anyway. So I felt his weight settle between my legs, felt the head of his cock run over my pussy lips and then slowly press in, felt him ease down onto me until we were wrapped in each other. "It's pretty hard," I whispered. "Think I'm likely to get anything out of it beyond an explosion?"

"I'll try." He didn't really thrust, he just ground himself against me, kissing me now, my breasts pressed against him, his arms wrapped around me, pulling him closer. I felt each electric tension as he pressed and then relaxed, not moving in and out, just tensing and then relaxing. And despite not intending to fall asleep, despite actually enjoying myself, remnants of the groggy state infiltrated my brain and turned the feelings into something more. They wove into my dreams, the pressure and release, until I wasn't sure whether he was still inside me or if he'd cum long ago and I was just remembering him there.

I came and jolted awake, and he was still there, moving a little faster now. My body had run away with my mind; it was like that falling sensation you sometimes get before you jerk awake again, except in this case it was a sudden release. I moaned; he kissed me and started thrusting now, once, twice, and then pressing deep and suddenly my focus was entirely on my abdomen, my hips, where a swell of heat rose and I felt every inch of him inside me pulse and spray jism into me.

"Was it worth it?" he asked after a moment, still inside me.

"No, of course not," I said. "You woke me up for that?"

Then I rolled over, cum sloshing inside me, and said, "Still hard? I'm not going back to sleep after that."

Flash Fiction Friday - Morning, Noon, and Night

We sat; she smoked while I wished she wouldn’t, a post-coital ritual that I couldn’t stand. “I suppose we’ll have to wake him up sometime,” she muttered, almost to herself. Her voice grated, rasping and signifying decay. I couldn’t stand myself either, for sitting there.

Her kisses had tasted like ashes. Surely no man was worth this, no fuck, no matter how intense, no matter how he made me scream, how the curl of his finger brought me close without question. And yet we sat at the kitchen table and waited for him to wake and want us again.

---

“What did we drink last night?” Gen asked groggily, cradling her head.

“You just can’t hold your liquor,” said Bonnie across the table, taking a long drag. “Here, have a bit of pep.”

Their fingers touched as the butt was exchanged, and the electricity was still there. “I can’t believe...” began Gen, maintaining the contact, savoring it.

“No, me neither,” Bonnie sighed. A pause, and then, “You were terrific.”

“Thanks,” Gen giggled, blushing, as she remembered. The curl of her lip caught Bonnie’s eye, and the two shared a private smile, cigarette forgotten, hands clasped.

---

You aren’t there. Sometimes I see you sitting across from me as I eat a lonely meal, a curl of smoke, a shadow, but you aren’t there. I have to tell myself this. You are gone.

Maybe you were never there at all. Maybe I’ve always been this way: alone, naked in the growing darkness, talking to myself. Maybe we never met, or you never existed for me to meet. I wanted to believe that I loved you, and maybe you loved me.

And now I have myself believing it. I can’t even say goodbye. You aren’t there.

---

First, let's get this out of the way:

That's Franz von Suppe's "Morning, Noon, and Night in Vienna" if you're not the type who plays videos or can't see the video or whatever. Doubtless some of you have heard it as part of Baton Bunny; Warner Brothers cartoons are a great source of classical education, aren't they? This song, and that cartoon, have shockingly little to do with anything. Just thought you should know.

This wasn't a cheerful picture. Not that I'm complaining, but the lack of cheeriness may, just may, have been reflected in my contributions this week. Or maybe it's my own lack of cheer.

I don't have a lot to say this week either, and I don't have a joke to close out with, so I'll just say that the rest of the gang are waiting over at Flash Fiction Friday headquarters and you should visit them too. Or if you are one of the gang, or would like to be, get over there and put your name in so I can read yours. It's so easy.

Remiss But Unsexy

It is, apparently, that time when I feel profoundly unsexy again. Which is why I've been silent over here; I just haven't had the motivation to tune in, I'm afraid. Work is picking up, which is both a good and a bad thing, and certain other things have happened which have sapped my energy somewhat, and now I'm just... not feeling like writing. So I'm alive, and I'll be here Friday for Flash Fiction, and other than that I can't really say. Who knows, maybe things will change abruptly.

Sveta has, if I'm counting correctly, one more week after this one. She's taken the week off and plans to spend most or all of it here, which is a very nice surprise even if I wasn't entirely not expecting it. I keep telling Mike that if he wants any hope of seeing her, the window is closing. I've offered various incentives. I've even played on his ego a little. So far, no commitment. We'll see.

Kate keeps inviting me over. I think she misses me. I kind of miss her too, but I miss having to put up with Roger's shit a lot less. Still, when I'm feeling a bit more up and at 'em, particularly when I start missing Sveta, it may yet happen. Besides, it's not like I can afford to turn down opportunities these days; this dry spell is wearing on me a little.

Pam and Kirk have both expressed interest in seeing me too, although Pam says she's pretty sure it's that they want me to babysit for them. I told them that I'd consider it, if I was paid in kind rather than in cash, as it were. We were both joking a little. Anyway, the only time they're available seems to be times when I'm not, so scheduling is the bear there.

And then there are, as I mentioned previously, a few prospects on the horizon. And continued rehab with Dad, which I know might be boring to hear about so I've only been reporting the success stories and milestones. And so forth. I sincerely hope that within the next few days the funk will clear off and I'll be more up to things sexual. As it is, I just want to crawl into a hole and masturbate just to get off every so often, reversing my earlier statements on the subject. I'm such a backslider.

Flash Fiction Friday - Purple Prose

The light was stained lilac by the neon glow of the sleazy hotel next door as we fucked. He pushed me into the cushions with his weight, driving deep into me. Across the alley, a prostitute and her client were visible in silhouette, and it was almost like we were a foursome, divided by geography. Maybe they looked at us too. Maybe I was the only one looking. Then their light clicked off, his thrusts became more insistent, and I was alone in the purple-tinged darkness.

---

Just one this week, and very little post-game commentary either. Disappointing, I know, but I've had some things on my mind. But you can salve your hurt by visiting Flash Fiction Friday headquarters and checking out all the other entries.

But now, my joke entry for this week, which I couldn't stop thinking about but didn't actually want to dignify with status. Doubtless you'll all like it better than the actual entry. C'est la vie.

---

"Captain’s Log – Stardate 1455.8: The people of Sigma Tau III have been quite hospitable to us. The natives do have one curious feature: purple-hued skin. Dr. McCoy was able to establish that this is not in fact a genetic trait but rather a sexually transmitted disease. He is confident that a cure could be effected.

"Personal Supplement: must remember to requisition more makeup to hide my growing purple spots until the good doctor can fulfill his confidence. Crew morale is important, and none of them were allowed shore-leave."

---

I really just wanted to make a "captain's log" joke.

My New Campaign

No, I'm not running for political office (I would never in a million years get elected). I'm just... well, perhaps resigning myself a little, but also trying to make the best of it.

As most of you no doubt know, my opportunities for sex have dropped off of late. I've been busy, Dad has problems, Mike isn't here, Sveta is busy too, and so forth. Whatever. I'm working on picking things up a little, but for the most part, it's masturbation or nothing for me, and I just can't stand nothing, not for an extended period.

All of which has given rise to my new campaign to make masturbation a bit more than just a peremptory act that I do because I have nothing else to do or because I feel the itch. I'm trying new things, or revisiting old things. If I'm going to be my own lover, well I want to treat myself properly. Actually, that's a very good idea for most people. If you're masturbating, it doesn't have to be shameful or hurried. It can be like you're making love to yourself. I think most people could stand to love themselves a bit more, and if that's one way of doing it, I support that.

Of late, I wouldn't stay with a partner who fucked me the way I fuck me. I don't seem to be very interested in anything but immediate gratification, as I mentioned earlier. And that's no way to be. So I'm going to try to be more in tune with my "partner," to practice all those things I preach when talking about sex with another person, to acknowledge that maybe I'm seeking comfort in masturbation but maybe I should be comforting myself better. Maybe a bit more quality and a bit less quantity.

I know this may be strange, but I almost never use lube when I'm just playing with myself. I'm not saying I'm the juiciest pussy around, but I get plenty moist enough to get things done. But "getting things done" is the bare minimum. So this morning instead of just the desultory tamale tickle, I got out a bit of lube and spent a bit of time on self-massage.

And wouldn't you know it, it was nice. My fingers felt softer, more tender. I was able to play with my lips more than I often do, which is something I really enjoy when people do it to me, so why shouldn't I do it to myself? I didn't bring in any toys, even though I'd planned on it; I just spent the whole time feeling myself from both sides. The lube even made it easy to decide to venture into my ass, and between squeezing the wall between ass and pussy and stroking my clit, I had a very nice orgasm, worthy of savoring rather than rushing through.

Sure, it took a little longer. Sure, it was a bit more hassle, and I had to clean up after myself. I won't say that I've given up completely on quickies, because if I spend all my time masturbating, I'd never get anything else done. But I do plan to keep exploring possibilities. Maybe taking myself out for some fun in strange places. After all, that's what I'd do if I were two people.

And I'm not giving up on sex at all. Sveta and I have spent some time together recently, and plan to spend more before she goes back to college. And I'm still working on Dad, getting him used to the idea of toys. And I still hold out hope for my sex life outside of the usual options too. In fact, I have a few promising avenues opening up. But for right now, if I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right.

Lastly, any suggestions? Not that I'm a novice when it comes to the art of self-pleasure, but I'm open to other perspectives. Even male perspectives. Basically, I want you to talk about spanking it, please. You won't get that invitation all that often.

TMI Cheating

Now that I've answered these, I'm not sure why I did, but hey, it's Tuesday, which means it's time for TMI.

Her: I saw you flirting with her. Cheater!

Him: It’s not cheating if we don’t have intercourse.

1. You have been separated from your significant other for six months. An attractive, attentive neighbor has paid you flattering attention. It is obvious he/she wishes to take the relationship further. Do you:

1. Dismiss him/her, you’re in a committed relationship.
2. Continue to flirt, but go no further.
3. Fantasize about him/her, but take care of your sexual needs solo.
4. Let the affair become physical.

I would ask what "separated" means, since that could be broken up or in different locations, but in this case it doesn't matter. Either way, I would have made clear to my significant other that I am not and never will be monogamous, and things like this would happen. I would expect the same from my sig-o. Now, I wouldn't lie about it to him or her if we were still in a relationship. But I'm strange that way. Anyway, I don't have "affairs" in that sense.

2. A male co-worker whom you have heard is great in bed and very well endowed has been flirting with you a lot. He obviously wishes to start a relationship. Do you:

1. Make it clear to him you’re not interested.
2. Flirt with him but go no further.
3. Mentally undress him and wonder what he’d be like in bed.
4. Let the relationship become sexual.

I don't (or at least my policy is to not) fuck coworkers. So I'd probably do a bit of C and a bit of B but leading toward A.

Or I'd screw myself over and go for D. I'm only human.

3. Your significant other is impotent most of the time, showing little interest in you and little interest in being sexual. Do you:

1. Resign yourself to no sex.
2. Satisfy your needs with masturbation
3. Find someone who can satisfy you sexually but remain with your significant other
4. Leave him or her

Odd that this question would come up. Just for the record, impotent doesn't mean showing no interest. If my significant other stopped showing sexual interest in me, impotent or not, well, as I've said, I'm not a one-person gal, so I'd have options. I'm not resigning myself to no sex. But if my significant other felt vulnerable because of his/her condition, I might hold off on seeking out other people and try to live with masturbation, at least at first. It's all about communication; I wouldn't go behind my lover's back, but I would discuss what was going on, and try to find some way of working through it. Anyone I care enough for to become what one would term significant-other, I wouldn't just dump out of hand.

4. The last time you and your mate had sex, were you:

1. Concentrating mostly on him/her, and you didn’t even orgasm
2. Thinking about your pleasure and theirs.
3. Concentrating mainly on your own pleasure.
4. Used his/her body as a tool to reach your own orgasm.

Which mate? With me, it's usually B, simply because I'm pretty easy to please but I do like to be pleased, and I also am pleased when my partner is pleased. I don't want to sound selfless; I get off, thank you.

5. What kind of partner do you prefer while making love or having sex?

1. Tender, loving, slow and sweet
2. I don’t care, just do me; it’s been a while
3. Tough, take-charge, I like it a little rough
4. Any lovin’ is good lovin’

None of these options work because it depends. I'm not an "any port in a storm" kind of gal all the time, although if I get desperate enough, that's what it becomes. But I'm also not totally set on any of the other options. I like tender and loving, and I like a little rough, and depending on my mood and how my day has been I'd like either one, the other, or both.

Bonus: Do you mind if your significant other ogles/checks out another sexy person? What if they comment on that person, do you mind that?

No, because I do it too. Actually, that's some of the most fun I've had with boyfriends: girlwatching. Sveta and I do it, and I've done it with boys I've dated too. We can both ogle together, and we both comment. I've been in a few relationships where that wasn't the case, but these days, that's what I want anyway.

Bonus, Bonus: What are your thoughts on the TMI Tuesday image above and the caption beneath it?

Cheating is what you intend, not what you do. That's why I can be faithful to someone even as I'm having sex with someone else. I'm faithful in that I don't do things secretly and I don't expect differently from them than I do from myself. Not that I'm always faithful, but when I am, that's how it works. So yes, flirting can be cheating. Or it might not be. If you're in a relationship with someone who would think of flirting as cheating, and you know this, and you do it anyway, then it is. That doesn't mean you're wrong; if anything, if you're in a relationship where innocent things are cheating because your significant other thinks they are, then something is wrong. If your sig-o gets jealous when you talk to a member of the opposite sex, even innocently, then that might be cheating to your sig-o, but the problem isn't that you're cheating but that he or she thinks that it's cheating. Basically, if you're being unfaithful in some way, it's cheating. People view relationships as a contract, like there are loopholes you can exploit where you're able to do things which should be cheating but aren't. It shouldn't work that way. Relationships are about trust, not about rules. That's my simple, country-girl opinion anyway.

A Gap

I didn't cum at all yesterday. For a slightly-longer-than-24-hour period, I had no orgasms, and for most of that period I didn't even think about that fact. But then I started thinking about it, which led me to a series of conclusions.

1. You gals who can't cum, you have my sympathy. Really. If there were any way I could transfer an orgasm to you, I'd line up to donate one.
2. You gals who can cum but aren't allowed to, you don't have my sympathy quite as much, but still, it must be hard. Actually, it might be harder than just not being able to, so maybe you've got my sympathy more. Either way, sympathy all 'round for the orgasm-less.
3. It's been a long time since I lived a life which wasn't filled with at least self-administered orgasms. Sure, there was that period a while back where I fasted a bit, just to see what happened, but that was an exception. Maybe I take orgasms for granted.
4. Or maybe they're like drinking and eating, and everyone should be having more of them. Am I the oddity, or is everyone else? This path consumed my thinking for a bit until I shook myself loose of wheels within wheels an returned to reality.
5. Sometimes I orgasm just for the sake of orgasming. That worries me slightly; I think orgasms should be at least mildly entertaining diversions, not things which one does because one has to. Not that I have to, necessarily, but sometimes, occasionally, I feel rushed, like I'm just doing it so I can get on with something else.
6. Lately, a certain amount of the activities I enjoy have felt that way. This is more worrisome.
7. When I don't cum, I'm not like a junkie without a fix. I'm perfectly rational. Orgasms in and of themselves are not why I have sex, nor are they things I need to seek out. When I broke my orgasm-fast, it wasn't because I couldn't stand to be without orgasms, but because I was having a tough time for other reasons, and felt the need to seek comfort in an orgasm.
8. Orgasms don't cure horny. At least, not for me.
9. When I don't cum, it's usually because my life is sucking, not because my life is so great I don't need to cum. But by the same token, my life doesn't start to suck because I'm not cumming.
10. Orgasms are a comfort food? Really? I guess they're less fattening than mashed potatoes or mac and cheese.
11. #10 wasn't really a conclusion. #11 is looking a bit shaky too.
12. I only missed orgasms when I thought about them, and since I didn't think about them for most of the day, nothing in my day aroused me at all. Which is kind of odd. There were a number of things which, in hindsight, could easily have aroused me, and that they didn't suggests that I wasn't completely there all day.
13. Only rarely do I fail to have an orgasm while trying to have one. So yesterday wasn't a day where the motor died, just a day where I never turned the key in the first place.
14. This blog post would probably have been better structured as a series of paragraphs rather than a list.
15. But it's funnier this way.
16. Those last two aren't really conclusions about orgasms, and the whole thing is getting pretty fucking meta.

On a different but slightly related topic (basically, I just wanted an excuse to mention this) if you're not reading Girls With Slingshots, it's just coming to the end of a terrific arc about a crippling lack of batteries. Some people are scratching their heads right now (I'm not making harsh generalizations, but I have a hunch that most of those people have penises, not that all people who have penises are scratching their heads). Go check it out; it begins here. Well, actually, that's the context for the beginning of the arc, but read it anyway.

Flash Fiction Friday - Fitting Room

[EDITOR'S NOTE] I feel I've been disingenuous because when I wrote the commentary I thought I'd made the cuts to which I refer. But it turns out Blogger ate them. So I've recut it the way I remember having cut it in the past, but it was a second cut, and thus everyone who read this might have scratched their heads a little trying to figure out what the fuck I was going on about since none of the cuts seemed to have been made and all three were still too long. Sorry about that.

The best thing about Sarah was that she never wore a bra. The refusal to wear panties either was a bonus, certainly, but only after you got to know her. Going braless was something even the uninitiated could enjoy.

Of course, as she backed me into a corner, her hands ripping at my belt, the lack of panties was more immediately noticeable. I noticed mostly because my cock had no impediment to sliding into her slick cunt. But after the initial formalities my hands sought out her bounteous breasts, sliding up to cup them, and her policy on bras came back to my mind like a shot.

A strangled cry escaped my lips and I grunted, “Today, of all days, you decide to wear one?”

She stopped her backward thrusting for a moment and giggled softly. “I have a job interview,” she gasped, unable to talk normally, as she began cumming, hard, on me. Can you blame me if, after that, I forgot about undergarments completely?

---

After hours and they were at it again. It had been weeks, yet they never seemed to tire of it, and I didn’t tire of it either. Security jobs have their perks.

I wondered as I watched, hand on cock, if they realized that there was a camera. Sometimes they fucked out of view, but lately she had been steering him into the corner opposite the camera, her gorgeous tits rocking as he railed her from behind. I sometimes wished there was sound, so I could hear the strangled cry, the grunt, the slapping of flesh.

I was all set to cum myself when she raised her head and, looking directly into the lens, winked and smiled, vacant but inviting. She knew I was there, or at least that someone was.

Other men might have taken the wink and treasured it alone. I stood, cock sticking from my pants, and rushed to the fitting room. And they welcomed me.

---

He leads me through crowds, into a smaller space, and then, with the creak of a door, a smaller one yet. The hum of people is around us, but distant. Private, yet public as well.

His hands slip my pants down, and his mouth presses against mine. Our movements echo in the buzz of a fluorescent light. I feel his fingers slip into me, stroking, teasing out wetness, and then he pulls me back against him. Orienting him by touch I raise my hips and sink down onto him.

Soon he picks up the pace, and I can’t hear anything but the rush in my ears, even the soft sounds of sex obscured. My strangled cry as he makes me cum sounds muffled, distant.

And then it grows lighter; my blindfold must have slipped off. And we’re in a fitting room, the door is open, and a startled clerk is staring at us in shock, and I don’t care.

---

I don't want to give the impression that I only enjoy pictures I submit, or that I know in advance that they'll be the ones picked; I give PB a (fairly large, actually) number of pictures for his perusal and possible use, and leave it at that. I enjoy erotic pictures and I come across more than a few which I think might spark creativity in storytelling, and it'd be a shame for me to keep them to myself. But I did like this picture. Maybe I'll be the only one, but to me it felt like it had immediacy, an unrehearsed, un-posed quality about it.

I don't know if they're actually in a fitting room (or dressing room, call it what you will) but that's the way it looked to me from first glance. Strangely enough, the first story really didn't have much of anything to do with fitting rooms, but it was about clothes, so I guess it fit the general theme. I started with the first line, then I noticed that the woman did indeed have a bra on, not easy to spot but I believe actually there. It's tough to tell, which is why at the beginning I didn't see it, but I think it's there now. So the story kind of unfolded in the same way. Basically, I just wanted an excuse to write the first paragraph, because that's pretty much the way I feel, in the Maslo's Heirarchy of Not-Wearing-Undergarment-ness.

Then number two began as a straight story about watching two sales associates fuck in the dressing room, but I decided that, if I were one of them, I'd know there was a camera, and if I were the security guard, I'd take it as an invitation rather than as an acknowledgment, and if both of those things happened, I wanted a happy ending, damn it.

Then number three began as straight sensation, but I deleted an early draft and mixed in a bit of plot because it seemed like the best thing to do. It's hard to write sentence fragments for so long; at least it is for me, but then I'm a grammar Nazi. I did make it present tense, something I don't often do, because that helped keep the feeling of the early draft without being the early draft.

Now, there's a funny story attached to all of this, which is that I thought that the limit was 180. I actually had to cut a lot to get down to 180, and then suddenly I realized it was 160, and 20 more words had to go from each of them. It's amazing what you can chop from something and keep the basic intent, actually, and I think, because I'm all verbose today, that I'd like to give a few examples. This is not me telling you how to write. This is me giving you another peek at how I write.

For instance, the phrase in the third, "Soon he picks up the pace..." originally read, "At first he’s slow, but soon he picks up the pace..." Now, in a longer-form story, I might have left it (on the other hand, it might be excessive redundancy) because it emphasizes certain things. But picking up the pace implies that it wasn't picked up before, so the essential meaning is the same if I cut it, so I did.

On the other hand, the first one has a lot of extraneous words. I could have cut down on the first paragraph a lot, saying it differently, more succinctly. But I really wanted to keep that tone and those words, while superfluous to plot or setting, do give tone. Actually, the first one was the hardest to cut down; some extra description went rather than losing the tone. It's a choice, not a rule; I could have gone the other way and cut tone and left description, but honestly, the vignette didn't seem that interesting as a point of plot. I suppose I could have just told it like a joke, "So, there's the girl who never wears a bra, and then one day I'm fucking her and she's got a bra on, and she says it's because she had a job interview." But that's not really all that appealing. Telling the joke did teach me one thing though; it's funnier (and sexier) if she says she has a job interview rather than that she had one. At least it is to me.

In the third, the original read, "My strangled cry as he makes me cum sounds from a distance." Actually, it read that way after I tweaked it trying to get what had been more than 180 down to 180; if I'd had unlimited words, it would probably have read, "Even my strangled cry as he makes me cum sounds distant, as if through water rushing over me, filling my ears with the physical pulse of orgasm." Or something like that; that's still pretty crappy. But anyway, "sounds from a distance" is crap. And I would have let it stand had I not had to go back and cut. It's not always a bad thing to edit. I must keep telling myself this.

The second was mostly small cuts, a word here, a word there, no real phrase cuts. I have to discipline myself ahead of time because otherwise I'd start telling this character's back-story, how he wound up working the late shift at a crappy department store, how this store came to install cameras in the fitting rooms (which can't be common practice, otherwise there'd be lawsuits), etc. and so on. So I'd already minimalized it to the point that redundant words could go, but they were just single words or small phrases. I like "slap of flesh on flesh" as a phrase, but cutting the second "flesh" leaves the essential meaning unchanged.

There are warring impulses in my brain when it comes to things like this. On the one hand, I think that good writing isn't necessarily the use of as few words as possible, but on the other I tend to reject works that are flowery or excessively descriptive. I suppose it all depends on what one defines "possible" as. As a writer of fiction, I'm not writing technical specifications (which could all stand to be a lot less redundant in places); I'm writing something which is by nature perhaps more wordy than it needs to be just to drive along the story. I tend to ramble on the blog, but in a disciplined form I don't think I use way more words than necessary, at least. It's a tough line to draw. Having to "butcher" things to get them into a certain length is a good way to figure out priorities and "possible."

I said it previously, but I can't write Flash Fiction with no limit in mind and then just go back and cut it down to size. That's like taking a satellite photo of the earth and then cropping out everything but my face every time I want a self-portrait. I have to reign in my desires to write something longer, because while I'm okay with cutting verbiage when it gets too fruity, I'm less likely to want to cut major chunks, and that's the only way to get a 1000 words down to 100. You can't have ten paragraphs of 100 words each and just take 90 words out of each paragraph. You have to preserve some paragraphs and eliminate others completely. And that's more difficult that just sticking to the rules in the first place and writing something which might wind up being 200 when it needs to be 150. There's a big difference in style, tone, and plot between a 1000 word story and a 100 word one, at least in my process.

Okay, enough. I said I was feeling wordy, but I think I may have eaten a dictionary in my sleep. As the inimitable Groucho Marx once said, "You haven't stopped talking since I got in here; you must have been vaccinated with a phonograph needle." Of course, he was saying it ironically, and... what? Oh, a phonograph needle is this... well, there used to be things called phonographs which played records, which recorded sounds via a... yes, like an iPod, only much larger and instead of mp3s, you'd put a record on the turntable and... right, like DJs use. Well, the needle is the... you know what, look it up. And while you're at it, look up Flash Fiction Friday, where there will be other contributions to the theme which don't involve anywhere near as much spouting off at the mouth. But fewer Groucho Marx quotes, so that's one thing I've got. Swordfish.

Teasing

As I make clear over and over again, I love me some questions from actual humans rather than memes. Sure, sometimes the answers aren't interesting, or they're questions I can't really answer on the blog for one reason or another, but I jump at a good question. In the course of a conversation, I was asked a question which I felt warranted a response, so here goes (the question has been chopped up a bit because, as I said, it was part of a conversation and so needed context):

"You ever do anything like... [t]ease an older man, maybe in public [when you were younger]? Knowing he was looking at you when maybe he shouldn't and you just couldn't resist teasing him a little?" - p.s.

I'm shy. I really am. I know that I come off on the blog like I'm some kind of exotic temptress who oozes sex at all times, but you'd never know it to meet me. Most people have no idea I'm even promiscuous, and if they know that I've had a bit of experience, they sometimes can't rationalize it with how I appear in everyday life. I don't flirt all that much, unless I'm in my comfort zone or I don't give a shit. I'm not really all that great at picking people up; most of my past "conquests" have fallen into my lap, and I'm saying that to give myself as little credit as possible. As a seductress, unless someone is already trying to be seduced, I suck. If someone is trying, then I'm easy.

But balance that against the fact that I was a very precocious child. Yes, I was one of those annoying kids, and while I find them (and myself) just as annoying, I have a great deal of sympathy for them because it's hard. Most of my friends growing up were older than I, sometimes much older. Many of my lovers have been. I tend to come off as older than I am, or even look, and (not tooting my own horn, just stating the facts) I've always been well-educated enough to make people believe that I must be older than I look, never mind that, after a certain point, I started looking pretty much how I look now, only with a better, easier-to-maintain body (damn it).

So while I didn't flirt with older men when I was a teenager (well, not much) I did tease them, sometimes unconsciously. I went through a period after my parents decided that I was allowed to pick my own clothes, within reason, where I pushed the boundaries of "within reason" to their limits. I'm not saying I dressed skanky, I just dressed older. I got my aunt to buy me mini skirts that my parents wouldn't like and wore them when they weren't around. And of course, once I started having to wear a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, there wasn't much I could do that wasn't teasing, I'm afraid. Like all girls I rolled up my skirt, wore stockings, opened an extra button, all those things that were almost compulsory if you didn't want to be a total loser (which, I'm somewhat sad to say, was always somewhat borderline for me, even with my efforts).

As a walking embodiment of sex appeal for some people, I imagine that my mere existence outside the cloister of Catholic school was enough to drive some men to distraction. I noticed it on many occasions; I'd get long, longing stares if I went to McDonalds or walked down the street. And that didn't bother me; I was actually rather taken with it. Even before I hit that point, I'd occasionally notice a guy looking at me a little longer than he should have and get misty. I don't like creepy or stalking, but I really don't mind someone enjoying looking at me. If that makes me whatever that makes me, I guess I just have to live with that.

But beyond passive and accidental teasing... well, yes, I'm guilty of some active teasing as well. Mostly it wasn't particularly directed; I'd just know that people were looking and flaunt it a little. I was bad at swimming pools; wearing a bikini is as close to being naked as I usually got in public areas, and if I was feeling particularly frisky, I might adjust my suit a bit longer than necessary after coming out of the pool, or bend over to pick something up without bending my knees.

Sheri was a bad influence here too; on more than one occasion, in strange places, she'd get me into teasing some man whose gaze happened to linger. We'd start whispering, and then giggling and eying him, and depending on the circumstance maybe cross and uncross our legs to make our skirts ride up a bit. As we got older, particularly after Sheri decided that she was old enough to no longer care about age restrictions (which came a while before she actually was able to stop caring completely) she'd flaunt it much more and drag me along, "kicking and screaming."

I remember once we were in a fast food place sitting across from this guy who seemed pretty old at the time but was probably only in his twenties. He looked over at us over his girlfriend's back, and we grinned back at him, then Sheri planted a kiss on my lips and blew him one too. His eyes bugged out a little, but he stayed quiet, although we had an audience for the rest of the meal. I doubt he heard a single word his poor girlfriend said.

I've only been overtly sexual once or twice in a tease, at least in one which wasn't directed at someone I either had already had sexually or was planning on having. I'll tease by showing off a bit, but only a few times have I moved past showing off into doing something other than polite, shall we say. Maybe it's because I'm really actually shy about sex. I don't know; I doubt it. I'll give bonus points if the guy who's ogling me catches my eye and doesn't look embarrassed or look away. If you can be honest about the fact that, yes, you're ogling me, then I'm inclined to give you a treat.

The only time I remember specifically was sitting on a park bench wearing shorts (back when I still wore shorts) and leaving my legs spread maybe a bit too much. I wasn't thinking; it was warm and I was relaxing. I'm not prim and proper sometimes. Anyway, I noticed a guy in the grass a little way away looking at me. I was old enough to know that semi-deserted park plus guy staring might equal unpleasantness, but young enough not to have any evidence to prove that theory. I caught his eye, and he just looked back. Didn't leer, didn't grin, didn't do anything, just kind of looked and smiled slightly, like I'd caught him in the middle of smiling at something else and now his face was just relaxing. Pleasant enough.

So I spread my legs a little more, past "maybe a bit too much" and straight into "yep, that's too much" territory. These shorts weren't super skimpy, but in that pose they left very little to the imagination. He smiled a bit more, seeing me looking at him and spreading my legs but not getting ready to run. So I smiled back. Then I looked away, deliberately, like I was going to ignore him and let him do whatever he wanted, and then spread my legs a little more. I confess, I started to get a bit wet. Then, and this is the part where I slide over the line into evil, I "absently" reached down and ran my fingers over the seam of my crotch, like I was just scratching myself. I left my hand there, didn't really move it because I wasn't quite prepared to venture into public masturbation.

Finally, after a while, I squeezed my legs back together on my hand a few times (which felt fantastic and made me want to rip all my clothes off and jump any guy at all right about then) and then pulled my hand back out and looked back over to see how my audience was doing. He was still looking in my direction, and I nodded to him, just slightly, as I got up and walked somewhere else because I didn't want to put on a show any more, I wanted sex, bad.

Thinking back on it, I'm not actually all that proud. I don't tease much any more because it doesn't seem fair. I mean, I'll tease if we both know that it'll go somewhere eventually, but to tease without any hope is kind of cruel, to my mind. And while I like being watched sometimes, I get off less on it if I feel like I'm being malicious in some way. I'm just a big old softy.

Now, of course, I might get up after catching his eye and go over and strike up a conversation. Or I might let him look but not encourage him. Or I might, no matter how bad I feel afterward, spread my legs a little more, if only to give him a better view. There's no harm in giving someone what they want, is there? Okay, don't answer that.

Nothing particularly shocking in my testimony, but you never know, the next question might be a doozy. So ask, please. I don't have a cute little widget for questions because I don't like formspring, but comments are always on and email is a viable option as well. If you've asked a question in the past and I forgot about it, ask it again, and I'm sorry for being my usual scatter-brained self. If nothing else, I'll say, "Oh, I already answered that," and point you in the right direction.

A Little Less Conversation

For PB, I thought I'd detail, in triplicate, the financial statements for this quarter at my funeral parlor. But then I realized that I don't own a funeral parlor, that I wouldn't know how to detail a financial statement if you put a gun to my head, and that it would bore me silly. So instead, please accept a slightly more visceral approach to the topic. I don't have perfect recall even at the best of times, so this is historical fiction rather than straight-up remembrance, but I'm not making things up, I'm just making things more readable.

It wasn't the first time. Paul and Kirsten had hooked up over the summer and she told him about it, and he seemed ready to go. We'd lost Ben to the vagaries of financial aid and Elizabeth was busy with projects, but between Gwen and I and Steven, we figured we could give the new couple a good time.

Steven and Gwen and I had been friends the longest, since a few minutes into freshman year when we all realized that we hated the same things. It was that kind of friendship to begin with, cemented by the bonds of finding freshman orientation utter bullshit and yet mildly inescapable. We didn't eat together or do things together, but we waved to each other and told jokes. And then Gwen and I discovered that we both enjoyed each others' company enough to spend time together for reasons other than having to be in the same room because we were roommates. Steven was the first guy we told about that. He was awestruck; "Are you sure?" I believe were his exact words. Yes, we were sure that we'd gone from mildly enjoying each others' company to naked on my bed with her tongue so far up my snatch I wasn't sure it would ever come out again. Pretty sure. In hindsight, I believe that he was expressing more reservations about the intelligence of roommates becoming sexually involved than he was letting on.

So it seemed natural that Steven should join in. I don't remember if he was the first guy we shared, but he was near the top of the list. After that, things got strange for a week or so, but then we started eating together and things evened out. It wasn't an always kind of relationship for any of us; Steven was, if anything, slightly more of a slut than either of us. He'd tell us stories of his conquests though, which was entertaining. And every month or so, we'd get together because none of us had anything better to do.

At this point, that was old news; Steven was firmly in the "friend" category rather than the "fuckbuddy" category. And he'd brought Kirsten, who wasn't really our type, but who was totally uninhibited sexually. She would drop her clothes at the first request. It wasn't that she was easy; she didn't have all that much sex. But she was willing to fuck until screws came loose if she was willing to fuck at all. It wasn't as much fun to hang around with her in some contexts; she was really much too crunchy-granola for me, and always very cheerful. And she'd sometimes bring her friends, who were even less interesting because they weren't interested in us. Still, she was worth putting up with mild annoyance at times because she was fun to have at parties.

So in combination with several other people, off and on, Gwen, Steven, Kirsten, and I had put together an orgy in the previous term, before summer. Before that, there had been one drunken night where the three girls all teamed up on Steven and then another guy came in whom I didn't really know and took Kirsten to one side for some very hot sex, and a few parties with more people where pairs had formed and even a few swaps had been made. We considered ourselves old hands at the group sex game, despite that not being the case at all. And so when Kirsten said that Paul might be interested, Gwen and Steven were easy to talk into it, and I was helping Kirsten do the talking, I was so interested.

It was less organized, a potluck affair of half-empty bottles brought by all parties and no snacks at all because no one had thought to get some, or perhaps because we all thought someone else would get some. Kirsten said she'd bring Paul over at some point; I got the feeling that, interested in the idea or not, he might not have been quite ready for the practicalities. So Gwen and I cuddled until Steven showed up with his bottle, set it down, and said, "So where's the new fish?" like he was in a prison film. New fish not presenting himself, Steven pulled off his clothes and hopped onto the bed with us, and soon was fingering me while licking Gwen, then vice versa. Steven was the kind of guy who would go down on you all day if you let him, and never ask for any head in return. It wasn't lack of selfishness, but rather than he didn't need help getting hard and loved the taste and smell of pussy, which may be why he went to the trouble of having so many different ones to sample.

When Kirsten and Paul finally knocked, Steven was balls-deep in Gwen's ass while I licked her, something we all enjoyed. We didn't bother to answer the door, just yelled, "Come in." Thinking back, it could have been Security or the RA or any number of people. And we almost never locked the door when we were in flagrante either, and yet never were interrupted. Luck of the draw, I guess. Fortunately, in this case, it was Kirsten and Paul.

Kirsten demonstrated the reason we liked her by immediately putting down her bottle and shucking her clothes. She was rounder than either Gwen or I, with large, slightly drooping breasts, possibly from never wearing a bra. And she didn't shave either, so her bush was full and... well, bushy. Darker than her hair, which was dirty blonde, she had a thatch of brown which looked impenetrable but was actually quite well-behaved when you got close. She hopped up and gave Gwen a peck on the cheek, then as Steven pulled out to turn around she grabbed his cock and stroked it while she gave him an open-mouthed kiss.

I couldn't see Paul at first, but we all pulled out of our various positions; it seemed polite. There he was, short and swarthy, black hair and stubble, a brooding brow, wearing clothes which I wouldn't have worn to an orgy, complete with sweater vest. Sweater vest. I think probably all three of us had the same thought, "Yeah, right, he's up for this, uh huh." Or similar. He looked a little taken aback, but once we all invited him over, he loosened up, and once drinks had been poured he became quite loquacious. The sweater vest came off, as did his shirt, exposing a chest every bit as hairy as the rest of him. Latin, Greek, Italian, I don't know, but whatever it was, it was brawny. Not the normal type of guy I'd go for, but I warmed to him.

"So how does this work?" he asked, like we had a manual or something.

"Who would you like to have a go with first?" asked Steven. "I mean, it's not like we've all got to jump in a pile or anything. We're just having a friendly fuck."

Paul ventured that he'd actually be fine taking over where Steven had left off, so Gwen hopped back to her knees and waggled her ass at him. He pulled off his pants with only slight hesitation, and suddenly I saw what Kirsten saw in him, or at least one thing. He was hung quite well. Steven paled slightly, although he tried not to show it. "Lube that up a little," said Gwen, giggling. "I'm not sure I'm ready."

So Kirsten and I happily got busy lubing. Her throat put mine to shame, I'm afraid; she had no trouble with him at all, whereas I wasn't quite ready to take the plunge. But I did my fair share of licking and kissing and sucking, occasionally stopping to spit out an errant hair, because his crotch was just as hairy as the rest of him. Finally, he said, "Come on, she's waiting," and pushed us off, then climbed up with drink in hand, took a gulp, and began buggering my roomie with evident satisfaction.

"Come on Kirst, don't let them have all the fun," said Steven, so Kirsten hopped up beside Gwen in similar position, and Steven pressed his cock into her ass. I knew from clandestine discussion that her ass wasn't the tightest, so he was able to thrust away fairly easily, plus if Paul had been fucking her ass before, she was doubtless used to bigger.

I felt left out for a bit until Steven said, "Come on, you too," and patted the bed beside him. And that was how all three girls wound up assuming the position, side by side, while the guys went down the line. When Paul came to my ass, I had already been loosened by Steven, but it was still a bit of a shock; I hadn't had a cock that big in my ass for a while. I concentrated on relaxing until I felt Gwen's hands on my head, pulling me down between her legs as she lay back and attempted to get me to eat her out. Kirsten was riding Steven, her breasts bouncing as she did, making little squeaks every time she descended with a jolt, making the bed shake.

It was organic, it was fun, and when Paul pulled out and shot his load on my back, I didn't mind at all. Kirsten hopped off Steven and come help me clean up, and I was able to pay better attention to Gwen, who enjoyed herself more as a result.

Things died down a little, me and Gwen still on the bed finishing up, Steven, Paul, and Kirsten getting more drinks. It wasn't that we were drinking hard; we were just loosening up a little. When Kirsten pulled Paul back to the bed and started reviving him, Gwen moved over to help, and Steven, who still hadn't cum, moved in behind me. "I'm pretty close," he said. "You want it inside?" He didn't need to ask; I sighed with satisfaction as he slipped into me and after a few moments pressed deep and came, forceful splashes which made me tingle.

Kirsten was open, but she wasn't that interested in girls; she'd let us eat her out, kiss us even, but her heart really wasn't in cunnilingus. Still, she and Gwen both wanted to clean me up, and I let them, cumming as a result.

Then things became slightly less regimented, and as a result my memories are a bit more confused. Despite saying we wouldn't all be in a big pile, we sort of wound up like that, with double penetration and kissing and licking. The boys switched off frequently, different girl, different hole, or just sitting back for a moment to see what other people were doing. Paul got a little drunk, which didn't make him ugly, it just made him a little louder. We talked some, but a lot of it was grunting and gasping. After seeing that Steven came inside me, Paul wanted to do that too; Kirsten was less into creampies and more into cum-eating. It seems like a long time, but really it couldn't have lasted for more than a couple of hours before we degenerated into idle fucking, purposeless, not really trying for anything other than enjoying being together. Gwen lay back and let Paul fuck her hard, until she was moaning constantly, the moans interrupted by each thrust. It was clear he was trying to work out one more, trying hard, until finally he came, nothing much, just a trickle really, and pulled Kirsten, who was next to him, into a kiss and cuddle, while Gwen lay back panting. Steven and I were the least affected by it; we kept fucking even after Kirsten and Paul started pulling clothes on again, in preparation for the walk of shame.

"Bye," they said as they left, Gwen half-asleep, Steven still up to the hilt in me. We all waved at them, wordlessly. Steven finished off inside me, gave the sleeping Gwen a kiss which she groggily returned, and quietly decamped.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't clean, but it was fun. And we tried to make it happen again. But shortly thereafter, Kirsten and Paul became very involved in each other, to the point that we could barely get them to come over at all. And Steven became involved in pursuit of a freshman, that age-old stereotype of upperclassmen. Then when Kirsten and Paul went through a messy breakup, neither of them wanted to see the other, so they couldn't chance seeing us much. I found that I actually preferred Paul; he was good company and even though I never saw him naked again, we stayed friends and even worked on projects together. Kirsten drifted away from the group, bringing our group down somewhat in terms of raw sexuality. I'm sorry things ended that way with her; she might not have been my ideal match, but she was relentlessly nice and I should have been nicer to her.

Orgies of the past tend not to make as good stories precisely because I remember them less concretely, but hopefully that gave some factor of amusement to those who'd rather not see financial statements take over this space. PB, I love you, you know that. I hope that, by sharing, I can spread my blessings around a little. I mean, obviously, if I could, I'd wish orgies for everyone who wants them, but until I find that genie, vicarious is the best I can do.

TMI Summertime

1. What is your favorite summer clothing item or outfit?

I love sundresses. LUV love. I'm not sure why. I almost never wear them in the sun, or even outdoors for the most part. In fact, of late I've had less and less opportunity to wear anything but either work clothes or things I lounge in. Haven't spruced up in a while. Maybe for a date soon (hint, hint, to the person I know is reading). Anyway, I've got a couple, in yellow and peach, that are somewhat out of character for me, being a lover of dark colors, but which I just adore. I even had a white one which I tiedyed at one point, but it got horribly stained and I had to get rid of it.

2. Did you or will you take a summer vacation? If yes, where did you go?

I wish. Except I almost don't wish, because summer is when everyone takes a vacation. I'd like to take a vacation sometime when no one else does. Anyway, no I didn't, and I probably won't because I'm just busy enough that I don't have an uninterrupted block of time in which to take said vacation. And I don't have the money to go anywhere I want to go. But maybe I can swing visiting Sheri or Mike. Or they could visit me. It's a vacation if I'm not working even if I'm at home, so I've just had to take mini vacations throughout the week. At this point, every hour of sleep is a vacation from the world.

3. What is your ideal weekend away (e.g. city, beach or wilderness)?

That's a good question. I haven't been to the beach in years, and I think fondly of it, but I don't think I actually want to go to the beach because of various sun and sand issues. I guess wilderness, although it has to be with running water and electricity because I'm past the stage where I toyed with being a wilderness nut. I am most definitely a fan of basic technology. Oh, and comfortable beds too; none of this sleeping-on-the-ground crap for me. I am a delicate flower.

4. What would you pack for a naughty weekend?

In truth, I'd rather stay home for a naughty weekend because we've got all the best stuff right here. But if I were going away for the weekend (or, as the case may be, some two-or-three-day period during the week because as a theatre person I don't get weekends) to participate in some naughtiness, I'd probably pack extra lube (yes, I pack lube for a normal trip) and extra toys (see above) and whatever props might come in handy. Maybe an exciting costume. What interesting answer is there for this question? Am I supposed to say, "Oh, I'd pack mayonnaise, a fur coat, and ball bearings."

5. What item(s) do you never unpack, never take out of the luggage from trip to trip?

I'm supposed to do what now? Um... my packing is fairly haphazard at best, so the only things I don't unpack between trips are things I never got around to unpacking from the previous trip. I don't specifically have a set of things that I never unpack. I just don't travel that much, and I hate packing. Usually I throw clothes in a bag and go. I don't have designated "travel" anything.

Bonus: Last vacation sex... Tell us what happened.

Last vacation sex... depends on your definition of "vacation." I've probably talked about it already if by "vacation" you mean I left my house and went on a trip for purposes other than business.

The last time I actually went on what I'd call a vacation was a long time ago, and I can't really remember it. So leaving off the "last" part of the equation, I'd like to talk a bit about some memorable vacation sex. I don't talk about the events surrounding this story much, so you'll just have to take it without context, at least for now.

He got us a hotel room that faced the beach. I'd never been in a hotel on the beach before, so he said he'd have to show me. It was still early in the relationship, when spontaneous was great and regular wasn't an issue. We both had some mad money and it was on off week, so we had quite a nice time living it up in a style to which neither of us was really accustomed. It was really too cold to swim and anyway we weren't there for swimming, but the weather was nice and the view was amazing from the balcony.

Our room was cheap as hell, really, for all that it had a great view: high up in the building, small, slightly dingy, basic cable, only a shower. But the beds could be pulled together, something you can't do often any more, and so we made one big bed out of the two medium-sized ones and then promptly spent most of our time on one side or the other, avoiding the gap in the middle like we were afraid it would swallow us up.

The first night we got in late, didn't have any energy to do anything but curl up and sleep, and we slept in the next morning, or rather the next day because it was late afternoon before either of us were up to anything more than lying there, snoozing, TV turned to something neither of us was watching.

When we finally opened the balcony door, pulled the curtains back and really looked out, we wondered why we hadn't done that before. It woke us up; the sea air was cool and bracing and smelled pleasant, all the seaweed and rotting having somehow been filtered out by the altitude I guess. He wanted to go down to the beach, even if we weren't going to swim, so we put on our suits and walked around with all the other people who were too cheap to go to the beach during the summer. The sun was low and the danger of cancer seemed slim, so I was wearing my new bikini, purchased for the trip because when else was I going to have a chance to go bikini shopping? I got a few stares, more from the fact that it wasn't really bikini weather any more than anything else. Most other people were wearing long sleeves.

We picked a dune and sat for a while until I was starting to get a bit chilly, then he said, "You know, I think it's more fun to look down than it is to sit here and look out."

"Smells better too." The shore was redolent with slightly salty must. Definitely not a shining, white-sand beach from a story book.

So we abandoned any idea of going out, went back to the room, and pulled off bathing suits and fucked, slowly and contemplatively, looking out over the waves from the bed. The sea air braced us again, salt tang in the nostrils, and we found that we could enjoy ourselves quite well in bed, which is where we spent the better part of the night and into the morning.

I couldn't sleep; he was like a log. After tossing and turning for hours, I got up at dawn and sat on our balcony, naked, looking out over the beach as the sun came up. I must have drifted off in the chair, because when I opened my eyes again the sun had risen and was baking me, and he was putting a towel over me. His cock stood out as whiter than the rest of him, possibly because he wasn't as into nudity as I was. I remember it sparkling, somewhat temptingly.

"What, you're not going to molest me in my sleep?" I asked him, grinning. He admitted that he'd been tempted. Then I leaned against the balcony rail and he knelt behind me and began licking, up from my clit over my labia and then over my asshole. It wasn't something we'd done before, but I didn't tell him I wasn't that into it. I let him go, looking out over the ocean, at the few people on the beach below. We were far enough away that it wasn't likely that they'd see us unless they looked away from the water and up, and the other balconies on the floor were divided from us by concrete walls for privacy, so it was just I and he and the waves and the breeze. I almost wished someone had been watching us; it would have added something. But the experience was nice enough as it was.

I got a bit sunburned on my breasts that day; he just got a bit tan. We spent most of the day on the balcony, with a brief trip to the store to get some supplies. I liked fucking up against the rail; he preferred sitting in the chair with me on top of him. Either way, it was lovely.

Then the next day we had to leave, to get back to real life. I carved a tiny message in the wall of the balcony, where no one could see. He stole the towels for no reason. We fucked right down to the wire, until five minutes before checkout time, then hustled out of the room leaving my toothbrush behind in the bathroom. That's the price you pay for paradise, I suppose.

Opportunities I'd Like to Have Again

I don't miss college, really. I know a fair number of people who would have never left college if they didn't have to (and sometimes it seems like they only left physically, not mentally) but for myself, I couldn't wait to get the hell out. But there are some things about college I miss, and one of them is my sex life.

This isn't going to devolve into me complaining about my sex life; I know it's much better than a lot of people's, and even though I have had to get used to the idea that I might not get penetration anywhere near as regularly as my body feels it needs, I'm not really complaining. This is more me remembering with fondness the opportunities which were much more common in college. I'm not mourning the loss; I will make it my business to do certain things again.

Also, I'd just like to talk about orgies. I've had my fair share, which is more than zero, the average number (I imagine) of orgies the average person gets to have. Hell, I've had more than my fair share, probably. But I would cheerfully engage in further orgiastic activities if the opportunity presented itself.

I've probably discussed this before, but I have fairly strict definitions when it comes to various types of group sex. Not that I turn any type away, but there are various types. I can include some stuff with my family here too, but a lot of that is tougher to define and the dynamics were different. I would never say that I've really had an orgy with my family, although by a loose definition that's definitely happened. It's been free-range group sex, mostly.

Orgies have a particular feel about them too. If you gather any number of couples in a room together and they're basically fucking without any movement between groups, that's not an orgy. If you've got one gender vastly outweighing the other, I don't call that an orgy either. There's definitely a population density that needs to be reached; I don't know that I would call fewer than five people an orgy, ever, no matter how free with each other those people were. Again, this is not me knocking any of these things, just that orgies are a special beast and a rarity.

For instance, I've been to parties which could have broken out into orgies, but which I wouldn't call orgies. Hell, I went to a few in high school which the prudish would no doubt classify as bacchanals, let alone orgies, but usually it was a large group of kids doing things which weren't allowed, but still being fairly shy about it. That's probably rule one for a good orgy; you can't be shy about it. Not that I make rules. Anyway, particularly in college, I knew a number of people, large enough to make a group that could easily have been orgy-sized, who were uninhibited enough about nudity and sex that we might all wind up in a room together, naked, and we might all get lucky that evening. But usually there'd be a couple in the bathroom, a few on beds, maybe a group of three. There might be floaters, who went from location to location. And they were fun times. Right on the cusp of orgy. And if I'd never experienced the actual item, I might have said that they were orgies, and who knows, maybe they were. It's not like I actually have a set of hard and fast rules (except maybe that rule two is that orgies shouldn't be hard and fast, but that's just me being silly) or that I make a tally. It's really one of those, "I can't define it, but I know it when I see it," type situations.

If I didn't have a date, I found myself being a floater because I really wanted an orgy to break out. But that's not the way to make it happen. Everyone has to be willing to be a floater for it to work properly. But there is an enjoyment to being on the cusp; I like having sex while others around me do likewise. Usually our groups were slightly biased toward women in numbers, so there would be one or two gals who didn't have a guy (although sometimes that just meant that they had each other) who would prowl around, waiting for sloppy seconds or a kiss or grope. But the couples were usually fairly into each other, for all that the next time they might pair up completely differently.

Sometimes, while inhibitions about fucking in a room with others might not be strong, other inhibitions reared their ugly heads. One had to keep in mind that some gals didn't swing both ways, and that sometimes condoms should be worn, and so on and so forth. It wasn't so constrained as to be annoying, but there were constraints.

I have been in a location with more people, all of whom are doing the same thing, in situations like those just described than I have with any other group. It seems easier to get a larger group together for a group session than an orgy, for reasons which are probably obvious. But the size of the group matters somewhat less; it's really only restricted by the number of like-minded individuals and the space in which you have the party. I think a lot of so-called "orgies" operate in this sort of way; you have a group which sounds enormous until you consider that it's really just a collection of couples and trios and floaters.

The swingers' party is along those lines too, at least from how I've heard it described. But there's the added zest of partner-swapping, which my college group might do, but since most of the partners weren't terribly serious, it really wasn't the same. Going to a swingers' party, for me, would be all about taking a serious partner and then cutting loose and being with other people's serious partners. It's something I often wish I could do, actually, except I don't have a husband or serious partner in that way. There's something about breaking out of monogamy which appeals to me, but I'm not monogamous. Still, I could probably enjoy myself.

But that's not what I came to talk about. Occasionally, rarely, not only do you have a group who are uninhibited enough to be okay with sex in the same location, or partner-swapping, but you find a group who are open to the idea of a real orgy. It's happened to me, though rarely and not terribly recently. If you get the chance (and, of course, you're into it, which I suppose should go without saying because if you're not into it then you haven't gotten the chance because at least one person, you, in your group isn't open to it), take it. There's really nothing like it.

Ideally (and this has never happened except with all-girl orchestras) all members of the party will be open to the idea of sex with all other members. This, of course, presupposes bisexuality on the part of the men involved, which is the main reason the ideal remains an ideal and not a common practice. But even if that's not the case, and there are some things the group won't do, some pairings which won't happen, the thing about an orgy is that it's not just a group of couples (for the purposes of this discussion, "couples," means any small group engaged in coupling, rather than literally two people). He's fucking her while she eats out her while she's sucking him and he's fingering her and eating out her while she... and so on. It's hard to describe what exactly is going on because everyone is involved. It's one giant sex act which can't be decomposed into parts.

I believe the largest number of like-minded people I've ever been able to turn up has been six, and there were only two men in that group. We'd talked about in previously; these things, despite wishing, always need planning. We had a double room to ourselves, we had pulled the beds together to make one big bed and brought in cushioning for the floor, we had beverages and snacks aplenty, and no one had to be anywhere for a while. I didn't set it up, beyond volunteering our room and moving furniture; the party planner of the group should obviously be deputized to organize (I mean, come on, what are party planners good for if not for planning orgies).

None of us had ever really participated in an orgy before, not that we hadn't done plenty of other things. So there was a slight awkwardness at the beginning. Fortunately, while I may be no good at planning parties, I'm terrific at breaking the ice, and in my very small comfort zone I have absolutely no shame, plus I knew what I wanted it to be like. So I just grabbed one of the guys and Gwen and basically started helping her fuck him, until they were going, then I grabbed another girl and pulled her in, and pretty soon we were all on the bed in a pile.

Another key to orgies, perhaps just an extension of previous points, is that you have to be willing to share. If everyone is willing to let another person join in, then everyone can join in and no one will feel left out. It's a bit like an extension of a good threeway; if everyone is willing to pitch in and let others pitch in, then no one feels left out.

After the first few minutes, we relaxed and got into it and it stopped being so much about constantly having to be doing everything at once. Sometimes the group would split in two, but pretty soon someone would bridge the gap again. Sometimes someone extricated themselves from the pile (I'm making it sound like a game of Twister; it was really just a group, and not a terribly ambitious one, position-wise, at that) and get something to drink, or bring back a glass to someone who was in the middle of something. We even talked a little, mostly small talk, jokes, half-heard through gasps and grunts.

Orgies are also, at least in my minimal experience, not orgasm-fests. If you want to cum buckets, get involved in a gangbang where you're the center of attention. I swear, I don't think I've ever cum more in a sitting than I did at my birthday gangbang. Whereas, at the orgies, I might have cum three or four times, but they weren't quickies; they were intense and built up over a long period.

Our two guys performed yeoman service, but they eventually had to drop out to recover, and then the group dissolved after a while into the two of them with a girl each, and the two other girls fucking. But for a period of time, the orgy was intense and all-encompassing, and that's what I would call a real orgy.

I want to give Sveta some opportunities to have some group fun, and also to get myself back into that too. We've done threesomes, but I'd really like to arrange a gangbang for her, or figure out a way to have an orgy, even if it's just the standard garden-variety kind. I don't know how well I'll do; like I said, I'm not a party planner. I might have to enlist my sister's help in this; Sheri and Mari were the ones who organized my first outing into that sort of thing, and they did it stellarly. But at any rate, that's one thing I miss about college; group sex seemed to be in the cards much more often. In reality, that's rose-colored nostalgia; I would say it actually happened no more than ten times, including groups of four and parties where it was nothing but couples everywhere. I had my fair share of sex in college, and right now, I'm really missing that. Hopefully this trip down memory lane hasn't been nothing but me complaining about not having a golden Cadillac while everyone else goes hungry.