Because Sephi needed company, I'm wearing pigtails today. I don't really care who knows it, nor does it bother me. And I won't be taking pictures. But why would I lie; unlike her, I'm not getting anything out of this at all.
This is not a meme. I am not trying to start Pigtail Thursdays. I'm just proving that it's just a silly hairstyle. Which wiggles charmingly when you do certain things. You just have to get into the spirit of it.
That is all.
We all know I love answering questions, and while I prefer to answer the sexy kind, I'm perfectly okay with answering the somewhat less sexy kind. Who knows, maybe I can twist a few of these into sexy.
Ron was nice enough to comment and ask me these five questions:
1. How many TVs do you have in your home?
We have two, but not really. The main TV is old as dirt and the other TV is tiny and black and white. I think they probably add up to about 1/3 of a modern TV, and since we only get broadcast TV (and a very narrow band of that) we barely have TV at all. I know, I'm living in the Stone Age. Except I don't want a better TV and I definitely don't want the temptation of cable. I waste enough time as it is.
2. What is in your bedside table (nightstand)?
I don't have a nightstand. I'd love to say that I have this wonderful little room, all clean and girly and filled with objet-d'art and such, but it would be a total lie. I'm cluttered. Beside my bed, I tend to have a bunch of books (with more in the bookcases close by, but I keep the ones I'm working on or want to work on right there), a box of Kleenex (not for the sexy reason, but because I suffer from terrible sinuses), and often some lube and perhaps a toy or two. Yes, I'm one of those gals who leave sex stuff lying around my room. This surprises you? Hell, my family has lube in every room of the house. Common sense.
3. How many pairs of shoes do you own?
1 pair of all-purpose sneakers. 1 pair of work boots. 1 pair of slopping around shoes to slip on when I don't feel like dealing with bare feet. 3 pairs of dressy shoes that go with pretty much anything I care to wear. And then I have the frivolous shoes that are basically costume, the ridiculous ones that I never wear. I hated shopping for them, and I keep them somewhere out of the way because I don't want to deal with them, but occasionally the moment calls for heels in gold and I have the shoe bin to draw upon. Not all of them are even mine; I'm fortunate in that I have two sisters and a mother who wear shoes I can sometimes fit into as well. So I'm counting 6 pairs of actual shoes. I am not a shoe girl. No offense to those who are, but I'm definitely more of a panties girl. Those, I own way too many of and actually enjoy shopping for.
4. Can you change a flat tire?
Debatable. It would depend on a number of factors. If I'm in a well-lit place, free of crime, dry, wearing appropriate attire, and I happen to have all the supplies needed, I think I could make a stab at it. I definitely know how, and I've done it once or twice. But in a bad neighborhood in the dark in the rain wearing a miniskirt, hell no. I've never had the perfect storm in that way, but I've certainly had enough of those factors to say, "Nope, my pride is sufficient that I can get someone else to change this tire." I'm not a car person. I get the mechanic to do things I know I could probably do myself, but I don't want to fuck about with cars. Give me a carpentry project and I'll do it. Ask me to fix your car and I'll stare blankly.
5. Do you prefer sweet treats or salty treats?
"Treats" implies sweet to me. But I don't always go for sweet. Often, I want salty. Sometimes I want both (ah, honey roasting, my old nemesis). I couldn't say; I love chocolate, but I don't like sickly sweet things. And sometimes I want something sweet. If it's what I want, I'll take it. Bring me exactly what I want!
Thanks Ron. I always take questions via comment, even if the comment is off-topic to the post you post it on. Of course, you can email me as well at lexinaughtygirly[AT]gmail.com (I trust you humans can figure out how to convert that into an email address). But I don't mind comments one bit. Helps me fool myself into thinking someone actually reads this drivel.
A friend of mine forwarded this series of images to me totally out of the blue which were just too sexy not to share. My apologies if you've seen them already. I have no idea where they come from, so I can't give proper attribution.
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"And in the semi-autonomous region of Abkhazia, I think... three regiments should do it." She was on a roll. "Now, turning to Chechnya..."
Her firm breasts, pouting lips, high, proud buttocks... who would have thought she was the most brilliant military mind of the age, perhaps of any age. I longed to penetrate her defenses, assault her rear echelon, ram my offensive column through the weak section in her line. But I was far too stupid for her.
"Sir!" My adjutant broke through the door, as expected, and his voice was shocked, as expected. He averted his eyes as I scowled at him. "Sir... dispatches from the Second Army."
He'd seen her at my desk, leaning over, totally naked. To his eyes, defiantly, she awaited my command. As it should be. As she wanted him to see her.
But once he left, red-faced, she looked down coldly at my hand which lingered on her thigh, though purely for appearances I assured her, and I quickly removed it. "Come, General," she said with a sigh. "Remember the parts we play and when we play them. Back to the map."
I'm trying, I really am, but I seem unable to have any happy endings. I suppose this is happier than sad, but there's limited sex going on. I do love the idea of a brilliant military mind planning her conquests totally naked.
A few things: in case you were wondering what the Hell the title means, BOQ stands for Bachelor Officer's Quarters. I trust you see the connection now (maybe not). Yes, I did only write this because I wanted to write erotica featuring the words, "semi-autonomous region" (hey PB, how about that for a phrase to work in?) and it seemed somewhat more East than West, so I went for Russian problems. Also, I like Russia. Feel free to read two other place names into it if you're so inclined (Mongolia and Korea, respectively, would work for a Far East flavor of apocalyptic militaria). And the phrase... limiting in the extreme. I know I've been told I can dispense with them, but that seems like cheating. Not that I'm complaining, really; this week's phrase gave me pause, that's all.
I've got nothing else to say. I can't live up to the vaunted expectations for my FFF post-game show this week, I guess. For all those looking to read an epic treatment of my mental process, why not try out Flash Fiction Friday next week and write an epic mental process treatment of your own? The only thing stopping you is your lack of participation.
So Kara and Jess posted another one of these silly Q/A things, and because I'm a sucker for them even when all I do is make fun of them and answer questions with more questions, and because it gives me something to post, I decided to steal it. Since they stole it from Sunday Stealing, which in turn stole it from high schoolers, I couldn't resist. I mean, how often do I get to appropriate memes from high schoolers? It's long, since I cut out the middle man and grabbed the whole thing from the high school blog which means the questions are silly and juvenile. I don't do this often. Deal with it.
I saw a video the other day with a creampie (everything's better with a creampie) and then afterward the camera zoomed in and the man instructed the girl to push out the cream. Which got me thinking about the difference between porn and real life, as is my wont.
In real life, I don't push cum out of myself usually. I don't want the cream to leave; it always does, but I don't want to rush it. Sure, sometimes I've done it because I was cleaning up, or because another gal was in on the action and wanted to taste, but usually when that happens it's a collaborative effort; she's eating me out and I'm pushing it out and together we have a good time.
I always thought that guys who want to watch me pushing cum out of myself were missing the point and being stupid. What, they didn't trust me? They thought I somehow faked the whole thing, that my cunt was connected to a vacuum cleaner and their cream hadn't really filled me? They demanded proof that it was still there?
But I realized something; it's hot to watch. I've never seen myself do it, so maybe it's not hot to watch me push cream out, but it is with some other women. Porn tends to show just the business end, which can be hot if the girl has sufficient muscle to really push. I've seen some very attractive pussies (and you can't always say that about porn stars) straining, legs wide-spread, to force themselves shallower and shallower, as cum drools down. I prefer it when the girl is on her back with legs open, or even pulled back; it presents a better picture. Naturally, this is porn; I would never expect someone to do it in real life.
The thing that porn misses, though, is the rest of the body. Watching a woman strain can be sexy as hell, even if she doesn't particularly get going in the pelvic area. I've cum trying to push cum out of myself. There can be this adorable tension in the body and the face. I'm not looking for suffering, but earnest effort. It's like a variation on the orgasm face, except whereas many women get this overcome look on their faces when they cum, when they're straining, they look totally different. It may also have something to do with my impregnation fetish; it's a labor face rather than an orgasm face, I guess.
So I've made my peace with the idea. Life isn't porn, and most times, it's better to just lie with your partner after, feeling the warmth of his cum spreading inside you, his cock still there too, bodies entwined (that is, if your partner is a guy; if not, your mileage may vary). But sometimes, I'm going to be okay with a little show. In fact, I can't wait to try it with Sveta, both of us getting cum and then letting the other watch as we push it back out again (of course, there will be a minimum of watching I'm sure because we won't be able to sit back and watch that for long, at least I won't).
In summation, if you're one of those people who enjoys watching a woman push the cum out, I was wrong. If we ever meet, you need only ask. For myself, I prefer to keep the cum in as long as I can, but I understand now why you feel the way you do. Oh, but one thing; cum that won't come out, cum that was so deep inside me that it takes forever to drip out, that's just incredibly sexy.
I'm sensing something of a theme recently. I think I need to get more creampies right away. Perhaps I'll talk to Mike about upping my dosage.
Mike's back. Not permanently; he's making a layover on the job hunt, which he says is going about as well as can be expected in the current economic climate. I translate that to mean that he's not having a hell of a lot of luck finding anything other than waiter work, and he's not interested in being a waiter. Not that I blame him, with all the high-priced learnin' he's got.
This is obviously a good thing even if it's also a bad things because I love having Mike around and have been reaping the whirlwind of his affections regularly. Sveta is insanely jealous, although I keep hearing hints from her that she's got something I can be jealous about too. She may want to tell me in person. I'm okay with that idea as long as it means she'll be here in person soonest (and also that she tells me while my mouth is full, since I don't want her talking with hers full). Totally selfless, that's me. Mike said he might swing up to visit her when he leaves, and I want to go in the worst way, but I couldn't because that would mean I'd have to find some other way home since Mike won't be coming back. Maybe I can swing it.
Anyway, Mike and I have friends who invited us (and Sheri, actually, but she wasn't available) to celebrate their one-year anniversary with them last weekend with a bunch of other people, house party, swimming pool, all that good crap. They actually rented several houses (cottages really, but with sufficient sleeping space) and although I was hesitant to do it because of the distances involved and my general lack of time to do much of anything, Mike talked me into it. I wanted to go to see some people and to congratulate my friends, but I didn't want to party. Ah well.
Of course, the timing worked out perfectly (for "perfectly" read the exact opposite) and I was ragging the whole trip, which pretty much removed one of my social options right off the bat. As it turned out, the party was large and not my scene at all (I'm not a big party person, really, particularly with a lot of people and nothing to do but drink) and most of the people there were unavailable anyway. I'm getting ahead of myself and I don't want to cast too much of a pall over the weekend.
We did stop at this wonderful little rest area on the interstate on the way up (I'm sounding like a terrible travel brochure now) with a scenic overlook that rather inspired us. I don't like to drive in skirts, but I wish I had because it would have made things easier. As it was, we found a secluded spot, pulled our collective pants down (now there's an idea whose time has come) and Mike fucked my ass a bit awkwardly because our legs were trapped together by pulled-down waistbands. The breeze was cool (thank God it cooled down a bit over the weekend), the sky was blue, the clouds were white, the birds were singing, and the cock was hard and satisfying sliding in and out of my anus, especially after we got into the rhythm and were past the initial awkwardness.
Mike knew I was bleeding, so in the interests of neatness more than anything else (he knows I'm not that big a fan of being fucked while bleeding unless cleanup is immediate and thorough) he just did mostly clit work with his fingers while he took me hard, and I don't know what other people who stopped there might have heard but no one looked at us askance when we came out of the bushes. Maybe they wished they could have joined us. Cum oozed out into my panties throughout the rest of the trip, which started out pleasant but finally I had to pull over again and clean myself up a bit, then despite really, really wanting to, I discouraged Mike from spoiling my clean-up efforts by leaving another load in my ass. That was really tough. Basically, all I'd wanted that day was to stay home and make love in the comfort of my own bed. Ah well. The panties were sacrificed to cum cleanup and wound up in the back seat of my car (where they are still, since I forgot to take them out again at the end of the trip; I don't want to think about how disgusting they are right now). I went commando for the rest of the trip, which wasn't as pleasant as it could have been because of having to sit in the car. One thing panties were made for was car trips. Much more comfortable, at least to me.
We got there, and apparently it was 5 o'clock somewhere because drinks were already being had. Big drinking crowd, this. I had a drink or two because there wasn't much else to do and I was thirsty, plus I kind of wanted to see if maybe getting a bit tipsy might help improve my mood. Sadly, no dice. I was tired after the long drive and I was pissy because I knew I probably wouldn't be getting any. I know, some gals might have taken the opportunity to suck some cock, but I wasn't up for that, even if it had been on offer. As I said, my ideal would have been me and Mike, still at home, still in bed, stuck together by the juices of amore.
There was celebration, but I'll draw the curtain on that because it was your basic party stuff only with wedding overtones. It seemed like all the people there were married and younger than I was, which wasn't true but made me feel old although not in a rush to get married. There were a few singles, but no one for me, plus, remember, the rag. I'm not going to ask a total stranger into the pool if there's red tide in there. My social agenda, therefore, was somewhat stilted. I think it would have been anyway though; I didn't get the real sense that any of the very few single guys were interested in me, and the bi ladies didn't appear to be in attendance at all.
Mike tried to cheer me up, convince me to have more fun, even copped a few feels, but these were not people who knew anything about our family life, so I put the kibosh on that. The only way I was having any of it would have been if he'd come with me to our assigned room, and he didn't want to leave the party. And, to be honest, I wasn't feeling that sexy; I was sober in a room of partiers, I was ragging, and no one seemed to give a shit. I spent most of the time talking to the few people I did know, which was nice enough, but there were too many other people. I'm bitching again. At a certain point, Mike gave up on me and moved on to greener pastures, bu which I mean he got a little drunk and started hitting on this older woman. This older, married woman. Older than me, anyway; probably Sheri's age. I don't have anything against him going after her, really, but it did make me jealous and there was little or nothing I could do about it. Her husband wasn't there and according to Mike she had an "open marriage" so whatever. He's not a home-wrecker, and I would have been jealous if he'd been hitting on a single guy, so I don't even know why I mention her age or marital status.
I went to my assigned bed in one of the cottages at a certain point when the party had pretty much devolved into lots of drinking and not much else because I was just tired and didn't want to watch other people have fun while seemingly being unable to do so myself. It was either be a downer at the party or in my bed, and I chose discretion. About an hour later, as I was falling asleep, Mike and the woman came in, all over each other (Mike was assigned to sleep in the same room, I suppose on the assumption that we wouldn't mind rather than that we'd like to be in the same room for sex). She saw me and said something, to which he replied, "She's asleep and she doesn't care." I almost told him I wasn't and I did, but they had nowhere else to go and while I was really jealous and kind of pissy at this point, I was still polite. So I stayed quiet. Others might judge me harshly, but it was hardly the first time I'd been in a room with Mike while he had sex. Even with another person. Even with someone I didn't know.
I wanted more than anything to "wake up" and offer to join in and see what happened, but I didn't. I was a wuss. Instead, I got to lie there and listen as Mike fucked this woman seventeen ways to Sunday. She was either really into it or faking, and I suspect the former (he's my brother, I have to suspect the former). They tried to be quiet at first but once they got into it, she was moaning every time he thrust. He fucked her once, then ate her out for what seemed like hours, then started fucking her again.
I was insanely jealous of this bitch. Not the good kind of jealousy either; I wanted her dead. In the cold light of morning I don't feel so good about that, but at the time it was a seething pot of jealousy and hatred and intense horniness that drove me crazy. I even rolled over at a certain point, when it sounded like they were too into it to care, and took a look at the action. She was nothing. A bit pudgy, droopy breasts, flabby thighs; not in my league at all. Or so I told myself at the time. It didn't help. If he'd come back alone, I would have cheerfully let him fuck my ass all night if he wanted. But no.
The next day, I was tired (I finally got to sleep while they were still at it by passing out), grumpy, hormonal, and still horny. But I managed to cut off my nose to spite my face by being incredibly cool to Mike, even though the woman had left and he was obviously perfectly willing to help me cope with at least one of my problems. We could have had a nice morning, but instead I was a jerk and didn't talk to him.
Finally, on the drive home, he asked me, "You were awake last night, weren't you?"
And it all came out, all the jealousy and resentment and nerves and all of it. We pulled over (we were still on smaller roads at that point) and yelled at each other. Why rehash the stupid shit we said. I was angry at him for doing something perfectly okay, and he was angry at me because I was angry at him and thus had left him no option but to pursue the thing for which I was angry at him. Mostly my fault in hindsight. Perhaps "mostly" might even be a very charitable understatement.
Then we drove some in angry silence. I think both of us were done being pissed, but we didn't want to admit it. Finally, I asked him, "So how was she?"
"Fat, old, and loose," he said with a slight grin. I could tell he was exaggerating at the very least. Possibly outright lying. While I might have put her down in the looks department while I was mad and tired, I doubt highly that she was loose, and she certainly wasn't old or fat, just a bit more fleshy than perhaps is my taste. But he was trying to make me feel better.
"So why did you fuck her then?"
"To make you jealous." Now he was grinning. I risked life and limb to punch him in the arm and then give him a kiss, then swerved back onto the road. I'm really glad the police weren't watching. And that there were no small children present.
So we made up. And at a rest stop on the way back, we made up properly. I confess I still had a lingering resentment and almost didn't want to let him put his cock anywhere near me until he at least took a shower and washed the bitch off. Not proud of that. Ordinarily, I couldn't care less who Mike fucks. I cheerfully take sloppy seconds. In the end, fortunately, I let him kiss me, and forgot all about anything else, and his cock probed my ass and then slid in. I pressed hard and came on him. It was a pent-up orgasm, like I'd been holding it in, and after it was done the next one was no struggle at all, like I'd worked out something and now could cum easily and freely.
Thus, my weekend trip (in case you were wondering, I had Mike's computer with me and he let me check things on it, which is why I was able to still be connected) was okay, at the end. I had not the most wonderful party on record, but I got to see some people I hadn't seen in ages. And when we got home, the feminine curse had all but stopped to the point where we took a shower (that felt great, just to be clean) and Mike gave my little pink pussy a nice long wash before thoroughly plundering its depths until I was crying his name.
Having spent all that time talking about family drama, I'm not totally sure why I told this story, except that it was kind of sexy and interesting. I've had worse weekends, and I'm not complaining. If anything, I'm somewhat ashamed of my feelings and actions. I try hard not to be a jealous person, which is important in my life, but in this case I failed. Let it be an object lesson to all; even if you're polymorphous perverse (or whatever the hell I am) and don't believe in monogamy, you can still get jealous. Be on your guard. It's not a healthy feeling. But Mike's back and we're not really angry at each other, and I get at least a week before he has to head out again, so in the balance, I could give a shit about the rest of it.
