Flash Fiction Friday - Obvious

spiny fear in her stomach pit all happening too fast too fast much too fast feeling them all around smelling them smelling was it could it be

Fear.  They were nervous too.  She sighed and smiled and

taking hold of herself blindfold off grinning at the smiling faces looking down at her it will be okay it will be the best ever just let me have a few to start then more and more and more

And things went quite well after all.

---

Paging Captain Obvious.  Your story is ready.

The only reason this is even worth your time is that it's pretty much autobiographical, in as far as stream-of-consciousness can be.  Actually, it'd be my advice to anyone at their first gangbang: honey, they're just as scared of you as you are of them.  Sure, that's not always true; sometimes you wind up with a bunch of pros while you're still a newbie.  But usually, even then, there are nerves.

That's where my second bit of wisdom comes in, the one I tell people with stage fright.  They want you to be good.  The audience is rooting for you.  Even if you're the villain, the audience wants you to be good at being the villain.  They're not waiting for you to fail, they're hoping for you to succeed.  In a sexual situation, thinking about that does help diffuse the nerves too.  Your partner(s) want you to have a good time (or at least they should) because if you have a good time, they will too.  Certainly, there are audience members who are assholes who want you to fail, just as there are partners who want you to have a bad time so they can enjoy that, but really, why give them the pleasure?

Okay, enough of that.  I tried a bit of technical trickery this week, going from fast to slow back to fast.  Maybe it worked, maybe it didn't.  With more words, I probably could have pulled it off better, but that wasn't the assignment.  I suppose one could read it as visceral versus mental, the italics setting off the gut reaction, the brief interlude of perception as more traditional prose.

I hate stream-of-consciousness for the most part, which is why I'm somewhat amused at myself when I employ it.  For something short, I guess it's okay, but I'll be damned if I'm going to read Joyce again.  For one thing, I'm a big fan of sentences that scan properly, and spacing, punctuation, and capitalization go a long way to helping that.  Those of us who don't employ these simple devices to make things easier to read should really start (I'll even excuse spelling and grammar if people would start hitting the Enter key once in a while).  If you're one of the people who hate stream-of-consciousness too, I apologize.  But on the plus side, a happy ending and sex was had.  Not entirely bad.

Maybe you love stream-of-consciousness.  Maybe you'd like to prove me wrong and write the next stream-of-consciousness magnum opus which I'll read and love so much that I'll revise my whole weltanschauung (yep, I said it).  A good way to start would be to join in for Flash Fiction Friday next week.  It might help if more stream-of-consciousness featured sex.  Think about that as you're writing.

I Miss...

I miss the smell of her hair.  After the day has passed, after the scent of her shampoo has blown away, and it's just the smell of her hair, each strand brushing my face, the occasional end tickling my nose.  It's a light smell, quite unlike perfume.  She doesn't need scents to mask her natural smells.

I miss the delicate touch of her toes against mine as we sit facing each other, or as I hold her in my arms.  She has adorable toes, much better maintained than mine because she doesn't tromp around wearing combat boots all day.  They're not twee, but dainty, proportional and fitting but still delicate.  She danced when she was younger, and her feet have the dancer's look.

I miss the soft sigh of contentment she occasionally makes when she's sleeping, curled up close to me.  I even miss the heat of her beside me, though it sometimes makes sleep impossible.  I miss the little mumbling noises she utters when she's dreaming.  I don't expect her to dream of me; I just miss the dreaming.

I miss waking up, bleary-eyed as I almost always am, rubbing my eyes into focus and seeing her sitting at my desk, her back to me.  I miss her turning when she hears me wake up and giving me a grin which chastises me gently for being a sleepy head.  Then she turns away again, letting me make the decision to get up or stay asleep.  Guess what my decision usually is?

I miss the sound of her footsteps in the hall.  It's good to have someone in the house who doesn't tromp.  My family are all heavy on our feet; I'm probably the lightest on my feet, actually, and I'm far from graceful.  She can be heard, but in bare feet, she has light footfalls.  I miss hearing them, even if she's not coming toward me, even if she's going to somewhere else.

I miss that little smile that's just for me.  I miss the laugh that comes more and more easily and is for everyone, the laugh that erases damage and says things might be okay after all.  I miss the critical crinkle of her left eye that I swear she got from me, since she didn't do it the first time we met.  Or maybe I just didn't notice then.  It's not a nasty look, just a look which says, "Don't give me any bullshit, okay?"  I miss giving her bullshit just to see that look.  I miss how she's getting pretty good at slinging some of it back at me.

I hear her voice often enough, but I miss hearing it in person.  The slight drawl she affects when she's mocking my Southern roots.  The way her lips form vowel sounds suggestively when she's teasing.  The drop in volume when she says certain things, even now, like she's afraid someone might hear her.  That Valley-Girl thing she does when she's intentionally being ditzy.  I wish she'd stop talking quite so much like a moron sometimes, but I miss it anyway.

I miss her arms around me.  I miss her body against mine.  I miss all of it.  But that's okay.  I can wait.  I won't miss it forever.  Not forever at all.

The Joy of Sex

I'm going to go a bit philosophical because I've got nothing else going for me today.  Only a bit.

It seems to me that people are too focused on certain things sexual.  And this is not necessarily a good thing.  Consider: if your whole sexual routine always involves nothing but the head of the cock, the clit, the nipples, and maybe some light kissing, you're missing out.  Seriously missing out.  So if we can branch out physically, why can't we branch out psychologically as well.

For one, everyone goes for passion.  Everyone wants passion.  And I'm not saying that passion is necessarily a bad thing.  But sometimes, sex can be joyful.  What's the difference?  I'm not totally sure, but there is one; possibly that passion is but one aspect of joy.  Let's just say that I've had passionate sex with people about whom I couldn't have given less of a shit personally.  Passion is physical connectedness.  It's easier to come by, at least in my experience.  And I do love a hard, fast, teeth-rattling, bone-shaking, oh-dear-God-my-cunt-is-on-fire-type sexual experience.  I love passion.

But passion is only one aspect of sex.  There's also playfulness.  I was speaking with a friend recently about playful sex, and I confessed that I love to giggle while I'm making love.  I like to get a bit silly sometimes, with the right partner who doesn't mind getting a bit silly too.  I think it stems from my childhood, from the fact that I had a stage in my sexual development where sex was just like any other play.  It didn't have to be perfect, it didn't have to be anything but fun and experimenting.  I think people can even take "experimenting" too seriously, like they're forced to experiment, like they worry that if they don't, sex will stop being any good.

There's also tenderness.  Sex doesn't always have to be intense.  Sometimes, it can be good just to be with someone close, feel them against your body, not even worrying about whether it's sex or just cuddling.  It doesn't have to be romantic love to be tender, either.  I've had sex with friends while sitting around a fire in the winter with nowhere to go, nothing to do, just time to sit there and make love, but they were friends, not romances.  I don't know where you draw the line there, but again, I think there is one, and both sides of the line can have tender moments.  Sometimes you just want a friend with a shoulder to cry on.

And that leads me to sad sex.  I've had tragic sex, where we knew we were leaving, where this was probably goodbye.  I had some of that last night, actually.  It's like a goodbye kiss; joy and sorrow all wrapped into one.  Sometimes it's crying, and sometimes it's just an empty ache that you're trying to fill but you can't.  Some of my most meaningful times with people have been at the end.  I'm not sure that's a good thing, but it's not to be discounted.  It doesn't always have to be fierce either; sometimes sad sex is soft and heavy like an old quilt, sometimes it's almost as if you're already separated even though your bodies are still together, and you're reaching out to each other through the distance.

The other side of that coin is reunion sex.  This can, of course, be quite passionate, but sometimes it's like that first hug after you're back together.  I often think the passion of reunion sex comes from the fact that you missed the sex more than you missed the person (that sounds a bit nasty, and I'm not saying I don't miss the sex), so when you miss the person more than the sex, sex is just a way of saying how much you missed the person.  It has a different vibe to it.

I could keep enumerating different types of sex, but it all boils down to the idea that sex should be more than just raw passion and desire.  Sex should be joy.  I think pornography teaches us wrongly in this regard; most good porn is passionate, sometimes even loving, but seldom joyous, at least to my mind.  Amateur porn tends to be made by people who have the idea that porn should be passion, and sometimes it winds up being really unintentionally silly.

But sometimes, you get a sense of joy.  And I encourage everyone to have fun with sex, come to it with joy in your heart, and I bet you'll find yourself enjoying it more.  It shouldn't be a chore, it shouldn't be a necessity, it should be a joy.

In that spirit, here are four videos, all of the same couple, that I've been sitting on for a while.  I think they're pretty joyful, and they feature people who look real and who are obviously enjoying themselves, but not pretending that they're doing something deeper than having a good time.  There's passion there, but also some silliness, and I think they're sexy as hell.

http://www.xvideos.com/video403801/naughty_busty_gf_part_1_4_

http://www.xvideos.com/video403820/naughty_busty_gf_part_2_4_

http://www.xvideos.com/video403836/naughty_busty_gf_part_3_4_

http://www.xvideos.com/video403852/naughty_busty_gf_part_4_4_

Enjoy.  Laugh.  Love.  Don't drop passion, just add something to it.  Want the person, not the act.  Discover your joy.

Yes, I am only doing this because I'm a bit down today.  You're lucky I'm not writing my FFF today, I guess.

Let's Make a Picnic of It

Mike's leaving again tomorrow to go and visit Sheri, then off again to a possible job opportunity somewhere too far away.  I'm somewhat bummed, obviously, partially because I can't go with him to visit Sheri, a little because Sveta wasn't able to come back while he was here, but mostly because he's going.  It's natural.  You'd think I'd be used to it by now.  Actually, I am, as used to it as I'm likely to ever get.  I no longer cling to his leg, try to sabotage his car, trick him into being late for trains... okay, I never did any of those things, but I used to make his leaving a lot harder on him because I was being selfish.  I know he knows I want him to stay.  I don't need to make it any harder for him.

I realize I haven't been telling too many stories while Mike's been here, and that may be because I don't want to talk about it because I know he's leaving.  Or maybe I've been busy.  Combination of the two.  We have been having a fine time, and I've been getting more than my fair share of lovin'.  Mom's been getting a certain amount too, which is good.  I only wish Sveta had been here because she would have loved being here while Mike was here.

The weather has been glorious the past few days, no longer raining or muggy or hot or any of the things I don't like about summer.  Sure, in the evening it gets a bit nippy to be outside in short sleeves, but I like the autumn chill.  So yesterday, since it was the last chance and the weather was definitely cooperative, Mike and I talked Mom and Dad into going out back with us to have a picnic, the last one of the season.  We put on enough clothing to be decent and lit the grill up and had steaks and roasted vegetables.  I was grilling when Mike started fooling around, slipping his hands into my bathing suit bottoms and fingering me, tweaking my nipples under my shirt (I wore a t-shirt over bikini bottoms, so maybe I wasn't that decent), until Dad had to step in and prevent us from burning the house down, so he finished grilling while Mike and I found our favorite backyard spot and he pulled down my bottoms and pressed in.

By the time Mike gave me my second O and then pumped his seed into me, the grilling was done and we could all sit down on the blanket and have dinner.  My bottoms were somewhere in the grass and I didn't give a shit, and the sun was warm enough that Mike and Dad both wound up pulling off their shirts, and finally Mom grinned and pulled off her shorts and we sat there, not really caring about decency any more.  Our backyard is secluded; no worries about being seen, really.

I was finished with my meal first, as usual, and I reached my hand into Mike's shorts and started stroking his cock, which was already rock hard.  He wolfed the rest of his meal, put the plate aside, and lay back so I could pull his shorts off and then mount him and sit on top of him, rocking him in and out of me.  We kept chatting with Mom and Dad; picnics in my family are for fun and talking and we don't stand on ceremony.  Pretty soon, Dad was giving Mike joking pointers, then my shirt came off too and the kids were naked and making love with their approving parents looking in.

Once Mike rolled us over so he was on top, Mom came and lay next to me, naked too, and Dad got between her legs, and the boys went to town on us.  I had a brief instant of wishing that Mom was interested in bisexuality, a brief temptation to reach over and try something.  I won't lie; I would love it if my Mom would have sex with me.  But I know better.  I've talked with her about it; that's something I love about my family: we can talk about these things without hurting feelings or things being off-limits.  I know she's not interested.  She loves me, but she's not attracted by the idea at all.

Mike finished off inside me, sat back on his haunches a minute, then said to Dad, "Hey old man, why don't you let me take over for a bit?"

It had been a long time since Mike and Dad and me and Mom had had a proper foursome.  When Dad laughed and pulled out of Mom and switched over to me, I was blissed out.  I came almost as soon as his cock touched my pussy, watching Mike get between Mom's legs and start licking her.  She hadn't orgasmed noticeably while Dad was fucking her, but she actually reached over and took my hand as I was cumming and then I felt her fingers tighten around mine and she gasped, so Mike must have been doing something right.

It wasn't long before Mike was up and letting his mom suck him back to readiness, when Dad pulled back and asked me if I'd mind getting on my knees for him so he could finish.  I would have offered to do about anything to get his cock back inside me at that point.  Since my head was at the right level, Mike moved his cock over to my face for a suck, and I got as close as I ever get to actually being with my mother.  I really don't mind, it just struck me at the time.  Then it was back to her, and soon we were side by side again, as Mike gripped Mom's hips and began pressing into her from behind.

Dad didn't last long after the change of positions; I felt him tighten his hands on my waist and then press deep and lean into me with a groan, and then it felt like a floodgate had opened and I was suddenly rushed full of jizz.  I love it when Dad explodes like that; I always feel so close to him, so full.  Maybe it was the added loads I'd had before, but whatever the reason, I came as he filled me, collapsing to my face, just my ass held up by him.

I lay there enjoying the feeling, my pussy elevated to let it run as deep into me as it wanted.  Dad eventually softened and pulled out, and then I felt Mike's hand playing with me, reaching over as he kept fucking our mother, pulling out juice and when I looked over, he was letting Mom lick it from his fingers.  It was really sexy.

After that, Mom and Dad were getting a bit cold and stiff from sitting on the ground, so they took the plates in and left the kids outside.  That was fine because I simply lay there on the blanket, legs open, and let Mike scoop out cream from my pussy and feed it to me.  Eventually, he was up for one final romp, and this time, since there was no danger of cross-contamination, he slowly, lovingly inched his hardness into my anus with just spit and juice to lubricate.  He was gentle but firm, pressing in and out a little each time, then he flipped me up onto his chest again and I lay on him, just our pelvises moving together, kissing.  I only came once, a very small O, but the feeling was wonderful as cum dripped out onto his body, kept warm between us, and his cock pressed up into me again and again until we finally had to finish up because it was getting chilly and dark.

He started moving more forcefully in and out, gripping my buttocks in his strong hands, until finally he grunted and released.  I could only feel the tensing and relaxing of his muscles; he might have been a little boy cumming dry for all I knew.  But when he pulled out, there was actually quite a volume of liquid which came cascading out, down my legs and onto the blanket.  We left my bikini bottoms in the darkness and went inside, and then went to take a shower because we needed one.

Foursomes in my family, real foursomes, not just four people having sex at the same time, are something of a rarity.  So I think this was a fitting way to send Mike off.  It will join my memories of other family fun, which I may tell at some point, or maybe not.  Anyway, a good evening, a good picnic, a good story to tell.

Eric the Fruit Bat

In keeping with today's apparent theme of silly, I just thought I should share this wonderful research which won an Ig Nobel prize this year.

Fellatio keeps male fruit bats keen

Female short-nosed fruit bats have been observed performing fellatio on their partners during copulation. Mating pairs spent more time copulating if the female did so.

Yes, it seems that, to mangle Cole Porter, birds do it, bees do it, even fruit bats who eat fleas do it.  Well, no, they don't eat fleas.  But they do give head.  I wonder what it would be like to have a tongue that could lick a cock while it was inside me.

Anyway, congratulations to Libiao Zhang and colleagues for documenting this and winning an Ig Nobel.  I will be performing some documentation myself on the subject later, and maybe I'll win a prize too.  But they can keep the money; it's the research that makes it all worth while.

No, on second thought, I'll take the money.  I mustn't be ungrateful.

Whatever Happened to Sister Solidarity

I don't know, I think she and Bobby Seale opened up a restaurant in Houston.

If you got that reference, welcome to a very rarified circle of congnocenti.  Dues are every first Friday of the month, and I'll mail you your pin.  If you didn't, don't feel too bad; I had to look up the exact wording.  It's NewsRadio.  S02E13 - Friends, to be exact.  Funny.  You should watch it.  Now, back to the real world...

Yes, I really did this on Thursday, but it took me forever to get it up because I don't have the technology like all you whippersnappers with your iPhones and your moblogging and such.  Me, I've got to do it the old-fashioned way, like ice cream.  Also, I wanted to leave Friday open for Flash Fiction.

Anyway, I couldn't stand the peer pressure, so I did snap a pic of my pigtails.  You remember, from Thursday.  And after I finished giving Sephi a hard time because hers weren't high enough, I finally looked at my picture and realized that it's ugly and mine aren't terribly high either and they appear to be slightly lopsided as well.  Way to go, me!  See, thing is that I don't usually wear pigtails, I wear pigbraids, and I didn't really think that counted.  Not for solidarity purposes anyway.

But pics or it didn't happen, and it did, so there.

See.  I know, you were all hoping for pigtail sex.  Not happening this time.  Didn't feel up to it.  But I've actually already posted one with pigtail sex (pigtail is really starting to look weird), so you can go there and look at it if you want.

Flash Fiction Friday - Illuminated

He found her as he did every morning, walking barefoot along the railroad tracks, face to the sun, eyes lost in a golden haze. She claimed the light was best there; he begged her to consider the danger. And every morning, she smiled at him, turning her face momentarily from the light, looking down into his eyes, and he knew she was his for another day. One more day.

Later, after he bundled her back to his loft, holding her close in a vain attempt to stop her shivering, they made love, always the same way, always with his hope to tie her to him but his knowledge that she belonged in the sun. Later still, as the sun went down, she seemed to glow for an instant in the fading light, then in the darkness she cried out in pain every night.

But he went on waking at dawn, staggering out down the street to look for her, to look for the sun. He couldn't stop seeking, and she couldn't stop being found, and the world turned as it always had and always would.

---

"Why is she there?"  I believe those were my first words when I saw this picture.  Why the hell is she there?  I mean, aside from the obvious reason that the photographer thought it would make an interesting composition.  There were probably sexy answers to that question; maybe she was trying to pick up hobos.  But I couldn't really think of a reason.

She's come to the railroad tracks at dawn, or thereabouts, because the light is good.  I understand that it could just as easily be sunset, since sunset usually connotes more golden hues and dawn more rose-colored ones, but dawn or sunset makes no difference; she's there because the sun is there.  Thus, the genesis of my little tale.

So, she's there for the sun.  But she's in a precarious position.  Someone should tell her to get her ass off the railroad tracks before she becomes the latest in a far-too-long line of train deaths.  But by removing her from the tracks, that person would be taking her away from the sun.  Then I thought of the myths I know, certain of which revolve around the sun, one of which is that the sun flees across the sky because it's being chased by wolves.  Is someone chasing her?  Is she the sun?

But then, let's also consider Persephone, who is pursued in a more gentle way, who is taken from light into darkness and then back into light again.  Our sun-worshiper's pursuer is benign; he doesn't realize that he's doing anything but saving her from being run over by a train.  But she'll come back, every morning, just as every morning he'll "rescue" her.

Just some random thoughts on the subject of myth.  I don't claim that my story is anything but two people who don't completely understand one another but make sacrifices to be together all the same.  He follows her, she allows herself to be found.  And it neatly avoids introducing hobo sex into things.

If, on the other hand, you would like to introduce hobo sex into things, the place to do that is definitely Flash Fiction Friday.  Who knows; there may be some hobo sex already there, so you'd be in good company.  Actually, I'm half-tempted to write another involving hobo sex now.  See what Flash Fiction Friday makes me do?