Christmas time sometimes means Lexi works for the ballet. Which means she lusts after young ballerinas in lascivious but clandestine ways. This is made more difficult by my inability to express my lust in any physical way even to myself. I am an old crank, officially, and you should keep the youth away from me. Damn it, those sculpted butts, those pert breasts pushed up by corsets, and the tutus, God help me the tutus.
The worst kind of tutu for me is the kind that has ruffles in the crotch. For some reason that really gets me going. I envy the male dancers (but also lust after them because I would happily engage in some Kama-Sutra-esque action given that flexibility and strength.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Working
I've been busting my hump at the theater while also kind of sick which is why I'm quiet this week. I hope to have something for Christmas though, so please stay tuned.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Beach-Front Property
We were on a deserted beach, just Dad and I. Mom and the other kids had gone shopping and we were lying on blankets, under the umbrella of course because we're all sun-conscious. No one around. We were in a secluded part of the beach.
"I feel frisky," said Dad. His cock was standing at attention. "Your mother wouldn't necessarily approve..."
I had his shorts down faster than he could finish the sentence and a short time later had my bikini pulled to the side and his cock thrusting up into me. We took it slow, just enjoying the thrill. At first. Then it got hotter and heavier, towel thrown over us to hide as I straddled him, bikini off completely so he could get his lips on my tender nipples.
"Mind if I watch?"
We both stopped dead and peered around the umbrella to see a middle-aged guy standing there, tumescence already showing in his shorts.
It took us a moment to regain our composure. "Why not?" Dad said. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Don't worry, I'm not a freak or anything," the man said. "I have a house over there and was admiring the two of you, so I decided to stop being a perv and come introduce myself."
"Can I do anything for you?" I asked. I was raised to be polite.
He came closer and pulled down his shorts without saying a word. Pretty soon I was sucking a stranger's cock while my Dad plowed me from behind until he grunted, "Hope you don't mind sloppy seconds," and unloaded into me.
The stranger took Dad's place without question. He wasn't much to write home about but the novelty and excitement got me off before he asked, "Is it okay if I cum inside her?"
"She can make her own decisions," laughed Dad. He was stroking himself idly, coming back to life.
"Can I, young lady?"
"Please."
He came buckets. He must have been hard up or had been working on his load for ages. "If you're ever in the neighborhood, come by," he said while I cleaned him off. Then he pulled up his shorts and strolled off, leaving Dad to pull me down to him and begin again.
And that was the last we saw of him. Maybe he was a ghost. I don't care; it was fun.
"I feel frisky," said Dad. His cock was standing at attention. "Your mother wouldn't necessarily approve..."
I had his shorts down faster than he could finish the sentence and a short time later had my bikini pulled to the side and his cock thrusting up into me. We took it slow, just enjoying the thrill. At first. Then it got hotter and heavier, towel thrown over us to hide as I straddled him, bikini off completely so he could get his lips on my tender nipples.
"Mind if I watch?"
We both stopped dead and peered around the umbrella to see a middle-aged guy standing there, tumescence already showing in his shorts.
It took us a moment to regain our composure. "Why not?" Dad said. "Make yourself comfortable."
"Don't worry, I'm not a freak or anything," the man said. "I have a house over there and was admiring the two of you, so I decided to stop being a perv and come introduce myself."
"Can I do anything for you?" I asked. I was raised to be polite.
He came closer and pulled down his shorts without saying a word. Pretty soon I was sucking a stranger's cock while my Dad plowed me from behind until he grunted, "Hope you don't mind sloppy seconds," and unloaded into me.
The stranger took Dad's place without question. He wasn't much to write home about but the novelty and excitement got me off before he asked, "Is it okay if I cum inside her?"
"She can make her own decisions," laughed Dad. He was stroking himself idly, coming back to life.
"Can I, young lady?"
"Please."
He came buckets. He must have been hard up or had been working on his load for ages. "If you're ever in the neighborhood, come by," he said while I cleaned him off. Then he pulled up his shorts and strolled off, leaving Dad to pull me down to him and begin again.
And that was the last we saw of him. Maybe he was a ghost. I don't care; it was fun.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Throwback
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Happy Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone out there. I know I'm thankful for my readers, even though I don't do enough to share that thanks. Go tell someone how thankful you are for their sexy moves in some demonstrative way, just for your ol' pal Lexi.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Fiction
I'm splitting off my fictional endeavors for two reasons:
Henceforth, you can swing by http://erisandpsycho.blogspot.com/ for all your sexy storytime needs. I'll probably try to do some FFF etc. And Sveta will be helping because it's a way for us to do things together. Hope you enjoy.
- It helps with my condition.
- Sveta will be helping.
Henceforth, you can swing by http://erisandpsycho.blogspot.com/ for all your sexy storytime needs. I'll probably try to do some FFF etc. And Sveta will be helping because it's a way for us to do things together. Hope you enjoy.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
A Twat on Twitter
So, in an effort to confront various demons, exorcise same, run screaming through inhibitions, and also to try to get back to the writing thing, I'm on Twitter. @lexploits if you should happen to be inclined.
The demons are really what my doctor says I have to start doing. I have to be able to feel like a sexual being even if I can't get excited. Because there will come a day when the latter will no longer be true, and if I'm super out of practice, I won't be able to enjoy the former without let or hindrance.
So I'm twatting. Or twitting. Or whatever the fuck I want to call it because I'm sure as hell not calling it "tweeting" because that sounds like I'm some kind of fucking bird.
I can't do personal stuff. Revs the ol' motor entirely too much. But I hope, with time, I might be able to participate in FFF again, maybe. That was good for my writing muscles, not just my lust muscles. I'm at a bit of a loose end, wages-wise, and writing is something I could see doing for some scratch, so since I've been told I write a decent erotic excursion, I might explore those options a bit. If anyone has any advice on that score, particularly now that the major markets seem to have dried up what with Amazon cracking down on anything that would seem out of place in a Harlequin romance, I'm open to it.
But yeah, Twitter isn't replacing, just supplementing. I couldn't limit myself to just 140 characters all the time. Don't worry.
Sadly, I also must warn you that I'll be doing what I said, which will involve psychology and probably be less sexy in parts (plus I have no idea what the Twitter TOC are) so yeah, there's that too. You don't even have to leave to check it out: there's a widget over on the right which should let you keep up if you're not on Twitter.
The demons are really what my doctor says I have to start doing. I have to be able to feel like a sexual being even if I can't get excited. Because there will come a day when the latter will no longer be true, and if I'm super out of practice, I won't be able to enjoy the former without let or hindrance.
So I'm twatting. Or twitting. Or whatever the fuck I want to call it because I'm sure as hell not calling it "tweeting" because that sounds like I'm some kind of fucking bird.
I can't do personal stuff. Revs the ol' motor entirely too much. But I hope, with time, I might be able to participate in FFF again, maybe. That was good for my writing muscles, not just my lust muscles. I'm at a bit of a loose end, wages-wise, and writing is something I could see doing for some scratch, so since I've been told I write a decent erotic excursion, I might explore those options a bit. If anyone has any advice on that score, particularly now that the major markets seem to have dried up what with Amazon cracking down on anything that would seem out of place in a Harlequin romance, I'm open to it.
But yeah, Twitter isn't replacing, just supplementing. I couldn't limit myself to just 140 characters all the time. Don't worry.
Sadly, I also must warn you that I'll be doing what I said, which will involve psychology and probably be less sexy in parts (plus I have no idea what the Twitter TOC are) so yeah, there's that too. You don't even have to leave to check it out: there's a widget over on the right which should let you keep up if you're not on Twitter.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Long Overdue
Okay, so first of all, I'm alive. And I sorry. Shit got real and then I couldn't handle it. I have fun mental health issues which have nothing to do with anything except sudden inability to handle anything, which is why I didn't even bother to say goodbye. As for why I would have had to say it were I mentally stable...
Thing is, first life got crazy and then crazier, and then... well, batten down the hatches. If you're the type who is squeamish about medical conditions, particularly involving lady parts (guys, we didn't make our vaginas complicated to fuck with your brains; if it were up to me we'd all have simple and foolproof genitals and fucking would be recreational for everyone). you may want to skip the rest. I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm not back to blogging at the moment.
Turns out that the reason Sheri can't carry a baby to term(my sisters, for those who are newer to the party) is because she has a congenital problem with her ovaries and uterus. Turns out that lady-parts doctors aren't all rocket scientists or even particularly compassionate or caring. She only found this out recently because she switched doctors and her new doc actually took the time to ask her some questions about her conception/miscarriage woes. Yeah, I know, what a strange idea, right?
They did tests, lots of tests, before figuring out what might or might not be wrong, and what they seem to feel now is congenital defects in the uterus. Before you jump to conclusions, no, this has nothing to do with too shallow a gene pool; my parents aren't related, to the best of anyone's knowledge. It's a birth defect which can happen to anyone. Foreshadowing.
Sheri was crushed. There's not much they can do; it doesn't threaten her health but it means getting pregnant is not likely and won't end happily in any case. Which would explain why she's bare-backed it so many times and suffered no ill consequences. But once she found out, she practically forced Mari (my other sister, again for those who came in late) and me to get tests done.
Mari is fine. Her uterus is pretty as a picture, prettier even because it's just one pretty end of a pretty system on the whole. She's not sure about kids, but if she ever wanted to have them, they say her chances of carrying to term are excellent.
Which brings us to little old me.
About 2 months before Sheri contacted me about her diagnosis, I had started getting achy really, really easily when having sex. At first I thought it was just the roughness, deep penetration, what have you, but they happened even when I was being gentle as a lamb and merely petting myself (again, as a lamb). When they first started I had had a rather exciting day, so I thought maybe I was just bruised. I'm not as young as I used to be.
But by the time Sheri convinced me to hit a doctor, I was getting achy any time I got even the slightest bit excited, carnally-wise. In other words, my pelvis hurt when I was horny. And the more aroused I got, the worse the hurt got, to the point where I was basically serving as a living sex doll for any sex partners I had, trying not to get close while trying to get them off. I had obligations. I wasn't about to let a little pain stop me.
Fast forward to now. I'm not blogging because I have something wrong with my insides, likely my ovaries but they're not sure. It's likely not related to Sheri's issue; it came on quite suddenly and probably isn't congenital. But it means that arousal equals pain. Not just penetration, not just actively seeking orgasm, but any sort of arousal.
Which is hell.
I'm not telling this sob story to feel sorry for myself or to get anyone else to feel sorry for me. I just want everyone to know that I would be cheerfully blogging again except for the fact that even thinking about sex is mildly unpleasant right now. I'm caught in a Catch-22: arousal hurts (it's not even the sex act that does it) but if I don't get off I get incredibly horny which also hurts, so I have to try to find ways to get off with as little arousal as possible and as infrequently as I can stand, which would be fine except that orgasms hurt like a motherfucker, which means that everything is a giant cluster and there's no fuck involved.
So looking at porn, reading stories, remembering stories, writing stories... it's all really not fun right now. And if it were just a little suffering, I'd be okay with it, but I don't think I could write quality in my current state. Even writing this is getting me antsy because of association.
There is hope that they'll be able to do something about it, but it might involve removing various parts of me which make babies happen, and until I'm convinced that that's the only way or they tell me that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant anyway (which is a possibility but hasn't been confirmed) I'm not going down that road. I'm trying to stay positive.
Again, not a sob story to make you feel sorry for me. I've found that my favorite thing is just to lube up gently and then have a cock inside me without any thrusting; it feels like sex but it doesn't hurt anywhere near as much (although thinking about it aches a little). And I've not completely stopped having sex either; sometimes I put up with the pain and scream a little when the O hits. The pain isn't crippling, it's just not sexy.
So don't feel sorry for me; I'm sorry I can't share with you right now. As soon as that changes, I'll try to be better about posting.
I love you all. If you have questions or comments, you can send them my way in whatever way you like. In lieu of any sympathy for me, get-well-soon cars, etc. I ask that you please find someone you love and make them happy in my honor. Or make yourself happy in whatever way you see fit. Love to you all, and I'll see you on the other side of this, because I'm not going without good sex for the rest of my life, even if it means I have to pull every reproductive organ I have out and have nothing but anal, or have them install a new pussy in my abdomen, or something. I have not yet begun to fight!
Thing is, first life got crazy and then crazier, and then... well, batten down the hatches. If you're the type who is squeamish about medical conditions, particularly involving lady parts (guys, we didn't make our vaginas complicated to fuck with your brains; if it were up to me we'd all have simple and foolproof genitals and fucking would be recreational for everyone). you may want to skip the rest. I'm okay. I'm alive. I'm not back to blogging at the moment.
Turns out that the reason Sheri can't carry a baby to term(my sisters, for those who are newer to the party) is because she has a congenital problem with her ovaries and uterus. Turns out that lady-parts doctors aren't all rocket scientists or even particularly compassionate or caring. She only found this out recently because she switched doctors and her new doc actually took the time to ask her some questions about her conception/miscarriage woes. Yeah, I know, what a strange idea, right?
They did tests, lots of tests, before figuring out what might or might not be wrong, and what they seem to feel now is congenital defects in the uterus. Before you jump to conclusions, no, this has nothing to do with too shallow a gene pool; my parents aren't related, to the best of anyone's knowledge. It's a birth defect which can happen to anyone. Foreshadowing.
Sheri was crushed. There's not much they can do; it doesn't threaten her health but it means getting pregnant is not likely and won't end happily in any case. Which would explain why she's bare-backed it so many times and suffered no ill consequences. But once she found out, she practically forced Mari (my other sister, again for those who came in late) and me to get tests done.
Mari is fine. Her uterus is pretty as a picture, prettier even because it's just one pretty end of a pretty system on the whole. She's not sure about kids, but if she ever wanted to have them, they say her chances of carrying to term are excellent.
Which brings us to little old me.
About 2 months before Sheri contacted me about her diagnosis, I had started getting achy really, really easily when having sex. At first I thought it was just the roughness, deep penetration, what have you, but they happened even when I was being gentle as a lamb and merely petting myself (again, as a lamb). When they first started I had had a rather exciting day, so I thought maybe I was just bruised. I'm not as young as I used to be.
But by the time Sheri convinced me to hit a doctor, I was getting achy any time I got even the slightest bit excited, carnally-wise. In other words, my pelvis hurt when I was horny. And the more aroused I got, the worse the hurt got, to the point where I was basically serving as a living sex doll for any sex partners I had, trying not to get close while trying to get them off. I had obligations. I wasn't about to let a little pain stop me.
Fast forward to now. I'm not blogging because I have something wrong with my insides, likely my ovaries but they're not sure. It's likely not related to Sheri's issue; it came on quite suddenly and probably isn't congenital. But it means that arousal equals pain. Not just penetration, not just actively seeking orgasm, but any sort of arousal.
Which is hell.
I'm not telling this sob story to feel sorry for myself or to get anyone else to feel sorry for me. I just want everyone to know that I would be cheerfully blogging again except for the fact that even thinking about sex is mildly unpleasant right now. I'm caught in a Catch-22: arousal hurts (it's not even the sex act that does it) but if I don't get off I get incredibly horny which also hurts, so I have to try to find ways to get off with as little arousal as possible and as infrequently as I can stand, which would be fine except that orgasms hurt like a motherfucker, which means that everything is a giant cluster and there's no fuck involved.
So looking at porn, reading stories, remembering stories, writing stories... it's all really not fun right now. And if it were just a little suffering, I'd be okay with it, but I don't think I could write quality in my current state. Even writing this is getting me antsy because of association.
There is hope that they'll be able to do something about it, but it might involve removing various parts of me which make babies happen, and until I'm convinced that that's the only way or they tell me that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant anyway (which is a possibility but hasn't been confirmed) I'm not going down that road. I'm trying to stay positive.
Again, not a sob story to make you feel sorry for me. I've found that my favorite thing is just to lube up gently and then have a cock inside me without any thrusting; it feels like sex but it doesn't hurt anywhere near as much (although thinking about it aches a little). And I've not completely stopped having sex either; sometimes I put up with the pain and scream a little when the O hits. The pain isn't crippling, it's just not sexy.
So don't feel sorry for me; I'm sorry I can't share with you right now. As soon as that changes, I'll try to be better about posting.
I love you all. If you have questions or comments, you can send them my way in whatever way you like. In lieu of any sympathy for me, get-well-soon cars, etc. I ask that you please find someone you love and make them happy in my honor. Or make yourself happy in whatever way you see fit. Love to you all, and I'll see you on the other side of this, because I'm not going without good sex for the rest of my life, even if it means I have to pull every reproductive organ I have out and have nothing but anal, or have them install a new pussy in my abdomen, or something. I have not yet begun to fight!
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