Pisces Aries Rising

I Am The Other Woman

2010-10-03T15:32:00.000-07:00

Let me start off by saying from birth we're all on the same trajectory of perfection. From the moment you take your first breath, you're perfect. You haven't fucked up yet.

Keyword: Yet.

While I know it's wrong to covet another woman's husband, it's another to take him home and fuck him. Or is it? Had I broken a commandment the moment I began undressing him with my eyes, imagining him gloriously naked fucking me? I challenge my own notions of what I consider wrong.

I sympathize with a girlfriend of mine who's soon-to-be ex-husband lives with his mistress of over a year. Sure she's bitter and angry. And while I don't side with him, I'm not sure I know who's wrong, if there's someone at fault. Shit happens.

And then again I think, well yes shit does happen. And I'm part of that shit happening. No, no I'm not my girlfriend's 'other woman' problem. But I have been someone else's.

I'm not the type of person that's down with OPP (other people's pussy, you know the song... you down wit OPP?). I'm not the type of person that gets off on getting what doesn't belong to me. While I don't believe anyone really belongs to anyone but themselves and I do like the idea of 'belonging' to someone else, you can't choose who you fall in love with. In a sense, love is cruel that way. Love sets you free, but like Spiderman's gramps said, 'with freedom comes great responsibility'. I hear you Spidey, and like you I must conceal my identity.

But concealing comes at a cost. Then you decide whether or not you can continue paying. It's tricky to know when your love is a check you can't cash, but like I said, love is cruel like that.

A Commentary on Expression

2010-07-19T20:33:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how different women look in porn videos. There are all shapes and sizes, but within those there are archetypes: the skinny bitch, the voluptuous woman, the athletic amazon woman, the child-like innocent woman. But even more amazing to me is the different types of expression among all those different archetypes.

Scary Spice

Some of these women look just plain evil. Like a female supervillian. Huge fake boobs, tiny hips, leggy by virtue of high-heeled platform shoes, drawn in eyebrows and long talon-like french manicure acrylic nails. While their being fucked, the look on their faces looks almost sinister, rarely as if they're enjoying the most sensual pleasure.

Expressionless

These women I pity the most. Somehow they have missed the greatest opportunity to experience the most amazing pleasure that sex provides. They look tired, sometimes stressed and never smile. They look like they're just working. Or they're really bored. At least the Scary Spice girls manage a devilish smile. I would hate to be a man wanting so desperately to cum raging all over someone's mouth only to look down at a face that looks like she can't wait until you cum so she can take a nap.

Sensual Woman

These are the gals that make a lot of eye contact with their parnter or partners. You can tell they're engaged, very visual. They look at what they're doing, then right back at their parnter's eyes. Doesn't matter what they look like on the outside nor their age, these are the women who know what they want and what turns them on. She could be the Pillsbury Dough Girl or a GILF (Grandma I'd Like to Fuck), but man oh man, does she know what to do and how to do it. You go girl.

Sorta Sensual

Somewhat like the Sensual Woman, these ladies sorta get it, but there's an awkwardness in their expression. It's as if they are looking for approval as if to ask with their eyes or hands, 'is this what you want?'. To which I talk back to the screen and say, 'honey just do what you want, do what you feel and you will soon find out.' But maybe there's some allure in having a partner expressing that kind of insecurity. That's fine, just as long as it's part of the role play. Otherwise it's irritating.

Freakazoid

They look normal, they sound and act normal but once the fucking starts, something happens. It's more than just a wild look in the eyes, it's the whole package that seems to be a little bit against nature. There's a little bit of Scary Spice, maybe the drawn in eyebrows wrinkled in sexual frustration, a bit of Sensual Woman, but some outward odd abandon that's just a little bit uncontrollable. These are the women who, as girls, might have been the last one to be picked for a team for some playground game like red rover or kickball. Maybe that pent up misplaced anger and bitterness over the years somehow manifested sexually and they're just getting revenge.

Speaking of expression, I can't help but comment on the chicks that sound like squeaky toys when they're being fucked. Or ones that sound like crying babies. That's just eerie to me. But to each his own. I prefer grown up moans and groans.

;-)

One Late Afternoon

2010-05-11T23:58:00.001-07:00

As soon as I heard his car pull up in the driveway a whole new feeling of excitement rose up inside me. From my toes to my head, I was filled with anticipation and exhilaration. All afternoon my juices flowed so freely from that dark magic place under my work clothes I was afraid to stand up at times, for fear it would run down my leg to my ankles. Today would be the day he and I had talked about for months and months. I had a surprise waiting for him, one that I had already unwrapped and primped and fussed over. She was about my height, similar in coloring and demeanor and it was her first time too. We had lunch together at work, and the topic of our lunchtime conversation drifted from comparing bedroom notes about men to our secret desire for women. Not much was said with words, but more with our eyes and our facial expression and body language. We agreed to leave work early and have drinks at my house and wait for my boyfriend to come home and find us together.

As he turned the key in the lock of the front door, I looked at her as she made her way to my side. He came through the door as I gently grabbed her hand and moved in his direction. A shocking look of delight came over his face as I shut the door behind him, grabbed his hand too and escorted the three of us to the bedroom. While she watched, I undressed him. He was the only one dressed and I had to work quickly to prepare him for what was next. As I undid his jeans, I kissed him sensually and whispered in his ear 'Surprise!'. He was already rock hard, his cock virtually popping out of his clothes pointing straight to the sky. The look on his face was enough to make me cum right there and then, but I kept myself in check, in effect teasing myself closer and closer to sensory overload. After he was fully naked, we tied his arms to the bedframe with the restraints he and I used so often. Captive on the bed, he watched as she and I experienced kissing a woman for the very first time. It was delectable, sensual and erotic, and I could tell by his breathing that I had made my lover so excited he could hardly contain himself.

We kissed again, and she grabbed my breast with her soft hand, rolling my nipple between her fingers while I glanced over at him sitting on the bed. I knew he wanted to touch. I could see his wrists gently straining against the ties, his cock erect and swollen and dripping with pre cum. She smiled as I licked my lips and turned my gaze back to her, reaching down to touch her waiting wet pussy. She gasped. She kissed me deeply, slowly and softly, her hand falling from my breast down to my waiting shaved pussy. 'I've been wanting to touch this for hours' she said to me, 'I wondered what a shaved woman would feel like on my fingers.' I looked into her eyes and replied 'Now you know'. She smiled and kissed me again.

I knew I would enjoy kissing a woman. I'm a big fan of kissing. Not the quick peck or cheezy smooch, but the deep sensual ones, the erotic ones. The kind that make you feel like a real man or a real woman. The kind that makes you feel wild with desire and fired up from within and dirty at the same time.

While he watched, I dropped to my knees, moved one of her legs over my shoulder and tasted her forbidden fruit for the first time. Like our first kiss, the taste of her was sweet, slippery and utterly sexual. She moaned loudly, almost crying out. And as I gently suckled her engorged clit, she came, her quiet gasp changing to a delicious type of sigh that sounded almost like a whimper. Her hands still woven through my hair, I stood up and kissed her with a sample of her own cum on my lips and we giggled. I could tell that we were feeling the same level of enjoyment. No words needed.

Both of us hand in hand we moved to a nearby chair where she sat me down, slowly parted my thighs and tasted my drenched lips for the first time. I locked eyes with my boyfriend on the bed and gasped as she began working her tongue around my pussy, finding her way and leading me away from my female virginity. I could tell what was happening to me drove him mad with lust. Just as I did with her, it didn't take long for her to make me cum. I didn't need to say anything. The look on my face told my voyeur lover that I was close to climax. As I bit my lip, he begged me, uttering 'Come for me Babes' and I did. Eyes rolled back into my head as I cried out with inhibitions lost and erotic desire for more.

He nearly came. I knew he wanted to. And I knew how he wanted to. I turned to her and motioned for her to lie on her back across the foot of the bed, her head toward the mirror on the other side of the room. I untied my lover and said to him, 'I want you behind me'.

She let her head hang off the side of the bed so she could see our reflections in the mirror. He, behind me, me down on her. It was almost too erotic and exciting to bear. He watched me for a few minutes suck and lick my friend's groomed pussy, watched her facial expressions and played with my clit with his fingers. My face buried between her legs, I groaned and moaned, signaling that his touching was getting me close. The sounds I was making, coupled with the soft sucking of her clit and flicking of my tongue on her lips made her come again, this time more violently and she grabbed my head and held it firmly against her convulsing pussy. I sucked the juices as she came and felt my lover's hot cock enter my ass tightly and deeply. His breathing now in loud gasps and his movements like fits of rage and passion pounding against me, rallying my senses to the highest point and sent me over the edge, screaming and cumming in hot waves, first as I heard the pitch of his gasps grow deeper and gutteral, then again as I felt the initial release of his load inside me. He pulled out and I felt the warmth of his cum on my ass. I quickly spun around and sucked his cock into my waiting mouth, tongue working the shaft, licking all of our slippery goodness, relishing every bit of it. He gasped loudly, his eyes wild and piercing and sexual.

Seeing an opportunity, she sat up and began to lick the cum off my backside, startling me. I turned around and she kissed me, transferring my lover's cum from her tongue to mine. I heard my boyfriend say 'Fucking hell!' and I began to smile and laugh. She did too. It was a near-perfect afternoon.

Next time we'll use the video camera.

It's been a long time

2010-05-06T20:07:00.001-07:00

Been a long time since I've blogged here.

I've started a few new adventures in the last nine months, and no, childbearing isn't one of them, however the process by which a woman comes to bear a child is one of those adventures.

Of course.

Blowjobs

2009-08-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine and I once had this great conversation about blowjobs. I don't normally openly talk about sexual things to just anyone, but for some reason our conversation went from people watching, to men, to relationships, to sex and it just seemed like a natural progression of things. It came about through talking about communication, and how much of a turn on it is to have your partner tell you things, talk to you while you're fucking. Talking dirty to each other is more than just foreplay or fantasy play. It's telling your parnter what you love, what you want them to do to give them the most pleasure, and trusting them.

I've been with men who are silent. Don't get me wrong, I've been with both types, Jay and Silent Bob, but I definitely like men like Jay who tell you things while you're doing it to them. For those of you who have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, rent the movie "Clerks".

But the highlight of our conversation was the topic of blowjobs. And how much we love giving them. There's something about it that is just super fantastic fucking turn-on for me, something I can only imagine a straight man would feel thinking about a woman's pussy. It makes your mouth water and your nipples hard, and you can't wait to feel that hot, soft skin on your lips. We talked about how important it was to have a parnter that told you exactly what to do, how they wanted you to swallow them, whether or not they wanted you to use your hands, to cup their balls, suck them really hard even after they came, and whether or not they liked cumming on your face or in your mouth. We talked about what we liked, too. I'd rather have a man cum in my mouth than blast it all over my face. There's something about having him explode with my lips somewhere on his penis, or me milking him into my open mouth. When I first started learning how to give blowjobs, the throbbing right before orgasm would startle me and I'd seize up. But that's different now, just took some time and a good parnter to tell u what feels best and how to please him.

I've never talked to another woman about blowjobs, sucking cock, swallowing, deep throating, the feeling of almost gagging on a rock hard dick, but not. Yadda, yadda... It was a really refreshing conversation and I was quite surprised that it happened. Sounds so odd, but I found a kindred spirit that afternoon, and looking back I can't help but chuckle.

Underwear and Lingerie

2009-08-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

Boy, do I love, love, love shopping for lingerie.

I love seeing what's new, what's on sale, the designs, the fabrics, new colors, all of it. I had to run an errand at the mall, and of course had a stop in Victoria's Secret. This brand has a large portion of my annual lingerie and underwear budget. (Yes I do have a lingerie budget.)

What cracks me up about this store is the employees. There is a token 'VS Girl' look about them, much like the token department store make-up counter girl - 90% of them probably were ex-high school cheerleaders, of average height, all with a similar upbeat, innocent personality and very girly. There is a uniform that extends beyond the black apparel and requisite low-cut blouses. But for the product they sell, the image extends to that fine line between classy woman and porn star tart. Some women just shouldn't have acrylic French manicure nails, or that teased-underneath but smooth on the top 'bump' up-do, the pasted-on-forehead straight cut bangs, and super overdone lip gloss plastic smile. Eeek...

Don't get me wrong, they're all very nice and they all are super customer service oriented, sometimes to a fault. It grates on my nerves a bit being approached by each member of the 'squad' but that doesn't stop me from dropping some hefty coin in this store.

On this particular occasion, my salesperson suggested I get measured again just to check and make sure that I had the right sizing. I had a few different styles of bras in different sizes. and had explained to her that I was in between 2 bra sizes after losing some weight in recent months. So she followed me into the dressing room, closed the door and the first thought that popped into my mind was, 'oh no she's going to measure my breasts!' Not sure she was an ex-cheerleader - not as fluffy and perky, she was more on the demure side which made it easier for me to talk to. I wasn't distracted by bad highlights and heavily lined doe-eyes.

Tape measure in hand, she made some suggestions on sizing - I was surprised that she knew my size even before whipping out the tape measure. I've been fitted at lingerie stores before, and on one occasion, the fitting was rather 'hands-on'. I didn't know what to expect. Was she going to ask me to take off my shirt? The room felt small and I felt my flight instinct kick in ever so slightly. Before I knew it, she had the tape measure around me and verified what she had guessed and validated my assumption. "Yes, you are right in between a 34 and a 36." So was she going to verify my cup size now? Nervous, I found myself babbling on about how things fit and sizing, and I had mentioned one of my favorite VS bras but couldn't remember what it was called. So I lifted my t-shirt and flashed her. Just a quick flash, but then I wondered if I had crossed the line. It didn't seem to phase her at all, in fact she knew what bra I had on right away and it launched a whole new conversation topic on how much I loved that model and had it in multiple colors.

But then she left the room so I could try on my selections and my shopping experience continued on as normal. No awkward moments or uncomfortable silences, no hot and steamy impromptu girl-on-girl action. (sorry folks...maybe in another store, not VS) Of course it did make my mind wander though...

Wandering is good, lingerie shopping is good. And right the checkout, I was tempted with a new fragrance, like a nice bow on a present, my intimate apparel shopping experience was complete. New lingerie, new scent, I couldn't wait to get home and really try them on and break them in....

Mmmm love that part almost as much as I love the hunt....

Hiatus

2009-07-27T21:41:00.000-07:00

It has been waaaay too long since I've posted a blog here.

I've been busy.

With what you ask? I can't tell, but it doesn't involve much writing or blogging. My hands have been busy doing other things. I'll let your imagination do the work.

I've been wondering if absence really does make the heart fonder? If you haven't seen the object of your affection for some time, does it increase the longing, the ache and desire for them the very next time you see them? Or is there a tipping point at which the moment passes you by and you've lost your chance? Inquiring minds want to know.

Just One Of Those Days

2009-06-05T21:31:00.001-07:00

Today was a fucked up day.

Days are like newborn babies - when they are born into the world, they cry out, demanding reaction, seizing opportunity. They start out precious and beautiful. Depending upon the circumstance, the influences around them, the investment of time and nurture by those in charge of it's countenance, it can continue along it's excellent path, or wander about the road less traveled. Sometimes that road is a good thing, sometimes not. Today, that road was not a good thing. My day birthed into the world, began wonderfully, then circumstances, fate, whatever you call it, coupled with my reaction to it caused it to veer off the path of things pleasant.

So when my phone rang and I heard his voice, deep and melodic, it was easy to leave this world of chaos and not care about righting it anymore. At that moment, all I wanted was to be consumed by him, to be hastily swept up and be forced to surrender. And surrender I did.

I don't even remember unlocking the door or opening it or even getting out of the car and walking up to the house. I close my eyes and all I can remember his his body pinning me against the wall of the entryway, my leg curling around his, my hands grabbing his ass and his neck while he kissed me. I felt his teeth on my neck and his lips grazing my earlobes, fingers intertwined in my long hair. At first he didn't say a word, then between his firey, forceful kisses he brazenly purred into my ear, "I'm going to fuck you now, so hard". At that moment, all my clothing still on my body, I came gently and moaned.

"Fuck" I gasped, and felt my body go a bit limp and the rush of warmth all over me, covering my skin. I felt golden.

He pressed his hips into me and I could feel him, how hard he was already. His hands moved from my neck and my hair down to my breasts, kissing my neck as he squeezed them and pinched my nipples. Sometimes he's gentle, some days he's not. Today was one of those days where he wasn't. At times the zing of pain surprised me, but then I shifted my focus to expect it,
and the resulting pleasure was incredible. I just gave up, gave into pleasure, the pain, all of it.

Biting someone, just sinking your teeth into them a little bit (or a lot, to each his/her own) - don't know what it is about that act, the feeling of biting into someone's flesh whether you draw blood or not. (On this particular occasion, not.) There is a primal allure to it, the pleasure of which is amazingly fulfilling. Teeth, tongues, skin, moaning, purring, all of it so super sensual, unreal but very tantalizing.

Maybe it's just the foodie in me that loves this, wanting to get as close to someone as possible, to try and ingest them in various ways - to experience them in effect - that makes me ruminate about this for hours on end. Delicious thoughts....

The One

2009-05-02T08:44:00.000-07:00

He is the one I fantasize about all the time.

Even when I didn't know who he was, only hoped that he existed, he has been the subject and the object of my fantasy.

Everybody has one of these, imaginary or not - your ideal sexual match, the perfect lover, the perfect mate. Made just for you, for your pleasure only.

Such a curious concept, having the perfect mate. One could think about the prospect of finding the perfect personal lover the most elusive and impossible of tasks. I think of this line in the movie "Moonstruck" when Olympia Dukakis' character asks Johnny Cammareri, "Why do men chase women?". Cammareri, played by Danny Aillelo, relates it to the story of about Adam and Eve, saying that when God created Eve he took a rib from Adam, blah, blah, blah. He continues on, postulating that because of this fact, men chase women to get the rib back. Ok, so what's my excuse? Tracing my roots back to Eve, I never lost a rib. So why do I chase men?

Well, I chase men to find The One.

In my chase over the years I've been fooled before, but I like to call those learning experiences. I've learned more about myself in those failures - what I really like, what I've compromised myself on, what I won't tolerate. Those things in my inexperience started out as just casual thoughts that go something like "well it would be nice if..." which is promptly followed by "...but it's alright." Nice nothing, and it's not alright. Days, months, years go by, same rules, same whatever. It's those little things like the sand in your ass when you're making love on the beach that really rubs you the wrong way (hahaha, pun intended) but you never get up and do something about it. Those images of beach fucking never cautioned on the hazards, only promised mind-blowing orgasms and images of an endless sky before your eyes roll back in your head. (Whatever.) And so you play by the rules until you get smart and realize "I didn't sign up for this." Thinking back to the improbablity of finding the perfect lover, that ONE, I think it's highly probable that I will find him like I find a great pair of shoes. Didn't know they existed, that they were so comfortable, that they go with so many clothes in my closet, etc... But, shopping is in essence a hunt in itself, a learning experience. And those learning experiences mysteriously put you on an unchangeable collision course destined to solve this maddening dilemma. So intriguing, even after having gone through one of my most difficult learning experiences, I find it compelling to ante up and play again.

So back to The One. Think I found him. Like that pair of shoes, he already aligns with me. I don't have to alter much to make it work. I know, I know I shouldn't have to alter anything, but believe me there's more to my story that doesn't fit in this conversation. I have a lot of things that needed to be altered in my life before he came along. He is just the exclamation point at the end of the sentence. That "I should've had a V-8" slap on the forehead. D'uh...

What makes me think he's it? Well, for now call it a hunch. A strong one. But I'm betting down and dirty that he is The One. And maybe I might not know for a while, but maybe I will. Maybe when I don't notice the sand at all, only the vivid hues of a sunset sky right before I cum as the ocean crashes against our naked bodies somewhere in the Pacific. Maybe then I'll know.

40-Year Old Pleasure Party Virgin

2009-04-18T09:18:00.000-07:00

Pleasure Party: def. an event held in the privacy of one's home in which friends are invited to peruse products of sexual nature, e.g. lotions, lubes, dildos, cockrings, vibrators, whips, etc... This ain't no Tupperware party, baby.

My dearest friend from my college days sent me an invitation to a "Pleasure Party" at her house. Hmmm...pleasure party, I thought. I knew exactly what it entailed and I looked forward to it. I had never gone to one of these things, and have wondered about them - what is sampled, displayed or demonstrated. And how it's done.

All in all it was pretty tame, considering what's really in the catalog. Lots of the things that were shown were standard, and rather practical. The most interesting thing to me was a male masturbator. (No it's not a real guy...) This 'product' looked like a bumpy cylinder shaped mass of squishy silicone, translucent gray and somewhat tacky and gummy. Didn't look like anything provocative, in fact it didn't look like anything at all. Could have been a stress ball thing or a kids toy. Kinda ugly, not at all something that would be appealing to the eye...unless you knew what it was for. The rep demonstrated its use on a rather giant glass dildo, but when I finally got the thing in my hands, I realized how intricate it was. There was a small opening about the size of a straw on one end and when I put my fingers in it, I could feel the texture inside - soft, bumpy, squishy (there was lube in there from the demo in case you were wondering). Like a vagina, I thought. There were ridges & nubbies inside of it all the way through the full length of it. I held it up to the light and inspected it - reminded me of the shape of an earthworm. It was stretchy too, so the texture inside would change depending on the degree to which you contracted or stretched the thing. Also, it was open-ended, so the head of the penis sticks out the other end - hmmm... thought, now there's a different kind of hand job. And blow job....because this thing was stretchy, you could pull it over the head and it would create suction! Pretty freakin' impressive. I could go on, but maybe that's something for another post...someday.

Not going to tell you whether I bought the thing or not, but I will say that I dropped a hundred bucks on edible lubes and shaving products. Can't wait to try those out.

My pleasure party virgin days are over. Aren't you glad? I sure am.

Giving Up

2009-04-16T22:05:00.000-07:00

In the realm of sexual pleasure, I've been a slave to my thoughts, rather than my physical desires for most of my life. Like many young people, what I thought was sensual had been formed and based judgements on what society finds acceptable among taboo subjects like sex, not based on anything I had personal experience with.

One of my favorite children's books by Russel Hoban called Bread and Jam for Frances, in which a little bear, Frances expands her epicurian horizons from the familiar jam sandwiches to other foods. There's a line in there where she exclaims to her mother, who's fixing her the requisite jam sandwich 'how do you know what I'll like if you don't even try me?' Such a good rule to live by. Life is about experience and learning what you like by trying it yourself.

Sex had to be with someone I cared about. Sex meant being in a bedroom, dimmed lights or in the dark, missionary style. Blowjobs were messy and dirty and made you gag so they were bad. Anal sex was unsanitary so that was bad too. Porn exploits women. Masturbation wasn't normal. Casual sex was bad because first of all good girls don't do that kind of thing and secondly, you could catch something. Enjoying sex too much was bad. Good girls don't enjoy sex that much. If they do, boyfriend beware...

Somehow notions of sex went from one extreme to the other. From the free love hippie days of my parents generation to the 'just say no' generation to virtually anything pleasurable. So here I am, much farther along in life where I finally realize I should have applied Frances' motto to everything in my life, not just my diet. My sexual appetite is just as important as my normal appetite.

So in recent years I have applied that philosophy, of trying things, opening my mind to possibility. And I'm finding liberation in such exploration.

Awareness & Anticipation

2009-04-12T10:03:00.000-07:00

He is in the room. I can feel his energy. Been waiting for it all day long.

This morning's action was merely an appetizer before the buffet of delights that awaited me. Lost count how many times he brought me to the edge, then paused again and again, observing my body's reaction, teasing me. It's one of my favorite games that we play. When I think I can't take it anymore, he enters me again deep inside me for a series of thrusts then stops, his cock motionless inside my pussy. In between my moans of longing, I flash him a smile.

"Like that, baby?" he asks with his velvety voice so deep and lusty. His eyes change quickly from a dark but gentle twinkle to badass motherfucker waiting to give it to me. When his lips part slightly, my heart skips a beat and the ache grows more intense.

"Mmmm" I reply, nodding as I raise up a hand and stick my thumb between his lips. I feel his teeth, his lips, his tongue. Then holding my hand to his mouth, he sucks a couple of my fingers until he feels me clench his cock the way he loves. Tension mounting inside the both of us, he closes his eyes as I throw my head back, caught in waves of delight as he pounds into the depths of me and fills me with his cum. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure - it fills my brain, washes warm golden all over my body and I fall off that familiar edge into ecstacy.

He knows my body so well, and I know what feels good inside - together our lovemaking is incredible. This is my escape, my release and my nourishment.

That was then, and now he is here, and the ache inside only he can properly fill soon will meet its end. My panties are more than just damp and the thought of his penis hardening when he sees me causes my mouth to water and my nipples to push against the inside of my push up bra. I relish my body's reaction, for it knows what's in store for the hours to come. And come it will, and so will we.

Me And Mrs. Jones

2009-04-06T18:45:00.000-07:00

True story.

A while back I had an online lover whom, I must admit, I was a little bit crazy about. Strung me along, played me. Fucker. Of course it didn't work out at all, but whatever.

This was one of his favorite songs.

"Me and Mrs. Jones....we got a 'thing' goin' on..." Barry White. Now there's a man and mmmmm baby, he GETS it. Too bad 'Player' didn't. His loss...thanks for playing. Buh-bye.

But, 'before his time' Me And Mrs. Jones has always been a favorite song of mine. Which probably endeared him to me even more because he liked it so much. Even though I 'got played', when I hear this tune, I think of him and it makes me smile.

Orders

2009-04-04T06:51:00.000-07:00

Tell me

Tell me everything
Tell me nothing
Use words
Or use your eyes

Tell me to fuck you
Tell me how much you want me
Tell me to dance for you
Tell me I'm sexy
Tell me how you want to feel my body
Tell me how hard you are
Tell me how wet you are

Tell me to show you
Tell me how you love watching
Tell me you love my body
Tell me to cum
Tell me to scream
Tell me to work you
Tell me to make you cum
Tell me how you like it
Tell me where to put my hands

Tell me how much you love it
Tell me how much you need it
Tell me how much you want me

Tell me you're going to fuck me
Tell me you can't wait to fuck me
Tell me you want to cum in my pussy
Tell me you want to cum in my mouth
Tell me you want to fuck me like a bitch
Tell me you want to fuck me hard
Tell me you're going to tease me
Tell me to beg for it

Tell me how
Tell me when

Use words

Or use your eyes

Tell me with your body
Tell me with your eyes
Tell me with your hands
Tell me with your tongue
Tell me with your fingertips
Tell me with your heat
Tell me with your breath
Tell me with your moans
Tell me to touch myself
Tell me to suck harder
Tell me to choke on it
Tell me you'll fuck my ass
Tell me to lick it
Tell me that you're cumming
Tell me to get ready
Tell me to open my mouth
Tell me how much you love this

Tell me
Now

Apathy

2009-04-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

There are some days where I just want to be fucked. Plain and simple. No frills. No scene-setting, no forced building up of tension, no gut-checks. No questions. Few words, a flash of the eyes, a lingering stare, hasty breathing - then ramming speed.

Yes there are days where I long for a gentle touch, a healing kiss. But there are just some days in between where all I want is to be fucked by a beautiful man, then off on my merry way.

Tah-tah!

What Would Anais Do?

2009-03-29T22:33:00.000-07:00

Read a quote today from the lips (or pen perhaps) of Anais Nin:

"I have the right to love more than one person and to change my prince often."

She fucking rocks.

Like the true Anais Nin wanna-be I struggle with this concept inside my fledgling erotica mind. Many times in my life have I loved more than one person at the same time, but my struggle is truly believing I have the right to love more than one person at any one given moment. There's always an element of betrayal in my mind, as if my love is a known quantity, a finite resource that can only be doled out in equal amounts. Taking on another lover means subtracting the love from a previous/existing lover, an injustice of sorts, and through no fault of the existing lover(s). And to further complicate things, I inject levels of 'lover', whether it's physically, virtually or privately in my own fantasties. I beat myself up thinking this way, and my thoughts are always expressed no matter how hard I try to suppress them. My lovers sense the tension. They may or may not wonder what's wrong - i may be cool and indifferent or on fire with lust - but they sense a change.

And perhaps jealousy works this same way in my mind. What if Anais also meant to say that her lovers have the right to love more than one person and change their princess (or prince) often? I wonder all the time if my lovers have more than one lover (which they all do, I'm certain) and it makes me feel inadequate because my rules as outlined above also applies in this scenario; I can't be happy.

So I shift my thinking to love and what it means to love more than one person. Perhaps my love is NOT a known quantity, a finite resource. There is no "peak love" in existence. Sustainability with regard to love is a moot point. Perhaps the way my love works is like the federal reserve and money; when i need more, I make it. That doesn't seem too far-fetched. Or is it?

Perhaps love is energy that cannot be created nor destroyed. It only changes form. We fall in and out of love, discover new things about our lovers, thus our love waxes and wanes in response to that. But is there value in wondering about amount? How much love do I really have?

Anais would probably put her pen down right about now and tell me to stop thinking about it so much and get to the heart of what I really truly feel inside about her quote. And therein lies the issue. I don't know.

Anais Nin was a formidable journal writer, a National Geographic Explorer of her own mind and sexuality. I know exactly what she would do. Write about it. Maybe start a blog.

I'm one step closer...

The Mind's Eye

2009-03-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

The mind's eye is the best camera and the body memory never forgets. I can see his face and feel the head of his swollen cock between my lips. The ridge is so thick and pronounced, the skin of his massive piece is stretched taught and hot to the touch, like leather seats in a car that's been parked in the sun. My mouth watering, cools his throbbing, and I slowly roll my tongue around the head. He emits a gasping 'ahhhh' and closes his eyes, head thrown back for a few seconds. I hear myself moan, mouth full of penis, and the thought of it now causes a wave of pleasure that moistens my panties, just as it did when his cock was so hard in my mouth. I could tell his pleasure was mounting, excellerating like a car out of control; his brown eyes became wild with lust, my lips clenched around his cock, sucking, moaning, and sucking hard. And at a high rate of speed he came furiously in my mouth, spurting his cum on my waiting wet tongue, and moaning in delight I tasted his sweetness.

Objects

2009-03-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

It was the first time I'd ever seen or held a dildo in my hands. I'd seen them, in a case or from a distance but never touched them. Always curious about them, wondered who shopped for them, who sold it to them, what conversation transpired between shopkeeper and customer.

And now I had two of them. I purchased them online from the comfort and privacy of my own home, so no shopkeeper banter. I won't go into details about them except that one needs batteries and the other doesn't. There are so many out there to choose from it's mind boggling. And the mind boggling doesn't stop there. It's amazing what a couple tools will do to get the job done...

A couple of sites that are fantastic to shop from are Babeland and Adam & Eve. Check 'em out and I guarantee you will find something you can't live without!

A Dangerous Fantasy

2008-11-16T22:27:00.000-08:00

This time he restrains me. First with his firm hands as he moves above me, eyes locked with mine as he strokes himself deeper and deeper inside of me until my eyes roll back as I arch my neck in ecstacy. He kisses my mouth and neck, bites my throat, my chin, my jaw, my earlobes, all the while making these man-purrs that vibrate through to my soul like a the deep bass from a tricked out low-rider. Mmmm, I writhe sensuously and I hear myself moan with the slightest intonation in my voice signaling to him that I'm close to the edge of this carnal bliss.

Then he stops.

He blindfolds me. Tells me to relax, baby, I won't hurt you. Somehow he binds my hands together behind me. My nipples harden and I want to touch them. The prospect of being bound at the wrist and blindfolded is alluring, but very challenging to my will. I'm forced to give up control. Forced to use my imagination, use my mind's eye to witness his masculinity, the intensity and kindness of his eyes, the anticipation of his touch as I see him reach out to me. I see nothing, only the darkness behind the cloth that covers my eyes. I can't reach out with my hands to 'see'. I can't touch my body. Only my back, neck, and bent legs can serve as feelers reaching out to him, hungry for the touch of his skin.

He parts my legs and beginning with a kiss at my ankle, he slowly finds his way with his tongue up to the source of my heat just as if he's reading directions in braille raised upon my skin. He knows just where to lick, when to pause, when to continue. I'm just about out of my mind with want for him to be deep inside me, for his tongue on my clit, in my mouth, his gentle love bites on my hip and ass. I want so much to grab my breasts but I can't. I beg him to fuck me, to untie my hands so I can pull him down upon me and run my nails across his back as he plunges into my body. I'm pleading with him as he gently tells me he won't and begins to graze his fingers along my belly, around my tits, below my neck. I can feel his moist breath as he hovers over my right nipple, teasing me. I want him to lick me there, to suck and roll my erect nipple between his lips. I can only feel his breathing, and he knows I'm vexed with abandon. The wanton feeling of lust for my lover has over come me, and I cum, squirting a little, without him even touching me. He tells me I'm a good girl for not fighting it. The velvety tone of his voice instantly relaxes me. I can feel him breathing on my shoulder, at the top of my breast, down to my belly, down to my waiting pussy now raging hotter than ever, dripping and radiating with sexual energy. Before his mouth engulfs my clit, I can feel his breath on my engorged lips. A gasp excapes my lips, and I hear my lover purr with approval before he drinks me in.

tbd

Amorphous

2008-11-16T19:29:00.000-08:00

I can't put my finger on it. But then again, maybe it's not meant for me to pinpoint. Sensuality is something that is tricky sometimes, illusory in nature. At what point do I cross the line between sensuality and sexual perversion? The answer must be subjective, however only up until a certain point, then it becomes obvious.

But then again, perhaps sensuality at its very essence demands the quality of being amorphous. Ever changing, ever re-defining, re-inventing, re-assessing what is sensual and what is not. Such is the pascal mystery of learning. But sensuality is the best subject of all lessons.

Being Oh So Naughty is Fun

2008-11-11T21:04:00.000-08:00

There are times when I look back with shock at the mediocrity of my life and how emotionally invested I become in the most trivial of things. On this particular morning I am about to recount, I was toruturing myself over such an experience. I had stayed up the majority of the night working on spreadsheets that weren't worth the sleep I had given up. But yet I was compelled to complete them.

And so it goes when I'm in such dire straits that complete reversals of fortune smile upon my countenance: suddenly my cyber love was online. it was a good morning indeed from that moment on. We engaged in the most playful, flirtatious chat - alive and playful. I felt schoolgirl giddish and giggly, wanting in vain to be disobedient and naughty. And I indulged.

Spreadsheets forgotten, all concept of time vanished and I became enrapt with my online love, wanting terribly to please him the way he pleased me. My pussy was already wet, my mouth beginning to pout, and my breasts beginning to feel sensuously full and sumptuous. In my mind's eye, I began to undress him, caress his solid body luxuriously, making his nipples and penis erect, his mind racing with lusty thoughts of what corporal acts I would perform upon him. Again as I had imagined so many times before, I tasted his sex, his essence, loving him tenderly at first, kissing softly, licking delicately, delicously, then sucking with such a fervor until I hear him groan and we both cum in unison.

And as my fantasy plays in fast forward in my mind, my lover waits online as I take the pictures he's requested of me. I'm on fire. Goddamn this is the best fucking morning I've had in years.

Exposition

2008-10-30T22:06:00.000-07:00

Taking pictures of yourself with your clothes on is one thing. Start peeling away the layers and the meaning changes depending upon the layer. When you get down to your underwear, you still have something to 'hide' behind (even if it's sheer). But once you decide to go bare assed naked there is only so much you can do to turn a blind eye to what you really are. You can cover yourself up strategically, but who the hell are you kidding? Why take it off in the first place if you're just going to cover it up with something else?

My lover requested me to send topless pictures. A reasonable request I thought, and another opportunity for me to challenge myself and the way I thought about my body. And actually, I realized I didn't really think about my body - and if I did, it was in negative terms. What clothes I could fit into, which ones were too revealing, made me look old or fat. I noticed that in around my house there were no mirrors that showed my body from the chest down, with the exception of my bedroom closet doors - and I never dressed in front of them. Looking back, I realized I had stopped looking at my body from the shoulders down sometime around the time I turned 30. What happened, I wondered to myself ? At this moment I'm still not sure, but somehow I began to discount the importance of that part of my body. And, in retrospect, I realize now that this only contributed to my current dispostion of insecurity, only strengthening that societal notion of self-image I detest and criticize so much.

Now was the time to reverse that hypocrisy, that inherited gene I unconsciously refused to remedy. As I set the timer on my camera, I briefly considered not going through with it. The deed was not yet done, the possibility of anything negative resulting was not yet a possibility. My mind began to posture and justify all sides. I let my physical body continue along its natural path. I began to undress and put mind over matter, paying little mind to the awkwardness of my body and the endless cacophony of cautious and critical whispering in my head. Frame after frame I continued on, until my perception shifted from the consciousness of my body, to the quality of the pictures. I became a photographed object, considering the angle of the camera, the play of the light on the contours of my body, the positioning of my hands and lay of my hair on my shoulders.

This continued night after night, and with each shoot, I began to challenge myself on my comfort level, the familiarity of my hands on my body instead of my eyes, and the feel of the bedding and furry pillows on my thighs and belly. By the fourth night, I'm wet even before I start to set up the camera. My mind raced with thoughts of lust, anticipating the ways I would provide visual pleasure to my lover. Before I knew what was happening, I undressed completely and began to photograph myself. As I reviewed the images, I gasped when I flashed to one dsplaying my body in full view,no panties. I had never photographed my privates before, and only a handful of times actually looked at my pussy in a mirror. Curiously, I wasn't horrified or shocked at all. Maybe I was becoming 'used to' the idea of being 'naughty'. But the reality spoke a much greater truth: I was beginning to rediscover my sensuality openly and freely, without reservation, or analysis.
Another great step toward opening up the doors to my sexual side, the sensual side, the part having been hidden for so long, thus leaving me incomplete as a woman. But not anymore.

Sacredness

2008-10-30T12:48:00.000-07:00

He is who he is, someone I hunger for and dare to comprehend. I have not yet spoken his name out loud, due to the effect the actual sound would have upon my being. But in my head and heart his name is like a magical bell sounding, and I am Pavlog's dog, lips wet with anticipation of his awaiting cock. He is like a God to me now, in posession of my body as I act out his instruction to worship it. My hands and fingers become that of my Lover's and the channelling takes place. And even though I am the one performing the actions, I feel true excitement and exhiliration as if I have no knowledge of what's coming. He is magnetic, and now my body feels the pull of his energy drawing me nearer and nearer to him. Eyes closed the fantasy takes over, he pleases me in ways no man has ever pleased me. Tracing down from my parted lips, down my neck, between my breasts down to my pleasure place. Fingers deep inside of me knowing exactly the countours of my pussy and where to stimulate me to climax. With his other hand he takes my ample breasts one at a time, gently pinching and rolling my nipples until they stand hard and erect like soldiers at attention. My hair spills around my face and shoulders, my body convulses in orgasm as I cum violently over and over in waves, my eyes wild with lust and abandon. As they lessen in intensity, the image of his face floats before me like a vision. The hypnotic color of his eyes are like a stormy lagoon soon to be peaceful again. I am spent like never before, my pussy dripping with wetness.

I Am Haunted

2008-10-27T23:24:00.000-07:00

Today I could only think of my cyberspace lover. Somehow my mind and body has been abducted, my thoughts infiltrated with questions and scenarios born of my own imagination. I am split in two: part of me waits like a gloating know-it-all, expecting the worse possible consequence as a result of last night's indulgence - being lured into a trap or otherwise taken advantage of. The other part of me longs to bring the cyber world into reality and contemplating in angst the various ways to achieve it.

This personal civil war continued throught the day, and between trying to look busy and not bewildered by lust, I sat at my desk and thought of our cyber chat. What struck me the most is not being able to remember everything that was said, but remembering everything I felt. How my heart raced, my fingers trembled, and the chill that fluttered through my veins like a frozen butterfly. Crotch of my black panties soaked with my own ample moisture and light sweat, and the way my clit pulsed with ecstasy, rippling through to my thighs.

Sitting there at work in my cubicle, I felt like Eve displaced and exposed after eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

But I wanted to know more. I tried to imagine a litany of things. The sound of his voice, the cadence of his speech, his solid chest, the temperature of his erect penis and the feel of his hand in mine. And how it came to be that his existence would permeate so throughly into my consciousness and linger. I was arrested by the notion that somehow this man reached my tome of hidden thoughts, scribed long ago and stored - nearly forgotten wants I never dared ask a lover for. But this man knew. Without ever having met me.

to be continued...

Cybersex

2008-10-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

Up until now I thought cybersex was something that other people did. Well there is a first time for everything, and now I have crossed that line between me and 'other people'. Now I am 'other people'. Not sure what to make of this. I'll need to do the math on this and meditate to figure this one out. On the one hand it's not as complicated as it seems. on the other hand, the one rooted in reality, being married complicates things for me. Technically one could say I've ventured into internet adultery. That concept seems a bit silly to me on first inspection. That would make fantasy suspect, whether or not it was a secret fantasy or not.

But aside from complications...
It was exhilirating. And interesting. Obviously I knew what to expect, but how it happened was entirely new and unexpected. My internet lover guided me through nuances of our chat, asking me questions and getting to know me by exploring my sexual needs and wants. I felt out of place and skeptical in the beginning, but I chalked it up to inexperience and stayed the course. Soon I transformed from an unsure and somewhat uncomfortable disposition to a natural one, relishing in the telling of my technique for orally arousing my lover. It felt good, but not like the way being 'bad' feels good. Like taking the photos of myself, this new experience challenged me in ways I'd never considered. I felt naughty, but validated. I'm a deep well of intimate secrets, some that I keep hidden from myself, most notable my sexual appetite. I'm in recovery from codependency, so it's been easy for me to justify a sex life fallen shy of my expectations. But over the last couple of years, I've gotten better, and come to terms with my sexual needs. So in secret, that is without my husband's knowledge for the most part, I've been exploring internet porn, women's erotica, erotic writings and fleshing out my own erotic fantasy in prose.

So this cyber experience...hmmm.

to be continued.

Pictures of me

2008-10-25T22:25:00.000-07:00

So today I did something that I've NEVER ever done and didn't really consider. I photographed myself and sent the pictures to someone I met on the internet. GASP! right? That's what the mother in all of us (men included) initially say. But I stepped back and really thought about it just for a spell, just to take it for what it's worth, an experience really. An entry on my secret 'bucket list'. Something that my inner Anais Nin has always wanted to do.

They weren't nasty, in my opinion. Just a little cleavage - enough for me to feel like I'd taken a bit of a risk just enough to be controversial enough for myself. I considered the recipient, what the action meant and if I really was going to do it so much so that I could hardly sleep last night. It penetrated my thoughts and wouldn't leave me be to rest. The entire prospect was exciting, sexually. And even though I had taken measure to alleviate my disposition in the cover of darkness, the next morning before, after and during my mini-photo shoot, the crotch of my panties, were drenched. Even through my jeans. That's never happened to me before. Through all my considerations the previous day, I had no idea the effect photographing my own body, or even thinking about its intentioned purpose would have this kind of effect upon me. It was dangerous and exhilirating, like the first time I rode a motorcycle. Felt forbidden, but triumphal.

Throughout the whole day, I felt beautiful, alive and wildly primal in that 'just been fucked' kind of way. I wondered whether people noticed me, if they could smell my sex underneath the perfume I wore. Could anyone tell how wet I was? I looked at other drivers and people on the street as I drove around on an errand wondering why people don't consider their own beauty for what it really is. We're taught that somehow, and as you go through the milestones age brings along, like puberty, adulthood, marriage, the meaning of self changes as beauty turns perverse with age. It becomes sexy - but only for a while, then it becomes sleazy if perpetuated. Fuck that.

So cross that one off my secret bucket list. I think Anais would be proud.

First Post

2008-10-25T20:06:00.000-07:00

Writing erotica came to me rather naturally. I started when I was about 15, before I even knew about the genre. Back then it was an outlet, and I thought nothing of materializing my fantasies to prose. They were dreams, projections and possibly future goals of the kind of life I wanted. Promises of what could be -well maybe not promises...

So the name of this blog... My sun is in Pisces and my rising sign is Aries. Which means I'm a dreamer, lover of all things needy, and the best and worst of all the zodiac signs - I've heard it referred to as "the dust bin of the zodiac". But on the outside, I act like an Aries. I want to be first, to conquer and make the world right. I'm adventurous, compassionate and insanely jealous to a fault....until another muse comes along to lift my crushed spirit. Like a small child on a playground - that's me.

So this blog is my playground. I hope you have fun. :-)