May 112010

The most delicious part of a perfect kiss is not the pressing of lips together. It is not the claiming, lustful engulfing.

It’s the moment of hesitation. When lips are millimeters apart, when time freezes, when your brain stops thinking and just reacts, just feels.

Perhaps it is the hesitation before lips meet for a first, tentative kiss. Or maybe it’s a hesitation in the transition between small, explorative kisses and giving in to lust. It could be that the hesitation is due to uncertainty. Or fighting a losing battle over lust. With an established partner that hesitation could also be intentional and meant to merely be a maddening tease. Draw out the longed-for moment of contact.

The hesitation is one of those times where so much more is said in the inaction than the action. And I keep coming back to it in my mind, and it is just as prominent in my memory bank as the actual kiss. Recalling the brief second where a whirling eddy of thoughts and wants ran through my own mind is almost more arousing to me now than the kiss that followed.

Dec 232009

A post by AAG earlier in the week reminded me of my first blowjob – and man was it awkward. And actually – quite regrettable. I must confess though that I’m not sure which year of high school this occurred, junior or senior year. I know that his name was John and he lived in another school district; we caught each others eye in the Small Town Friday Night Activity of Going To The Mall. LAME! I know. But I thought he was hot. We had something resembling a lame date and then a month or so later I saw him again for my Christmas formal.

He was allowed to drive me to and from the dance, I think. But oddly we didn’t get frisky until he brought me home. He dropped me off and politely made small talk with my father and then I walked him to his car. I originally thought that my father went to bed at that point. Oh silly, silly me. John’s idea of “saying goodnight” was to lure me into his backseat for a few kisses. Or so he said. Have I mentioned how inexperienced I was yet at this age?  Ha! Pretty soon, he whipped out his cock and I hadn’t a damn clue what to do with it other than put my hand on it. Very quickly, his hand on the back of my head increased the pressure of pushing me down to his lap until he had to outright tell me what he wanted because I just wasn’t getting the hint. I do recall telling him that I’d never done that before and wasn’t sure how…..I don’t remember what he said but I felt that I shouldn’t say no, I wanted him to like me.

I couldn’t tell you anymore what I did or didn’t do. I’m pretty sure my teeth caught him once. And I do know that it didn’t last very long, certainly he didn’t come. I was scared enough of Penis; ejaculation would have made me run, I bet.

The worst part? You guessed it by now, my dad wasn’t in bed. He never said anything to me when I came back to the house, but I know he knew I was in that backseat with that boy. Oh, the shame. The shame!!

My regret stems from two facts: This boy didn’t deserve a blowjob from me, because he was a douchebag and I didn’t realize it until afterwards. He faked being grounded to get out of ever seeing me again. And of course that my father had an inkling of me being unladylike in the backseat of the car in my driveway.

I don’t think I sucked another cock until my First Real Boyfriend. Somehow with him I went from being afraid of Penis, Sex and Naked Men to becoming a slutty slut-ho in a week’s time. I fucked him inside a week of dating, and we couldn’t keep our dirty little hands off each other. But that’s a story for another time.


Hey I have another post up at EdenCafe, it’d be great to see some feedback on it :)

Sep 062009

I think that my G-spot has been trying to pick up the slack from my clit.

Meaning, despite having a clit o’steel, my G-spot is mightily responsive now that I know her exact address. She was an elusive bugger, akin to locating Platform 9 3/4. Thanks to my Pure Wand though we’re now very friendly neighbors.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned that my clit o’steel leads to another sad occurrence: clitoral orgasm from oral sex is nigh on impossible. “Close but no cigar” is the usual outcome. Thankfully my hubby has no issues with letting a vibrator finish me off.

Last night was no different in that regard but on the plus side he has become as well acquainted with my G-spot as Mr. Pure Wand has. The women whose orgasms aren’t falling like ripe apples will know what I mean when I say that he had me in such a frenzy that my body was quite literally climbing for release. My legs writhing, my pelvis rocking and humping his hand and mouth; my arms reaching for unseen extra partners and my hands grasping empty air or bunching up the bedsheets; my torso arching up off of the bed. I must have looked like a woman possessed and that’s just what I felt like.

Something else amazing was happening as I was pleading with my body to tip over that edge of clitoral orgasm (in one moment of delusional insanity I was picturing that awful yodeling Swiss plastic man from this one Price is Right game except this time I wanted him to topple off the mountain), my G-spot took the wheel and holy wow. I wanted to ask him how many fingers he was pumping inside of me but I couldn’t form words. Like the angel and the devil on your shoulders my mind and body alternately begged for clitoral orgasm and reveled in the G-spot orgasm. I finally brushed off the devil representing my clit and rode out the G-spot waves. To his credit he didn’t stop his fingers and hand until I closed my thighs and silently let him off duty.

Still unable to speak, he carefully climbed up and started fucking me. I say carefully because the fibromyalgia can even affect sex when my whole body is extra-tender to the touch – this even included my cunt. There had been an underlying achy pain as he was thrusting his fingers inside of me but the pleasure greatly outnumbered it. Hubby came after a few minutes, which is good because my G-spot couldn’t take any more pleasure. He had commented prior to the sex that I was a lot wetter than usual; I could tell as he was fucking me that it wasn’t my usual wetness – thinner and more slippery than silky.

Despite all that goodness my clit was still thumping for attention so I asked him to hand me the Hitachi. I spread myself open so that the head of the Hitachi had more direct contact with the pelvic bone buried under flesh just to the right of my clit – this placement allows the vibrations to spread to the legs of my clitoris, the portion that’s internal. When I turned it on, I knew then that I had indeed squirted/gushed earlier. There was so much fluid and wetness pooling in between my plump outter labia that the vibrations of the Hitachi sounded like a mini motorboat  churning in the water. It’s an obscene sound, no hiding how wet I am. He helped me along after a few frustrating moments of “almost there” and his fingers again felt fatter and larger than normal. I likely woke up the neighbors with that orgasm.

The details of downtime moments are lost to the haze of orgasm recovery but I can recall us laying there, panting, him asking me if I’m alright and I just laughed insanely. I recall asking him if he could tell when I gushed while his fingers were in me and he said:

“I have no idea, my hand was numb.”

I was silent for a few seconds and then apologized while laughing. And then thanked him while giggling.

Oh and I finally asked him how many fingers he had used. I fully expected him to say 4, with the way it felt. But no, it was only 3. Perhaps it felt like more because of the flare-up. I’m simultaneously looking forward to and doubting a future attempt at fisting. Can he? But oh it might feel awesome! My cunt says “it might hurt!” but my G-spot says “I don’t fuckin care, bitch!”.

Don’t know what yodeler I’m referring to? It’s ok, I know my brain doesn’t always make sense. Here, watch this short Price is Right clip and you’ll know.

Jul 202009

As we headed home from an afternoon of driving around and getting lost, we started driving past one of the many “adult” places on this stretch of highway. For some reason there’s a lot here, be it a store or a strip club. The stores all look shady to me, and I wouldn’t likely ever step foot in one, but there’s usually a car or more at nearly every one.

There’s one strip club that’s a little more out in the open, with regards to what is surrounding it. It’s right next door to a gas station, I think. I honestly don’t recall because I never pay much attention to what’s surrounding it. Especially this day.

It was a fairly hot day, not too bad, and late afternoon. I interrupted our conversation and whip my head around, eyes completely off the road in front of me, and stared at the girls washing cars outside the club. It’s clearly some event for the club; there’s a little canopy tent with a table under it and a handful of big burly men drinking and watching the girls. There’s about 4 girls that I was able to count in my split-second view. All wearing cut-off shorts and bikini tops. My eyes widen and I turn to him and say “Whoa! Can we turn around and go get our car washed???”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one saying that?”

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

I pulled into the parking lot. The girls were working on two cars, parked in front of the building which faced the highway. Pretty close to the highway, too. There’s no more room left there so I just slowly come to a stop as they all notice our car. I bet they were wondering if we were lost since I was the one in the driver’s seat. One comes over to my car as I put the window down all the way. She leans in, forearms resting on the door; she’s right in my face. She asks if we’d like to get our car washed, they’re doing it for free today. I just smiled and said “Sounds great”; she told me to pull up a bit and I parked to the side of the building.

He looked at me like I was crazy. I think I did suffer a moment of temporary insanity. Between the traffic on the highway and the men (whom I wouldn’t like gawking at me while naked, ew), I started feeling really self-conscious and wondering what the hell I just did. Too late, I realized, as a cute brunette sashayed over with various rags and towels and a bucket of water. She smiled and dove right into the small talk; I think she asked where we were from, what we were doing in the area but I don’t honestly remember. I was too busy watching her.

God she was good at this. The right combination of sorority girl car wash and Playboy Bunny car wash. Meaning, sexy and flirty and provocative but not so over the top that I felt like I was in a porno. We were, after all, 20 feet from the highway and 50 feet from another business so things had to be…..clean. I quickly realized that she probably wasn’t wearing panties under those very very short cut-off denim shorts. I think I stopped breathing as I stared at her ass when she bent down to scrub a tire or something – she bent at the waist and kept her ass in the air. Thoughtfully pointed right in our direction. The seam (which was about all that was left in the crotch of her shorts) pulled and wedged itself in the crack of her ass and the slit of her pussy affording me a view that couldn’t be rated PG-13. Suddenly I realized she was looking back at me expectantly. I startled and said “I’m sorry, what?” because I had no clue she had even asked another question. She just smiled like the cat who got the canary and continued on working.

As she quickly washed the car I was rewarded with continuous glimpses of as much as she could get away with out there. Ass cheeks and flashes of her shaved pussy, and a bikini top that had a lot of trouble keeping her properly covered. Somehow the part that ties around the neck managed to work themselves loose so that anytime she bent over all the way the tiny little knit triangles fell away from her breasts just enough to show nipple. If you were looking. And I was. Staring like a dirty old man, in fact. I don’t think I’ve ever concentrated so hard on hoping for a “wardrobe malfunction”, for the damn thing to just fall off entirely.

In an all-too-short blur of time, she finished up. He got into the passenger side while I shyly smiled at her and somehow managed to ask what nights she danced here. I assured her that we would be back.

“After the wonderful little show you gave me, I can’t wait to see the real thing. But please don’t try to tell me this car wash was free.” As I stared at her body trying to find a lucrative place to tuck the $10 bill, she stood a little closer to me but made no move to take that money from me. She smiled when I finally tucked it into the tight portion of strap in between her breasts; my fingers grazed cleavage and I boldly let them wander on over to her breast. When I looked at her she just smiled bigger, so I pinched her hard nipple in between forefinger and thumb. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and then I pulled away.

“Yes, we will be back.”

And with that, we left and continued for home.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

*sigh* I wish. Instead we kept on driving and fantasized the above. If only, if only.

Now then, who’s going to take me to a few good strip clubs? I’ve got a couple fantasies that I need to get working on making real, the sooner the better!