Thursday, August 18, 2011

Where Have You Been, My Blue Eyed Boy

Gone for eight months---where have I been?
Tax season always intercedes, and for the first third of the year, I am as busy as a one armed paperhanger. I'm not complaining, but I have precious little energy and time for anything else, including blogging.
Then there was the diagnosis of Peyronie's Disease---look it up in Wikipedia, but it's basically a curvature of the penis due to scar tissue internally.
Then factor in Her vaginal infections---if I didn't know better and if I wasn't sure that She was soooo vanilla, I'd think She was having multiple affairs, having sex all over the lot. But we all know that this isn't so.
Now She's dealing with a tear in Her outer lips--of Her pussy. Again, if I wasn't so sure that She was so vanilla, I'd think She was having affairs.
We are once again in drydock, waiting until just after Labor Day. If She were GGG, She would offer up handjobs or blowjobs, but that's not really in Her vocabulary.

And so I've made an assignation with a porn star encountered online...

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Spinning The Plates

I've written about this before, I think, but it always bears repeating.
It's an old story in my house.
When we were growing up, She and I each watched The Ed Sullivan Show, the weekly variety show on TV on Sunday nights. There were several acts that seemed to appear every week or every other week---Topo Gigio, Senor Wences, and the guy that spun the plates. His entire act consisted of spinning plates on stationery sticks, adding more and more plates, rushing frantically from one stick to another, all to the background music of The Sabre Dance By know the music, you just might not know the title. As She and I spent our years together, the memory of this act became a metaphor for fierce concentration of positive thoughts about a hoped for outcome.
For the past few years, the Boy has been teaching at a major university in Philadelphia, but always in a non tenured position, having to have his position as a permanent lecturer renewed on an annual basis. And every year he would send out resumes for job applications in his chosen field. This year he got six interviews at the annual academic convention that he attends, and received an invitation for an on campus interview later this month, a major university here in the city, and it would mean that he could remain on the East Coast.
She and I spend all of our outside of work energy spinning the plates, concentrating hard for a positive ending to the situation. We speak during the day at work, and ask each other "are you spinning the plates"?
More to come....

Monday, January 10, 2011

Not Enough #18

I did my best to smile up at her, transfixed by her glittering eyes and smirky smile, the aroma of her perfume wafting in and out, mixing with her own natural chemistry to create an aroma that took away what little remained of my breath, the smell of her drawing me in. My own tension and apprehension made my heart beat even faster, my throat dry and constricted in response to her approach.

"I'm gonna sit down and join you, OK?", and she did, without waiting for a reply. Our shoulders and arms touched, and I could feel her warmth as it radiated to me. She turned partially sideways so that her mouth was closer to my ear, and started to talk to me. "I've been watching you with your friends since you came in, and now they've left you alone, haven't they? You're a newbie here, and you're not really sure what's going on. You probably saw Mistress Lynx with her two supplicants playing with her titties, and a few other things you probably weren't expecting to see tonight. Would you like me to help you in this place?"

Her mouth had drawn closer still to my ear, and I could feel her warm moist breath as I nodded silently. I knew that she could see me for what I was, lost and alone, the odd man out of the trio, shaken and confused by everything that I was seeing and feeling. "You'll have to trust me. Completely trust tell me, are you willing to trust me?" she said, as she ran her finger around the outside of my ear and down my jawline. She smirked at me yet again, not a smirk of derision, just bemusement perhaps at my predicament.

"Good," she said. Now kiss me to seal the deal, and I'll tell you everything you need to know." She turned my head sideways with the hand that had trailed down to my chin, engaging my lips with her firm mouth, her tongue surprising me by licking back and forth until I opened my mouth, allowing her to push her tongue deep into my mouth, the tip of her tongue doing a maddening dance with mine. I thrust back, and our tongues engaged in her mouth, as I tasted the acrid taste of cocaine dripping down from her nose through her soft palate, that wonderfully forbidden dark taste of naughty and nasty pleasures promised. Her hand continued up the other side of my face, stroking my hair and moving my head back and forth as she gripped tight and pulled me closer to her.

"OK, now let me tell you where you are and how things work."

Monday, January 3, 2011

The New Year

I've started off my new year with the usual vows to get to the gym more, eat healthier, things like that. But after this morning, perhaps I'll be a bit more diligent in sticking to my regimen. I walked into the gym just after a very pretty woman and her partner/spouse/boyfriend (who can tell at six in the morning). She hung up her coat and walked to the treadmills, keeping on her tight gympants.
She stood and stretched for a minute, getting the earlier morning kinks out. Suddenly she reached behind herself, grabbed the waistband of the tights/pants, and started to take them off. She must have had some sort of brain freeze, or perhaps she just wasn't really awake, because she started to take off her tights and shorts and underwear (if she had any on) all at one time. She rolled them down to just below her ass cheeks and then suddenly realized what she had done, and hastily pulled the boy shorts back up. Embarrassed, she quickly glanced around her to see if anyone had realized what she had done, but just about everyone else was glued to their own screens.
Helluva way to start the year and the day...guess I'll be getting back to the gym more than I might have thought.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Christmas Shopping Part

This year, She and I have decided to downscale Christmas gifts for each other, steering away from larger and more expensive items towards smaller things...our relative economies just can't take it, and we've run of out ready cash several times this past year, although for me, the freelance worker, December has meant some windfall earnings. Her salaried income remains constant.
And so, last week, armed with a fistful of twenties, I went out to make several stops in the West Village. My first stop was a soap shop, to buy a fresh cut cake of soap that she likes. The cost was ballpark $8, and I handed the clerk a twenty. I knew it was a twenty because I need that I had no tens available to feed the Metrocard machine. She handed me back two dollars, and when I told her that I had given her a twenty, she replied that I had not, as she had punched in ten dollars as tendered in her cash register. It's one of the older scams going, usually run by cab drivers when they think someone isn't paying attention or is from out of town. I wound up with the ten bucks, but it sure left a bad taste in my mouth.

Next stop was a designer salt and chocolate store---only in New York do we have such things, and in such abundance. Next year, She and I will pass a major milestone, and we're celebrating with a trip to Sicily, and I thought that a small jar of Sicilian salt might be a nice present. The store was chilly, and the clerk wrapped herself in a heavy woolen shawl, holding it closed with one hand. I picked out the right salt, took it up to her at the cash register, and watched as she let go of the shawl. It flopped open to show a nice scoop neck blouse, sagging slightly in the front to reveal wonderful cleavage, with a delightfully ornate chocolate brown bra, ornate lace separating and propping up her breasts. She looked down at her own cleavage, and quickly realized that she was perhaps showing more than she wanted to, and so she made a fruitless attempt to push the top back on her shoulders before giving up, realizing that the only solution was to hold the shawl closed with one hand and complete the transaction with the other, smiling a bit sheepishly as she handed me back my change.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Still Waiting

The day laborers all congregate across the road from the 7 Eleven, patiently waiting for someone to drive past and hire them for a days labor. They're all bundled in heavy hoodies, whatever warm clothing they own, those that own their own tools holding the poles or sticks or belts. One or two periodically duck into the 7 Eleven for a coffee. The Little Girl asks what they're waiting for, and I reply that they're waiting for work, waiting for someone to hire them for a day's labor. As we swing back in the late afternoon, some of the men are still waiting, and the Little Girl looks up at me---"they're still waiting," she says in a sad and mildly mournful voice, understanding that they've waited the whole day for naught, have made no money, and she understands that they will return the next day and wait again.

Monday, December 6, 2010

The Girls

Like everyone else waiting for the subway on a Saturday morning, I occupied myself by checking my blackberry, reading, staring into space while maintaining that blank look, sneaking furtive glances at my fellow passengers. It was then that I first noticed her, seeing her from the back, her blonde hair cascading over her collar and down the back of her winter jacket. She stood close to the edge of the platform, accompanied by another woman with long jet black hair, holding her hand. The brunette stepped in front of the blonde, and kissed her, first gently and then a longer kiss, her lips milking the blonde's lips into her mouth. I could see her tongue thrusting into the blonde's mouth as they kissed, arms down and by their sides. The brunette opened her eyes and caught me watching. She attacked her partner's mouth yet again, her eyes defiantly locked on mine, trapping me in the posture of the watcher, doing what I always get off on, watching.
The train came and they boarded the car in front of mine as I continued to watch through the car door. The blonde sat and her partner stood in front of her, bending at the waist to talk into her ear