Thanks to the folks that a) read my blog consistently and b) were kind enough to comment and try to help. One of my biggest problems in life is asking for help, and you all made it all so easy.
The answer to the problem of access blogger.com blogs with the "content warning" seems to lie within the AOL jursidiction, at least for me. If I try to access those blogs by connecting through AOL, I sure can't get in. If I connect through IE (S taught me that, lol), it works like a charm.
I'm just lazy, because AOL has this cute drop down menu that holds all my frequently visited blogs, and I can't find the same menu when I go in through IE.
I know, I know...grow up and throw AOL under a bus...I'm working up to it.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Trouble in Paradise???
For some reason unknown, and totally unexplained and unexplainable to me, all of the blogger.com with the "warnings" have been locked, or are inaccessible. Clicking on the yes button only recycles you back to the same screen...all except Mrs. Kelly's Playground. Joyshared, dirtylittlemommasboy, barebackgirl and others all seems to be closed.
Anybody have any clues??
Anybody have any clues??
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Not Enough#3
And with that she smiled her crocodile smile yet again, her eyelids half lowered, as she bridged her pelvis up in the air, reaching at the waistband of her jeans, opening the buttton and lowering the oh so short zipper, pushing the jeans down until they bunched just below her knees. My hands mirrored her initial movements, opening the buttons on my jeans and spreading them open, reaching into my underwear to pull out my cock which was now more hard than soft.
My eyes locked onto hers, and yet struggled to split their time between her eyes and her crotch."You can see how hot I've gotten, just telling you about this," she said matter-of-factly, her excitement betrayed by the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the dampness of her panties, the small swatch of satin now darkened at the very juncture of the thighs. "Take a look, take a long look at how wet I've gotten imagining a different dick inside me," she added, as she pulled the thin waist of the panties upwards, pulling the fabric inside her slit, her other hand reaching around her hip and underneath her to pull the remaining slack out of the fabric, stretching it thinner than thin until it was bunched in a single line up and down, the now plump lips of her pussy spreading on either side of the cloth.
She began to slide it back and forth, masturbating herself languidly in the late afternoon sun. I did the same, absentmindedly reaching down for my now erect cock which now had started to leak percum juice at a furious rate. We had played this game before, watching each other pleasure themselves in the daytime, gaining something somewhat lurid and sinful about masturbating in the daytime in the sunshine in each others eyesight. We stopped for a minute, catching each others eye, each holding up slick fingertips, smiling at the other in our guilty pleasuring of ourselves.
I waited, and watched as she started to lose herself to the feeling of her fingers, forsaking the bunched fabric between her legs, her right hand diving inside her panties scratching ever faster at her clit and peehole, her fingers all in a line touching as much of the flesh between her lips as she could manage, the left hand reaching further around to finger herself, putting one then two fingers inside. She was constricted by the jeans and by the back of the couch, and she struggled with her left hand, seeming not to be able to reach around herself far enough to touch herself in just the right place inside herself.
She frowned, and then looked up at me with her little girl pout, her lower lip jutting forward. "Can't you help me? Please?"
My eyes locked onto hers, and yet struggled to split their time between her eyes and her crotch."You can see how hot I've gotten, just telling you about this," she said matter-of-factly, her excitement betrayed by the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the dampness of her panties, the small swatch of satin now darkened at the very juncture of the thighs. "Take a look, take a long look at how wet I've gotten imagining a different dick inside me," she added, as she pulled the thin waist of the panties upwards, pulling the fabric inside her slit, her other hand reaching around her hip and underneath her to pull the remaining slack out of the fabric, stretching it thinner than thin until it was bunched in a single line up and down, the now plump lips of her pussy spreading on either side of the cloth.
She began to slide it back and forth, masturbating herself languidly in the late afternoon sun. I did the same, absentmindedly reaching down for my now erect cock which now had started to leak percum juice at a furious rate. We had played this game before, watching each other pleasure themselves in the daytime, gaining something somewhat lurid and sinful about masturbating in the daytime in the sunshine in each others eyesight. We stopped for a minute, catching each others eye, each holding up slick fingertips, smiling at the other in our guilty pleasuring of ourselves.
I waited, and watched as she started to lose herself to the feeling of her fingers, forsaking the bunched fabric between her legs, her right hand diving inside her panties scratching ever faster at her clit and peehole, her fingers all in a line touching as much of the flesh between her lips as she could manage, the left hand reaching further around to finger herself, putting one then two fingers inside. She was constricted by the jeans and by the back of the couch, and she struggled with her left hand, seeming not to be able to reach around herself far enough to touch herself in just the right place inside herself.
She frowned, and then looked up at me with her little girl pout, her lower lip jutting forward. "Can't you help me? Please?"
Monday, January 12, 2009
Not Enough-Part II
If you haven't read Part I yet, just scroll back and take a look. Continuity counts.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *.
"You want to what?" I yelped, in spite of myself, my stunned surprise getting the better of me.
"I want to take a lover," she repeated. "I'm telling you now, because I didn't want to sneak around and make this terminally sordid, the cheating wife and the cuckold husband. It won't be anybody either of us knows, that would just make it sleazy and cheap, and I think this is going to be difficult enough for each of us, for both of us."
I could see that her face was flushed, her white winter skin turned pink by the thoughts she was having, the thoughts of extramarital sex, the illicitness of it heating her up and exciting her. I put the arch of my foot between her denim covered thighs, feeling the heat emanating from her pussy, touching that extra bit of dampness when she got aroused, the jeans themselves sliding up just a little bit with the give of the extra fabric in her crotch. She smiled a far away smile as I pushed that extra bit harder, her eyes narrowing, her cheshire cat smile spreading as she made a tiny groan.
"You slut. You've been thinking about this forever, haven't you...and you've gotten all wet just talking about it." She could only smile in agreement as I rocked my foot back and forth against her damp jeans, her lips parting as her breathing quickened.
"Would you like to see? I could show you just how excited I am, just how wet I am, just how much of a slut I'm becoming. I could open my jeans and show you just how much pussy juice is soaking through my panties, how its making my thighs shine as it leaks out of my little undies. Would you like that?"
And she knew that I would, as she played to my love of hearing her talking dirty, as she played to my secret pleasure, being the watcher. "Show me," I croaked, my breath caught in my throat, my airway constricting as it always did as I became aroused and hard. "Show me."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *.
"You want to what?" I yelped, in spite of myself, my stunned surprise getting the better of me.
"I want to take a lover," she repeated. "I'm telling you now, because I didn't want to sneak around and make this terminally sordid, the cheating wife and the cuckold husband. It won't be anybody either of us knows, that would just make it sleazy and cheap, and I think this is going to be difficult enough for each of us, for both of us."
I could see that her face was flushed, her white winter skin turned pink by the thoughts she was having, the thoughts of extramarital sex, the illicitness of it heating her up and exciting her. I put the arch of my foot between her denim covered thighs, feeling the heat emanating from her pussy, touching that extra bit of dampness when she got aroused, the jeans themselves sliding up just a little bit with the give of the extra fabric in her crotch. She smiled a far away smile as I pushed that extra bit harder, her eyes narrowing, her cheshire cat smile spreading as she made a tiny groan.
"You slut. You've been thinking about this forever, haven't you...and you've gotten all wet just talking about it." She could only smile in agreement as I rocked my foot back and forth against her damp jeans, her lips parting as her breathing quickened.
"Would you like to see? I could show you just how excited I am, just how wet I am, just how much of a slut I'm becoming. I could open my jeans and show you just how much pussy juice is soaking through my panties, how its making my thighs shine as it leaks out of my little undies. Would you like that?"
And she knew that I would, as she played to my love of hearing her talking dirty, as she played to my secret pleasure, being the watcher. "Show me," I croaked, my breath caught in my throat, my airway constricting as it always did as I became aroused and hard. "Show me."
Me And The Night And The Music #2
It's always been an ability that I had, reaching far past the appreciation of the melody and the harmony, the chords and inner structures. It's a knack, a talent that I was born with, and one that I've nurtured and developed over the decades. I take it for granted, and it's only when I'm reminded of it that I realize how truly special it is.
I hear the totality of music much differently, much more complexly than most people. I hear three or four different elements at once---the melody for sure, it's what the music rides ahead on...the bass line, the bottom, the foundation, the part that I've been singing for years and years and years 'til it's ingrained in my soul...the middle, not just the rock and roll chords, but the stretched harmonies, the flatted sixths, the diminished sevenths, the halftones scraping against one another in their quest for resolution. I feel these notes viscerally, the tonalities moving within my body, the dominants and subdominants always pulling towards their tonic resolutions, the suspensions hanging before resolving home.
And as I look back over this post, I realize how ineffectual I've been in expressing myself, how utterly unclear all of what I've written has been.
And I know that you, dear reader, have absolutely no fucking idea what I've been trying to say, not through any fault of your own, but rather at the causation of my inability to write about sound.
Earwig---Counting Crows, Einstein on the Beach
I hear the totality of music much differently, much more complexly than most people. I hear three or four different elements at once---the melody for sure, it's what the music rides ahead on...the bass line, the bottom, the foundation, the part that I've been singing for years and years and years 'til it's ingrained in my soul...the middle, not just the rock and roll chords, but the stretched harmonies, the flatted sixths, the diminished sevenths, the halftones scraping against one another in their quest for resolution. I feel these notes viscerally, the tonalities moving within my body, the dominants and subdominants always pulling towards their tonic resolutions, the suspensions hanging before resolving home.
And as I look back over this post, I realize how ineffectual I've been in expressing myself, how utterly unclear all of what I've written has been.
And I know that you, dear reader, have absolutely no fucking idea what I've been trying to say, not through any fault of your own, but rather at the causation of my inability to write about sound.
Earwig---Counting Crows, Einstein on the Beach
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Just A Few Random Thoughts #5
My friends know that I fall in love constantly, and I may even have talked about that here...I see a woman in the street, on the subway, in a store, and my heartbeat alters itself, I get that soft mushy feeling inside, and for just a minute I'm in another world with whomever I've just seen. Sometimes it happens in real life, sometimes in make believe, this feeling of "I'm gone-ness". It happened about three weeks ago, when I finally had a cable box/DVR installed, and stumbled past a '70s movie called The Vanishing Point. I watched only about the last fifteen minutes, and truth be told the movie was moderately unintelligible, coming in almost at the end. But I fell in love with an actress named Gilda Texter, who, according to Netflix, has only one other credit to her name. She played a nudist/hippy/girlfriend who rode a motorcycle naked through the desert, with a perfect allover tan and these tiny breasts. My blogger friends know that I'm drawn to big breasted women as a rule, dangerous lilly or elle anguisette, tess the urban gypsy, jane not plain, being just a few, and so the rush of feeling for a mini breasted woman took me by surprise. I've gotten the movie out of the library, and watched her sequence several times...still in love.
At one point I was considering a post about women in their 40s discovering or rediscovering their sex drive, and I asked Lynsey, who had been public about this at one time, if she would mind my discussing it, and her, in the post. She had no objection, but "reminded" me that Oprah had done a show on this within the last three months or so, and it really wasn't breaking news. But what floors me here are the women I know, or whose blogs I read regularly, who are in this position, but whose husbands/partners don't have enough sex with them. My very good friend S periodically complains about this, Jane Not Plain does as well, Tess has been public about her need to go outside her marriage, Slut No Bounds has done the same and is open and honest about it with her husband. It's such a surprising revelation for me...I thought all men were eternally in quest of more sex.
Everybody checks out everybody else in the gym during workouts on the treadmill, the stairmaster, various machines...men check out men, women check out women, men check out women, women check out men, everybody checks themself out...you get the picture. This morning I had a 30 something woman next to me wearing gray spandex tights. She had a great butt, but for the life of me I couldn't see any panty line...either she wasn't wearing any underwear or she was wearing a thong. The image of a thin piece of fabric nestled deep within her cheeks was more than I could deal with, and so I sort of burst out laughing, and she gave me that New York frown/face scrunch. I so don't understand women's underwear...I love the thong look as much as anyone, but it would seem that wearing one in the gym would be sooo uncomfortable. Perhaps someone could enlighten me.....
See Kristin Scott Thomas in the movie I've Loved You So Long...if it comes to your neighborhood...heartrending, gut wrenching, brilliantly acted by all the players, reminiscent of French films in the '60s and '70s...yes it will be just as good on dvd.
Earwig-LHR-Poppity Pop
At one point I was considering a post about women in their 40s discovering or rediscovering their sex drive, and I asked Lynsey, who had been public about this at one time, if she would mind my discussing it, and her, in the post. She had no objection, but "reminded" me that Oprah had done a show on this within the last three months or so, and it really wasn't breaking news. But what floors me here are the women I know, or whose blogs I read regularly, who are in this position, but whose husbands/partners don't have enough sex with them. My very good friend S periodically complains about this, Jane Not Plain does as well, Tess has been public about her need to go outside her marriage, Slut No Bounds has done the same and is open and honest about it with her husband. It's such a surprising revelation for me...I thought all men were eternally in quest of more sex.
Everybody checks out everybody else in the gym during workouts on the treadmill, the stairmaster, various machines...men check out men, women check out women, men check out women, women check out men, everybody checks themself out...you get the picture. This morning I had a 30 something woman next to me wearing gray spandex tights. She had a great butt, but for the life of me I couldn't see any panty line...either she wasn't wearing any underwear or she was wearing a thong. The image of a thin piece of fabric nestled deep within her cheeks was more than I could deal with, and so I sort of burst out laughing, and she gave me that New York frown/face scrunch. I so don't understand women's underwear...I love the thong look as much as anyone, but it would seem that wearing one in the gym would be sooo uncomfortable. Perhaps someone could enlighten me.....
See Kristin Scott Thomas in the movie I've Loved You So Long...if it comes to your neighborhood...heartrending, gut wrenching, brilliantly acted by all the players, reminiscent of French films in the '60s and '70s...yes it will be just as good on dvd.
Earwig-LHR-Poppity Pop
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