You should know that when I write She, it's not because I'm the sub here...it goes back to something that appear on Masterpiece Theatre, a series called Rumpole of the Bailey, starring Leo McKern (I think), and he referred to his wife as She Who Must Be Obeyed. But that's not Her.
As Spielberg would and did say, long long ago in a galaxy far away, when most of you were either little children or just a twinkle in your parents eyes, She and I met. I spent 2+ years after college teaching in what is now called middle school, and relaxed during the summers leading AYH bike trips across Canada or up and down Cape Cod. After the first full year of teaching I was burned out, and looked for a trip that wouldn't tax me. The coordinator suggested I take charge of a windjammer cruise up in Maine, basically babysitting a group of teens and early 20s to make sure they didn't fall off the boat. She was the only viable candidate, over 18, reddish brown hair halfway down her back, freckles much like the girl on Lost, sitting on the deck of the boat in a Tshirt and bikini bottom, watercoloring, wearing a floppy straw hat, pitch black aviators.
We spent a week on the boat, most nights after people went to sleep we sat on deck, just sitting together and talking, I would blow off a joint, she smoked but only Marlboros (remember it was a long time ago, and most people smoked), we talked about I don't know what, no touching, no groping, no nothing, just together. She seemed like a free spirited girl, a risk taker, she jumped into the ocean just to get clean before the end of the week and it was wicked cold, she drank beer and ate lobster with two hands. Little did I know.
At the end of the trip, I was heading down to Boston to visit friends, a nine hour busride, stopping in every little town between Rockport and Boston, and she decided to come with me...a free spirited girl, a risk taker. Or so I thought.
Earworm-Randy Newman Sail Away
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
What I Said I'd Never Do
I never meant to make this blog the evil stepchild, the onerous chore that gets stuffed into the corner, glowering out, lurking, wanting attention, needing attention, demanding that someone pay attention to it, nourish it, feed it, make it whole and complete.
My life normally becomes borderline intolerable in the first four months of the year---I'm an accountant, and it's always been this way...I spend all day and much of the evening working, talking with clients, being the messenger that they want to shoot. And the amount of time consumed by obsessing about things has been compounded by an Everest of difficulties with Her, learning new techniques to deal with the difficulties, dealing with Her with the difficulties. Just having my thoughts work overtime, going to sleep thinking about things, waking up thinking about things, waking up in the middle of the night thinking about things, all of that has totalled me, left me with precious few nice thoughts and images.
But I want desperately to stay with this blog. It forces me to think and write things in an organized fashion, and elicits comments that sometimes make things clearer.
Be patient, o readers. I'm working on it.
My life normally becomes borderline intolerable in the first four months of the year---I'm an accountant, and it's always been this way...I spend all day and much of the evening working, talking with clients, being the messenger that they want to shoot. And the amount of time consumed by obsessing about things has been compounded by an Everest of difficulties with Her, learning new techniques to deal with the difficulties, dealing with Her with the difficulties. Just having my thoughts work overtime, going to sleep thinking about things, waking up thinking about things, waking up in the middle of the night thinking about things, all of that has totalled me, left me with precious few nice thoughts and images.
But I want desperately to stay with this blog. It forces me to think and write things in an organized fashion, and elicits comments that sometimes make things clearer.
Be patient, o readers. I'm working on it.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Then Vs. Now
A blogger friend of mine, who always makes me smile and occaisionally makes me laugh (much to her chagrin) shared feelings with me about oral sex and where and when she would use her mouth and lips and tongue. She felt that oral sex was the most intimate of acts, nothing to be engaged in lightly, but only with someone she truly cared for. And then she reminded me that she always practices safe sex, including safe oral sex.
Long long ago, in a galaxy far away, we didn't deal with the variety and seriousness of STDs that people are concerned with now, and we weren't smart or savvy enough to be worried about what was out there. Condoms were for intercourse, and were for preventing unwanted pregnancies.
And so, as I sat in the dentist's chair this morning, an hour and a half into a root canal retreatment, with a big piece of latex stretch across most of my mouth, I moved my tongue around the dental dam, as the dentist called it, trying to figure out what oral sex must feel and taste like with a condom.
Having been with Her for ever so long, I've grown accustomed to her taste (and is there a song in that?) and feel, and I suspect she to mine, as we gobble each other frequently. Seems sort of sad to think that she'd be tasting latex instead of me, and I might have less of an idea of where her throat started and ended.
Somewhat sad...but somewhat wise as well, these young people of today.
Long long ago, in a galaxy far away, we didn't deal with the variety and seriousness of STDs that people are concerned with now, and we weren't smart or savvy enough to be worried about what was out there. Condoms were for intercourse, and were for preventing unwanted pregnancies.
And so, as I sat in the dentist's chair this morning, an hour and a half into a root canal retreatment, with a big piece of latex stretch across most of my mouth, I moved my tongue around the dental dam, as the dentist called it, trying to figure out what oral sex must feel and taste like with a condom.
Having been with Her for ever so long, I've grown accustomed to her taste (and is there a song in that?) and feel, and I suspect she to mine, as we gobble each other frequently. Seems sort of sad to think that she'd be tasting latex instead of me, and I might have less of an idea of where her throat started and ended.
Somewhat sad...but somewhat wise as well, these young people of today.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Friends
No, not "Friends."
My longest running friendship is with my friend Buddy---I've known him since I was 4 1/2 years old. We went to elementary school together, albeit in different classes, different tracks in middle school, part of our high school time together, I dated a girl at his college 250 miles away, and we've stayed in contact ever since. It's a very long time, and he knows most of my secrets, most of my quirks, we speak the same language and the same shorthand.
About 20 years ago he got married, and I knew she wasn't the right woman for him. I didn't particularly care for her, She didn't care for her, but we kept our mouths shut, out of respect and out of love, because he was getting on in years, and needed a mate, needed the company, needed to share his life with someone else. Five or six years ago, their relationship has disintegrated to such a point that I felt he needed to get divorced, and soon, and I told him so. It took infinite amounts of courage on my part, I felt, to tell him his wife was horrible to him, that his son would withstand the trauma of a separation and a divorce, and to tell my oldest friend in the world how to manage his own life. But that's what friends are for.
I have a new friend, someone who seems to operate on the same wavelength that I do, someone that I care for and about, and I think the new friend may be making a mistake, may be heading down a dangerous or perhaps destructive path. And I've only known this new friend for about four or perhaps five months...how do I let this information out without deepsixing the friendship? Can I tell this new friend, who alternates between being tough as nails and fragile as an eggshell, what I really think, without kissing the friendship goodbye?
My therapist and I work all the time on my communication skills, which are fine here, but woefully insufficient up close and personal...I'd be diving into a fairly shallow pool here with not much margin for error, and little space to turn the bus around once it starts to go downhill.
And we all know what a New York quickmouth I am.
My longest running friendship is with my friend Buddy---I've known him since I was 4 1/2 years old. We went to elementary school together, albeit in different classes, different tracks in middle school, part of our high school time together, I dated a girl at his college 250 miles away, and we've stayed in contact ever since. It's a very long time, and he knows most of my secrets, most of my quirks, we speak the same language and the same shorthand.
About 20 years ago he got married, and I knew she wasn't the right woman for him. I didn't particularly care for her, She didn't care for her, but we kept our mouths shut, out of respect and out of love, because he was getting on in years, and needed a mate, needed the company, needed to share his life with someone else. Five or six years ago, their relationship has disintegrated to such a point that I felt he needed to get divorced, and soon, and I told him so. It took infinite amounts of courage on my part, I felt, to tell him his wife was horrible to him, that his son would withstand the trauma of a separation and a divorce, and to tell my oldest friend in the world how to manage his own life. But that's what friends are for.
I have a new friend, someone who seems to operate on the same wavelength that I do, someone that I care for and about, and I think the new friend may be making a mistake, may be heading down a dangerous or perhaps destructive path. And I've only known this new friend for about four or perhaps five months...how do I let this information out without deepsixing the friendship? Can I tell this new friend, who alternates between being tough as nails and fragile as an eggshell, what I really think, without kissing the friendship goodbye?
My therapist and I work all the time on my communication skills, which are fine here, but woefully insufficient up close and personal...I'd be diving into a fairly shallow pool here with not much margin for error, and little space to turn the bus around once it starts to go downhill.
And we all know what a New York quickmouth I am.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The Time of Her Life-Part VI
When I started this story, it was fun to just let my mind wander and write down the fantasies as they came to me. Lately, however, this particular story has become less than fun, an obligation that I was working much too hard at, and I found that I wasn't writing for myself, but rather for others...not the point of the exercise. And so it will end with this post, because I had already written it and it is sort of hot...the other guy was patterned after Sawyer, the character on Lost.
* * * *
He lay diagonally across the bed, grabbing her arm and pulling her upright as he lay down. "On your hands and knees, over me, one knee near each hip, " he told her, "you know the drill." And I wondered what he meant by that, but before I could think about it too much, I watched as she straddled him, perched high above his jutting penis, reaching down between her legs and grasping it at the very base, steering it to her dripping opening. She sank down slowly, a long groan escaping from her lips, her head falling to the bed beside his, facing me, eyes unseeing. She was gone, truly gone, her pelvis rocking back and forth as she rubbed her clit against him, her back arched and then her head went up, like a dog howling in the moonlight. She grunted in rhythm to her thrusts and rocking, he not moving at all, bringing his hands up to her nipples, pinching them at the same time, eliciting yet another groan with the pain he induced, her eyes now closing, her hips never stationary, her pink asshole exposed every time she lurched forward, opening and closing just a little bit, still shiny with the lube she had put on and in, still distending from her fingers.
He pulled her head back down, forcing her mouth down to the sheet next to his head. She continued to rock to and fro, still moaning in rhythm. "Take off your pants and climb on the bed, sport," he told me, "it's time to have some real fun." And I quickly took off all my clothes and climbed onto the bed, between all their legs, my cock feeling like an iron bar, longer and harder than it had ever been before. I stayed on my knees as she aimed her butt towards the ceiling. He stopped her movements and held her hips perfectly still. "Spread your cheeks for him," he said to her, and she mashed her face deeper into the bed as she reached around with both hands, holding herself wide open for me as I inched forward on my knees until I felt the cool wetness of the lube. I grabbed her cheeks myself, and could see her ring distended almost beyond belief.
* * * *
He lay diagonally across the bed, grabbing her arm and pulling her upright as he lay down. "On your hands and knees, over me, one knee near each hip, " he told her, "you know the drill." And I wondered what he meant by that, but before I could think about it too much, I watched as she straddled him, perched high above his jutting penis, reaching down between her legs and grasping it at the very base, steering it to her dripping opening. She sank down slowly, a long groan escaping from her lips, her head falling to the bed beside his, facing me, eyes unseeing. She was gone, truly gone, her pelvis rocking back and forth as she rubbed her clit against him, her back arched and then her head went up, like a dog howling in the moonlight. She grunted in rhythm to her thrusts and rocking, he not moving at all, bringing his hands up to her nipples, pinching them at the same time, eliciting yet another groan with the pain he induced, her eyes now closing, her hips never stationary, her pink asshole exposed every time she lurched forward, opening and closing just a little bit, still shiny with the lube she had put on and in, still distending from her fingers.
He pulled her head back down, forcing her mouth down to the sheet next to his head. She continued to rock to and fro, still moaning in rhythm. "Take off your pants and climb on the bed, sport," he told me, "it's time to have some real fun." And I quickly took off all my clothes and climbed onto the bed, between all their legs, my cock feeling like an iron bar, longer and harder than it had ever been before. I stayed on my knees as she aimed her butt towards the ceiling. He stopped her movements and held her hips perfectly still. "Spread your cheeks for him," he said to her, and she mashed her face deeper into the bed as she reached around with both hands, holding herself wide open for me as I inched forward on my knees until I felt the cool wetness of the lube. I grabbed her cheeks myself, and could see her ring distended almost beyond belief.
The Time of Her Life-Part V
And they stood there, he with his cock plunged all the way down her throat, immobile except of the ever twitching thumb and forefinger of his left hand, rolling the lips of her slit back and forth, massaging her engorged clit between them, she with her mouth opened as wide as she could open it, tears streaming from her eyes with the extreme pressure of barely being able to breathe through her partly clogged nostrils, her throat stretched beyond being stretched, the pain and pressure in her throat countered by the pleasure she received from his twirling fingers, the two of them seemingly motionless.
And then slowly, ever so slowly, he began to pull back, slowly withdrawing from her throat, his cock now covered in saliva thickened with the other secretions from deep in her gullet, the thick wetness forming ropes between his cock and her wide open mouth, his organ glistening in the natural light of the afternoon.
As I continued to watch them, he casually reached over to the nighttable, her nighttable, and opened the drawer, where we kept the lube, not taking out her favorite raspberry flavored lube but rather something I'd never seen before, something called Maximus, something thicker, more viscous, much less liquid, and he put the bottle in her right hand. "Open yourself up, and make yourself wet", he told her, "not your pussy, that's sopping wet already. I want you to take your fingers, two fingers, then three fingers, and loosen up your asshole for us. Be a good girl and do that right now."
And I watched as she obeyed his command, pouring a large dollop of the lube into her right hand, bringing her legs way up, reaching down between them and smoothed the lube into her buttcrack, pausing now and then to make sure she covered the whole area. We had never done this, ever, but it seemed like a practiced motion to her. Then she started, first with one finger and then with two, masturbating her asshole, the other hand reaching down to her slit, the middle finger eagerly searching for her clit and finding it, rapidly moving up and down, matching the motions behind her. She started to moan once again, getting off on touching both of her openings at the same time.
"The third finger, slut," he told her, and she wantonly pierced herself with another finger, first bunching them up one on top of the other, then putting them side by side by side, all three in a line, stretching her asshole open wide.
"This is gonna be fun," he said, as he walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed up on it. "We'll make a sandwich of her."
And then slowly, ever so slowly, he began to pull back, slowly withdrawing from her throat, his cock now covered in saliva thickened with the other secretions from deep in her gullet, the thick wetness forming ropes between his cock and her wide open mouth, his organ glistening in the natural light of the afternoon.
As I continued to watch them, he casually reached over to the nighttable, her nighttable, and opened the drawer, where we kept the lube, not taking out her favorite raspberry flavored lube but rather something I'd never seen before, something called Maximus, something thicker, more viscous, much less liquid, and he put the bottle in her right hand. "Open yourself up, and make yourself wet", he told her, "not your pussy, that's sopping wet already. I want you to take your fingers, two fingers, then three fingers, and loosen up your asshole for us. Be a good girl and do that right now."
And I watched as she obeyed his command, pouring a large dollop of the lube into her right hand, bringing her legs way up, reaching down between them and smoothed the lube into her buttcrack, pausing now and then to make sure she covered the whole area. We had never done this, ever, but it seemed like a practiced motion to her. Then she started, first with one finger and then with two, masturbating her asshole, the other hand reaching down to her slit, the middle finger eagerly searching for her clit and finding it, rapidly moving up and down, matching the motions behind her. She started to moan once again, getting off on touching both of her openings at the same time.
"The third finger, slut," he told her, and she wantonly pierced herself with another finger, first bunching them up one on top of the other, then putting them side by side by side, all three in a line, stretching her asshole open wide.
"This is gonna be fun," he said, as he walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed up on it. "We'll make a sandwich of her."
Friday, February 15, 2008
Thank You And Goodbye
Not me, not me...two blogs that I've been reading for about a year have closed down---Being Elodie and Dirty Couple in Virginia. And they each did it so nicely, first letting everybody know that they weren't going to post anymore, and then thanking their readers for having read.
And so I would say thank you for all your good efforts, for the many posts from Elodie, and for Tits for the Troops from The Couple. Your efforts were appreciated.
What mensches.
And so I would say thank you for all your good efforts, for the many posts from Elodie, and for Tits for the Troops from The Couple. Your efforts were appreciated.
What mensches.
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