See My Ass Soon

I am determined next week to get some photos on this site, but being a Luddite, this promises to be much more involved than for a normal person. Also, my digital camera is less a camera than a garage door opener. I may gouge out my own eyes. Wish me luck. Hopefully you'll all see my ass soon.

Today might be a day wherein the only way to keep my head together is a good book? a cup of tea? yoga? No. To clamp a vice on it and wrap tape around and around my skull.

There are myriad advantages to fucking, good and hard, yes, but a nice big orgasm would have helped me sleep last night. Now I will put my tender little pussy in a velvet box and put it on the shelf for a while.

As it was, The Brain kept me awake at 4am to worry about this and that, all the logistical bullshit. Today is the last day of husband's vacation, for which I am more than a little glad. I like having days to myself and/or my son.

I like looking at the calendar and being glad that this long, strange year is ending. I don't know what will come next...but I think things are really going to turn around.

But more on The New Year tomorrow.

Anticipation

My favorite days are the ones when I wake up and know that I'm going to get thoroughly and expertly fucked. It's a super-happy-number-one feeling. I become more aware of a good lather in the shower, and of how soft my skin will feel as I put on my scented lotion. I walk taller. I love my curves, knowing he will love them soon.

Then there are the moments leading up to the intimacy. We pause, looking at the scenery wherever we are. Then he looks at me lingeringly. He says, "We should go." And I know what he is feeling, already getting hard. He slowly plays with my hair as we drive, or gently strokes my thigh. He barely has to touch me; the anticipation drives me wild.

Sometimes it's hot and hard, sometimes it's tender and slow. Sometimes I don't orgasm. Sometimes it's savage.

Always it is joyful.

What Can Be Done?

What makes someone good or bad in bed? Always Aroused Girl commented here about confidence, and I tend to agree. You've got to be self-confident enough to let go completely, to not feel self-conscious. Also to ask for what you want, not worrying if it sounds weird or stupid. I also wonder though what role experience has. Being with a particular partner can open your eyes, but if you never meet that person?...Then there's attitude. I like someone who not just tolerates but loves, no, relishes the disgusting parts of sex: the noises, the fluids. Someone for whom nothing is wrong or a turn-off, it's just a delicious part of what we do together. How can you teach that?

If you reach this point of life (thirty-four, married) and your partner still doesn't have any of this, what can be done?

Bear With Me

Dealing this week with a husband and son home on vacation, so time and privacy are limited. Grrrrr. I'm in the mood to post something more lengthy, so it may be a bit later today.

Getting Down to Business

The family is out to breakfast. I climb back in bed, still in my robe. I've been so hot these past few days...

I lay on my stomach, as always. I wiggle my hands beneath me, left on my clit, right on my cunt. If I weren't wet already, I'd ferociously grind my clit until I came. But I am wet. I slide the first two fingers inside me and the third on, but not in, my ass. Not yet. I imagine your long lean body on top of mine, pressing me into the mattress. Your voice is in my ear reminding me of your plan for me when we next meet. My fingers slowly stroke in and out of me while the other hand teases my clit. The excitement is slowly building. I hear your voice in my ear to get down to business, stop dawdling. I reach back with my other hand to spread my ass so my third finger slides in. The stretch to my hand as I work the two fingers inside my cunt and the third in my ass - this is almost more than my wrist can take. Now I can't stop and I fuck myself hard, with all the weight of my body pushing me onto my hands. I'm working hard and I feel it in my legs, my arms, my stomach. My mouth is open, my eyes are closed. Here it is, so sweet and deep. I moan with it and I hear you whisper 'Ah, good girl.' My hips spasm. My toes curl. Finally I stop moving. I know that in another minute I can rub quickly and come again. For this second though, I rest. I can feel your smile against my ear and then the thought of you is gone, for now.

What Santa Didn't Bring

Finally home and able to write after (what felt like) a long visit with family and dial-up, of all things. I'm sorry, but those Luddites who don't have cable internet are one group of sorry fuckers, no offense. It is a terrible way to live.

But I digress.

Last week there was disasterous sex with the husband. Oh he's awful in bed. I'll detail another time. But that, plus my normal 34-year old state of mind has me primed. I need it. I need to have my hair pulled and my ass slapped. I need my hot juices slurped out of me. I need to put my mouth on every crevice of someone's body not because he likes it, but because I do. I need him in my mouth, my cunt, my ass. I need his teeth on my neck. I need to be taken as I resist. I need to pounce on him like an animal and stun him with my ferocity. I need to have my body pushed and pulled, my legs swung around, my arms pinned, all by someone who knows what he's doing. I need expertise. I need confidence and desire beyond measure or logic. This is what I need.

The Laugh

I had one of the episodes today where someone made me laugh so hard my stomach ached. I laughed on and on for about ten minutes. I slapped the bar. My eyes watered. He went to the bathroom and came back; I was still laughing. Just over some face he made, a silly joke.

I can't remember the last time this happened, but I'm so grateful for this moment and this person for giving it to me. I hope you guys out there have had a solid belly laugh lately. This is the season when we need it more than ever.

State of the Union: Laying Out the Truth

It’s about time I laid out a little truth. I am, first of all, a reserved person with people I don’t know; I am, second of all, new to the blogosphere. I have genuine fears about disclosing information that could get me in trouble, or recognized. I’ve not told anyone I’m blogging because I really want this to be a place where I can express myself without censorship. Except I haven’t been doing it.

Tonight is a low point and I really need to have this out there, both so that I can express it, and so it can be read and reacted to.

I’ve been with my husband for about 10 years and we have a young son. Our marriage has been fraught with issues, mostly dealing with external circumstances. It seems we’ve had a run of bad luck early on. The worst was the death of my beloved mother less than two years ago. It was unexpected. I was heartbroken. And I quickly became alarmed. It became very clear that she had filled many of the gaps in my marriage, in terms of emotional companionship. She had been my true heart’s companion. My husband was a companion and a co-parent: a wonderful roommate, maybe?

To compound the issue, he drew into himself through the crisis of her death and my subsequent grief. He was always supportive and kind, but never extended himself as my lover, someone who desired me. I realize now that I longed to be anyone other than the grieving daughter and adoring mother. I wanted to short-circuit my senses with lust and fearlessness. I wanted something joyful. Or savage. Whatever. I was lonely and undesired.

When I brought up the issue of his low libido, he always claimed that it was a matter of timing, energy, or distraction. I confronted him like this for a year and got the same answer. A year! Finally this summer he admitted that there was a problem.

O fan-fucking-tastic! Yes let’s hear this one, kids. Finally he said that he just had no sex drive and he didn’t know why.

But the issue, my love, my husband, father of my child, is that I got help somewhere else.

I’ve spoken briefly about Wonder Boy. He’s an old friend with whom I reconnected when we relocated to his area. From the start, he’s been engaged and wise, and has a similar depth of emotion. That is, he can understand my emotional scale (say, negative 10 to positive 10) more intimately than my husband can (negative 5 to positive 5). It’s just a different feeling to know that someone has the same emotional capacity as you, not just sympathy. Anyway, Wonder Boy and I became very close very quickly. His heart too had recently been broken, and we both needed someone to pull us through. He has been my best friend. I trust him with everything I think and feel. I respect him. I make him feel loved and needed. He makes me feel lovely and fierce.

The issue, right now, is that he’s leaving to travel until the spring. I simply don’t know what to do. I am losing many things, but what distresses me the most is not having my best friend at my back; and to hold me and stroke my hair and say ‘there there,’ even if it’s just metaphorically. I don't want to leave my husband for Wonder Boy. We would be a total wreck together. But here is what he has reminded me of: I don’t want to be this lonely in this marriage anymore. Logically I know that I will pull on my crusty boots and wade through the bullshit, and try to get the work done that I know is necessary. But oh, I need some joy. Joy for me, my heart and my body. Not mother joy. Desire joy! Savage joy! Where will it be?

Tonight I am despairing. Best to go to bed, now that I have this out, and try to get some rest. Thanks for listening.

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Heading Home

You're on the train on your way home from work. You're wearing a white oxford, black blazer, trousers, no tie. You have a manila file in front of you. At the next stop, a woman sits down in the seat across the aisle. She's well dressed in wool trousers, wool coat, cashmere wrap scarf. Her hair is shoulder-length. You notice her as you notice all women; this one is pretty and smart-looking.

If she dropped her lipstick and you both bent down to get it, you'd notice something else. Her hair is not quite tidy. The buckle on her shoe is broken. Also, she has that smell. What has she been up to?

In the Dressing Room

It’s mid-afternoon in Manhattan. We’ve decided to go shopping; you need a new shirt and I’m looking for new pajamas for summer. We spent the morning walking around, not really doing much. I said I wanted to go to Balthazar for lunch, so we headed to Greenwich Village for the morning. Finally around noon we walked over to Spring Street, found the restaurant, and sat at the bar. We ate oysters and drank lager for about two hours. I teased you to eat the pickled eggs on display, you said once we start eating pickled eggs, well, everything would be about the pickled eggs. Our only appointment was to hit the Algonquin or the Campbell Apartment for a drink later in the day, but that could change. It was then that we thought to head to Saks to kill part of the afternoon. If we wanted, we could stop by the hotel to change afterward.

The men’s store, for dress shirts and ties, is two floors above women’s lingerie. I say that I will meet you downstairs in the women’s section, if you don’t mind. I don’t think I will be long, even if I want to try something on.

When I go downstairs, the pajamas immediately lose my interest. There are multiple walls of nighties in every color. I fill my arms and go to the dressing rooms. The saleswoman installs me in the last room on the right, a corner. There is a small sofa to the left of the door, and ahead of me, a large three-sided mirror about eight feet high with a short podium for standing. She arranges my clothing and wishes me luck, to let her know if I need anything. The door locks behind her.

I pull off my knee-length boots and socks, then drop my skirt. I unbutton my shirt and hang it on a hook, then strip off my white eyelet bra but leave my thong panties on.

The first three nighties are too long. Then I try on a short black one that fits tight through the chest, and is slightly ruffled around the bottom. It has pink ribbon in the straps. I decide to take it. The next one is a set: a green open-front camisole with matching g-string. It has a few sequins even. A silk floral slip is pretty and flattering. Then I have the last one over my head. It is cream colored. The chest is lace and low-cut, slightly tight too. The stomach and back are silk. The sides? Well what is there is fine mesh, and transparent. The whole effect is barely concealed nudity. I can’t decide if I can splurge on just one more.

Just then I hear you outside the door, whispering my name. I grab the robe from the hook, hold it in front of me, and crack open the door. ‘You’re not supposed to be in here.’ ‘Well, yes,’ you say. I step back and open the door. You come in and sit on the couch, set your bag down, cross your legs, look around. There are nighties all over the floor. I say I am almost done, but hadn’t decided on the last one. ‘Which one?’ you ask.
‘The one I’m wearing.’
‘Well let’s see.’
‘Then it won’t be a surprise.’
‘But what if you don’t buy it? Then I’ll never see it. … That would be too bad.’
‘Alright,’ I say, then step to the podium, hold the robe to my side, and drop it. For a moment you say nothing. Then:
‘Um, wow.’
I turn toward the mirror. ‘Really? Do you think it’s good? Worth it?’
I look at you behind me, through the mirror. You stand up and step behind me. You run your hands down my sides while still looking at me. Your left hand moves to the front, to the slippery silk across my stomach while your right hand stays on my hip. I lean back slightly so I feel your chest brush my back as your left hand crosses up to my right breast. I take a sharp breath of surprise as you lightly pinch my nipple and your right hand grabs harder on my leg. You lower your mouth to the side of my neck, but your eyes are still on mine. You kiss my neck, behind my ear, and bite the lobe. My hands clutch the hem of my nightie. My head rolls to the left a little, so I can see in the left-hand mirror that the hem in back is kicked up slightly by your erection. I turn around to kiss your mouth, and to slide my hands under the waistband of your pants. Your tongue is on my lips, then in my mouth. Our eyes are open. Your left hand cups my chin; your right hand slides inward over my stomach and over my clit. You can feel already that I’m wet and hot. I unzip your pants and reach inside to find your cock. With one hand you pull my panties down to my knees. I step out. Your left hand slides up the nape of my neck and twines into my hair. You pull my head back as you thrust inside me, unguided. Can it be this good again, ah yes, always. You push me backward until I’m against the mirror. I lift one of my legs and wrap it around your waist, pulling you tighter against me, further into me. Your hands are on my ass; my arms are around your neck. We move like this for about a minute.

Then you surprise me by pulling out. You turn me around to face the center mirror. My hands are splayed on the glass. I look down to move my feet apart. You pull my head up so we’re looking at each other in the mirror as you enter me again, hard and fast. For a moment my eyes close, it’s so good. I look again at you and your mouth has its savage smile and you’re looking at me. I look to the right-hand mirror and can see your cock pushing in and out of me, fucking me. Hard. You look where I am watching, and your eyes fix there too. Your grip on my shoulder loosens a little so you can move further in and out as we watch. Your right hand is on my clit, helping to steady my body and getting me ready to come. We are still watching as you slide in and out of me over and over, again and again and again, don’t stop.

I want to laugh because I know I’m getting closer, but I bite my lips. Oh God now I’m so close even just from thinking about it, and I can tell you are too because you’re moving harder, your jaw is clenched, I can feel the sweat of your arm on my stomach. But it goes on and on, almost cresting but not quite.

Then all of a sudden, it’s here. I gasp. ‘Now’ I whisper. ‘Yes,’ you answer. My scalp and toes tingle. I see stars. And through my body runs an electric current that I can’t even describe. It ripples through until my palms sweat and my toes curl. You’re with me, pushing twice more, grabbing me, then you’re coming inside me, hot and hard, for longer than I expect. You pause, then thrust again inside me as the last wave rides over you. Your hands clench on my body, your forehead on my neck. My head is bowed and I’m leaning against the mirror. We can only stand there, locked together, breathing hard.

Soon we’ll have to break apart and step away, laugh at the smudges on the mirror, get dressed. Maybe later there’s more to be done in front of the mirror. Right now, though, this is where we are and what it is like here.

Last 12 hours

Ideally I'd write something poetic and loose, something metaphoric. Instead....I went out last night with friends. Played music, drank too much, sharply flirty. Fleetingly saw a dear friend, but had to get home. Went downtown this morning and had a Bloody Mary and six oysters for breakfast - so sensorial and decadent! God there is nothing more visceral than the tangy brininess of those gorgeous bivalves? I slurped them down. Saw a friend for lunch. Should I call him a professional contact? A flirty friend? A tempted husband? Yet again I am Do Me Queen. Wanting him to want me. Liking who I am in his eyes, not the dutiful wife or the doting mother, but the present and provocative woman. I wonder at my capacity for infidelity. So many men to want; so many men who want me. How can I forfeit them all?

Looking Back

Today I looked back at photos from a couple of years ago...people I've lost. . .I can see a difference in my smile and in my eyes. I miss them and my self, complex as it was, that seemed less broken than it is now.

State of the Union Part 1

We were out tonight with another couple. You know them. They aren't overly affectionate, but they have a buzz going, a vibe. You see them exchange a look, and you know they're going home and getting animalistic with each other. He'll have her moaning with a finger in her ass while he takes her. She'll peg him to the wall and unbuckle his belt with her teeth. They have a thing going. And you? You'll go home and try to bear kissing your spouse, nevermind letting him inside you. If he passes out you'll consider yourself lucky. You believe there's someone else out there who can give you what you want (the savagery, the expertise) but he's not here and it's not going to happen tonight. You are alone. Turn out the light. Sleep. Hope tomorrow is better.

HNT: Reveal Something New

You're taking me from behind while I'm on my hands and knees. Smack! You give my ass a solid spank. "Oh yeah" I growl and look back over my shoulder at you. You do it again.

Every girl likes a tap on the ass.

Can't Say No

Recently an old friend got in touch for the first time in at least five years. Out of the blue, saying he'd been paging through his old email addresses. Within two messages he asked me to join him for the week while his family is out of town. Flattering, no? It's been maybe 10 years since we've been together as they say. It was illicit since our ex's were closely entwined socially. Either he remembers me with particular (but justified) fondness, or his regular Naughty Girl is unavailable. I said no thanks, citing the logistical details. He persists, mentioning a visit in my area. I should give an unequivocal refusal. Will I?

The Name

Do Me Queen:
What a Do Me Queen I am, really. That's me at the party, flirting with your husband. Guess what? I'll email him later with something innocent, just to keep his eye on me. Who cares if I want him. I have a good-girl look going and I work it enough for the men to notice and the women not to. He can be married or a single friend. He should lather a little too long in the shower, thinking of me, or lie awake an extra minute, just speculating. It's beyond being wanted; it's pathological. It's getting me in over my head.

The Beginning

Here's an entry just to get started. Who knows what I'm doing.