Duh.

Anyone notice that I can't spell for shit?

Humor.

Sometimes when I am feeling sad and blue and so sorry for myself, it's easy to forget that I'm really fucking funny. Ok ok there are three people in my life who are funnier than I am, so around them, I'm just funny. But around normal humans, I'm a laugh riot. I'm a terrible joke teller. I don't tell funny. I am funny. Especially compared to a lot of women, who tend to take themselves more seriously than men do. I don't take myself seriously at all. I am the funniest joke I know. My crazy family is the craziest you'll hear about. My family trauma is the most traumatic. I've been through the wringer growing up and it would make you shake your head in wonder that I'm not eating rocks or fucking pork chop sandwiches. But no one will laugh harder about it than I will. I'm a bundle of conflicting nerves. My stubborness is epic. I'm petulant and cranky. In fact, that's the way I am mostly these days. When I go out, though, I get to bend that funny bone. I hope that some of that is lurking in these posts. Probably not. I'm an asshole. You hate me.

Week in Review.

No sex.
No kissing.
No dirty talk.
No head.
No hair-pulling.
No ass-slapping.
No moaning.
No sweating.
No grinding.
No tongue.
No heat.
No fire.

One masturbation session with a few rippling orgasms.
Seven days of depression that this is all there is.

My List.

In no particular order:

Viggo Mortenson
Jake Gyllenhall
Daniel Craig (the new James Bond)
Ewan McGregor

Don't they just seem like they could get it going? Toss me around and take what they want? Things could get dirty.

hmmmm....looking for a fifth. Any suggestions?

Would You Rather....

Would you rather have no sex or bad sex? No really, I'm curious. This is my current situation.

Feeling a mite better, actually. Had a whiskey last night before bed, which didn't hurt!

Calling doc to change my meds. Trying to work out some anger on my own. Talking to helpful people. Doing my best today.

So anyway, which would you rather?

Late Night.

I'm back to that feeling of dreading the next day. It seems so little actually good happens. I am really really done hoisting this kid around all day. I can guess that this desolate feeling is probably borne of my depression, and wonder if I should increase my antidepressant. Also, I'm spending a lot of time with someone who, essentially, I don't like (husband). I guess I should suck it up and shut up since this is, after all, my choice, to put my son's happiness before my own.

Her Turn.

She swallows the last of her by-now warm cocktail. His glass is empty too.
"I'm ready for another," she says, and stands up. He follows her back to the house. She trips on a tree root and he uses a hand to steady her. "Whoops."
'Sure you want another?'
'Ha. Yes.'
They step inside and he mixes another drink for them both....

...They sit in silence, watching the water of mid-afternoon. Not knowing what else to say, he offers a repeat on the cocktail. She accepts. He goes inside....

...The sun is setting but around the bend of the cove. All they can see is the glassy sheen of the sun on the water. They wait until the dull drop of twilight. Then she follows him into the house, carrying their glasses.

He walks into the kitchen. She slides the screen door shut but doesn't turn around. He sees her pause. 'What?' he asks.

In her mind, she has decided. So she turns to him and says,'I'm sorry.'
'For what?'
'For what I'm about to do.'
'Oh? What's that?'
'Break every rule we have now.'
'I don't think that's a good idea.'
'I know.' She unbuttons her shirt and throws it down.
'No, really. I don't want us to go back down this path.'
'I know.' She flips off her shoes.
He says her name, seriously. A warning. She unbuttons her pants and slides them down. She steps out.
'Look, I really don't think we should,' he says.
'Right.'
There's a pause.
'I won't let this happen.'
'I don't care. It's going to.'
'But I won't let you.'
'But I will.'
'No.'
'Yes.'
'I'll stop you. I really will.'
'Fine. Try.'
'No, I mean it. I don't want to hurt you.'
'Then I guess I'll take my licks.'
He looks at her pleadingly. 'Really. Don't.'

She crosses the room quickly to him, and turns him up against the wall. His head is next to the thermostat. She's already pinned his arms to his sides; her speed has disarmed him. She's got him in a bear hug. Her face looks up at his. Neither of them is smiling. She steps away from the wall and tries to pull him down on top of her. It doesn't work; his knees are locked against her force. She won't let go; he won't bend. She goes limp and sets all her body weight on him, so he stumbles. They pile onto the floor. Quick as anything, she tries to get on top of him, but he turns over onto his stomach to crawl away. She sits on his back. She faces his feet and begins to pull his pants down. 'Godddammit!' he says, and quickly flips over, tipping her to the side. He tries to scramble backward, like a crab, but his legs are tangled in his pants. She pounces on him and straddles his belly. All her weight pushes him into the carpet. He can't really move.

His pants are at his knees. His cock is out. She feels its throb against her ass. He's as hard as he's ever been, all the times she consented when she should not have. All the times they said it was the last time.

Her eyes are on his. She's got his wrists pinned to the floor with her hands.
She slides downward so the tip of him grazes her pussy. 'Please,' he breathes. 'Don't make me want this again.'

'Too late.' And she grinds down onto his cock. His gorgeous cock. This moment, when he sinks into her...it's like a drink of water on a hot day: slick and flowing, primal relief. Right now she would take any of him in any of her. She wants to feel this full all over.

And with that, she begins to ride him. She's hard and driving, then quick and light. She's still holding onto his wrists, but they only resist against her for leverage. She sits up straight finally, and he grabs her hips. Her back arches. Her head rolls back. He's watching her with fierce concentration. He sees every part of her, even in the fading light. His memory fills in the parts he can't see clearly, the blue tracing of her veins across her stomach, the birthmark on her ass. His mouth, below her, remembers the taste of her ear and the suck of her tongue.

She's consumed now, almost flailing against him. He does nothing to help her; she's getting there on her own. Her madness rockets him forward and before he anticipates it, he's coming quick, too soon, before her. Or not? Her head has lolled back and her eyes are on the ceiling. She's choked for air, her voice caught in her throat. She's there with him, coming. Her cunt throbs and bucks around his cock, almost squeezing his hot come into her. It's insanity. Her world has gone momentarily black and she can't swallow. She shakes her head in a no no no of disbelief, trying to clear it. All he says is 'Oh!' again adn again.

She collapses forward on top of him. He pauses, then slides his arms around her so his hands are on her ass. She turns her face into his neck. They rest.

Nevermind.

Hey you know that post below this one? The one about treading all that water and chilling out?

Fuck it.

Get the fuck out of my house, ass.

Go to work, go to rehearsal, go to Toledo. I don't care. Out. Out!

State of the Union.

Around here there's a new development. Nothing drastic. I've told my husband, when he leaves the house in the morning, to hide my keyboard and his laptop. This is because this had become my life:

Get up.
Check email/blogs.
Make breakfast. Take it back to computer.
Check email/blogs.
Get annoyed with child that he has needs that take me away from the computer.
Check email/blogs.
Clean up the kitchen.
Check email/blogs.
Take a shower.
Check email/blogs.
Get halfway dressed.
Check email/blogs.
Finish getting dressed....

You get the idea. It was like this all day, everyday. It helps keep me tuned out of my own life. I just finally, this week, got sick of being a slave to it.

So for the past four days I haven't had a computer during the day, unless I stop by the library for an hour. It's liberating and unnerving at the same time. I'm not contemplating ending this blog. In the immortal words of Zaphod Beeblebrox, "Why would I do that? That would be.......stupid." Instead what I'm trying to do is just create new habits. I've been proactive and productive all week. I'm much more present with my son. Being invested.

As for my marriage, I feel for the first time that I can cobble together a liveable situation (for now). The bigger issues still exist, of needing more of a peer, but it seems possible to tread water here for a little while. Who knows. I'm probably totally deluded, but what else is new?

Morning.

My hair is tousled and bent waves from having slept on it when it was wet. It falls to my shoulders. I've been sleeping well and I look it, no bags under my eyes. My cotton pajama bottoms sit a little high on my hips because they have an elastic waist. I pull them down a little and can feel my hip bone. I've lost a little weight. My long-sleeved cotton t-shirt is kind of klingy. It's white. Looking in the mirror, I admire my breasts, their fullness and roundness. My nipples are hard. They look perfect. How often do I think that? Hardly ever. Maybe only in the freshness of the morning, when my mind is clearing from its innocent dreams and not yet consumed by self. My skin feels softer. I look younger. I don't have a costume for the day yet (mother, wife) and I'm just myself, looking. This unabashed moment won't last. At least it's here for now, fleeting as it is.

Again.

It's been longer than usual since we've seen each other. The time since our last fucking is counted in weeks now, not days. We're trying to break things off.

Under some pretense, I've come to spend the weekend in your city. As we promised, I've not contrived to stay with you.

When we see each other, we embrace and smile. You cup my jaw sweetly. I caress your cheek. That's all.

A group of us go out to eat, then to a bar to meet other friends. It's not your kind of place at all: techno salsa, loud and smoke-filled. One of the guys asks me to dance and since I've had some booze, I agree, even enjoying myself. You stay at the bar but I can see you watching me with him.

The group leaves the bar and splits up. Not even looking at me, you offer to the others to see me to a cab. We get in one heading across town. Without asking me, you give the driver your address. I look out the window, and take your hand on the seat between us.

We don't speak as you let us into the building, climb the stairs, and open the locks to your apartment. No lights are on. I put my bag down and turn toward you.

You are upon me, insistent and quick. You back me up against the door and grind your face into mine. I grasp at your neck, yank your lapels, and grab your belt loops. I'm so desperate for your mouth I might be licking you more than kissing. Your breath is beer and the one cigarette you had to keep awake. You're here against me, your chest hard against mine. I'm forgetting myself, my brain, my ego what a relief. You'll take me as your own soon and I will go go go.

You pull my tights down but I'm still wearing my boots so my knees are bound together in a lycra and leather tangle. Your hand is on my pussy and we both gasp, you with surprise by how wet I am already. You've turned me on like a light.

At the bed I pause so I can detangle from my tights. You merely push me over onto the mattress. I hear the jangle of your belt so I rise up onto my knees and hands. I turn to watch you. Your eyes dawdle over my naked ass. Your hands caress between my legs and pull my lips apart, tenderly. You raise you eyes to mine, and then swiftly, fiercely, you plunge your cock inside me. My mouth parts and I gasp, but I keep my eyes on yours.

You buck into me again and again, our bodies whap whap whapping together. Your grin is savage. Your eyes blaze. My face is contorted with lust as I look over my shoulder at you. You know what I'm thinking: He's fucking me he's fucking me he's so good ah the fucking don't stop don't ever stop he has all of me he's taking me I'm all his.

I collapse on my stomach and snake my hands beneath me. I heartily grind my clit as you fuck me. My legs are together and you're heavy on my back. Your cheek is pressed against mine. I am bucking against you as you drive into me. I'm untethered, unleashed. I want you so completely inside me that I want to take a bite of you and swallow you down. I could eat you. I don't even know what I'm saying, things like 'oh yes' and 'please' and some sounds that aren't even words, like 'gar' or 'muh'.

We're frantic with each other: pumping and thrusting and biting and clutching. You drive into me hard, while grunting. You're coming fast and deep into me, and the thought of your cock shooting its hot load into me makes me crazed. You're filling me up. I'm on the edge but you're finishing.

Now you're slower and looser and ride the squishy sloppiness. I'm so sensitive that this pushes me over the edge. I ride a thick heavy wave of orgasm, head to toe. I tell you I'm coming so that you don't stop the slow ride. Every time you stroke, another wave slides over my head. It's undulating and I'm buoyed along with it, crest and trough.

I'm wrung out and when you try to roll me onto my side, I flap my arms uselessly, in hilarious futility. I shake my head. Incredulous. I'm yours, again. Still.

Suggasm

The best of the blogs from the bloggers who blog them.

Never.

I've never come during oral sex.
I've never come from finger fucking.

Reading around the blogs about these types of stories is strange. I feel a combination of jealousy and resignation. I really really really really really wish I could, but after 15 years of sexual activity, I've seen the writing on the wall; it's just not the way I'm wired. Fuck.

I guess I'll just have to settle for intercourse orgasms, sometimes multiple. O woe. Poor me.

Lost.

We were lost for most of two days. I could only be reached on my cell phone. He didn't have a phone or email, and no one knew he was in town.

I licked a solitary drop of pre-cum off his cock, then devoured him until he shot his hot semen into my mouth. I swallowed it all as he caressed my back, traced the thin blue veins under my fair skin. The afternoon light was flat and soft. We admired each other.

He felt me up in the car.

After we arrived, he made the bed. I told him not to fuck me. He said he wouldn't. He promised. He teased my clit with the broad underside of his cock. I began to whimper. I began to beg. He sank deep into me, and I felt it all the way to my navel. He drove into me; I ground against him. He flipped me over and wrapped him arms under me to cup my breasts as he fucked me. He had all of me. I came hard, like a flash had gone off in my eyes. It ebbed, then with each of his next thrusts, it rolled through me again. My cunt was still pulsing, grabbing him when he pulled out and came over my back. I continued to come, too. Pow.

We ate. We drank. Late night we went at it again, driving, fucking, sweating.

The next morning we had dark thick coffee and pastry. After showers, we got back in bed. He ate me out until I wept for relief. He rode me without mercy. Our sweat plastered the sheets.

Later on, we sat on the bed, talking. We kissed gently, tentatively. I caressed his cheek. He stroked my hair. He lifted it away from my ear and kissed my neck. We each undressed. He kissed my breasts. I nibbled my way across his chest. We made love softly for a while. I clung to him. He whispered in my ear. He drew my face onto his lap and I took him in my mouth. I asked him to push my head down and he did, over and over. I had the taste of both of us, musky and metallic, on my tongue. I delved farther back, to his ass, and fucked him with my tongue. He moaned and writhed. Eventually he was inside me again, working hard. I jammed my hands against the wall to push against him. I made him take me. It was building for both of us, finally, after two hours. Gasping in my ear, he said he'd come if I would. I said yes. In a sudden, swooping wave we came, all at once. Clutching, throbbing, pounding, gasping. Only with each other, lost to the world.

State of the Union.

We've started with a new marriage counselor. I really like her. I was worried that we would need someone more clinical than an LCSW, but she has an edge, unlike a the touchy-feely group I'm used to. Over two sessions she's impressed me more than once with her perceptiveness. She's already said that we'll see her individually, but that we're not to tell her secrets we haven't told each other. So I guess I'm somewhat censored. Probably the next step will be to get an individual referral so I can blab blab blab to someone.

In my head, my only goal is to make this situation liveable until my son is older. I don't really have much hope of saving the marriage long-term. It's too much work, though, to think of going it alone. I wish my intentions were more noble.

I do feel good about the therapy particularly because I like feeling proactive about this. Husband has been surprisingly candid from the start, and I feel pretty good about speaking the truth about how I feel about our partnership. Keeping it to myself certainly hasn't been the answer.

I took some time this weekend to get away, and it was terrific. I didn't even have to have particular fun, just loved being autonomous, without any obligations other than the ones I chose to assume.

I also dodged a bullet as my mother-in-law was visiting the house. The timing was not accidental.

Still dreading the sex, which I have successfully avoided since, I think, October. I am not a very kind wife. We will see how this changes this winter. But I also haven't masturbated, either. Sex drive is just absent, except in regard to that other fellow I've mentioned before. That is a different story.

A big difference is that I'm regularly sleeping well for the first time in almost a year. Our location has changed, and the light and sound are much lower. What a difference it is to be well-rested!

I could include more about our bickering, my discontent, the stresses, but I think I've hit the macro points this time. You get the idea.

New Title

After a bit of thought, I've decided to rename this blog. Do Me Queen felt funny and clever at first, but I've thought more and more that it's too glib for what I want to talk about.

Then I thought of using the Laura Palmer image and it seemed perfect: a nice girl with lots to hide. And that prompted thoughts of a change, as well.

And then it didn't hurt the cause that my husband saw the Do Me Queen as one of my tabs on the computer screen.

The URL is the same, but if you have a link to me, I would appreciate changing the text to reflect the title change.

The Neck.

Found this passage as I was reading, exactly what I've been thinking about...

"In his day, Oscar himself had made too many girls forget their better instincts and fine training by biting them with tender persistence at the base of their skull, just where the hairline grew in downy wisps. Girls were like kittens in this way, if you got them right at the nape of their neck they went easily limp. Then he would whisper his suggestions, all the things they minght do together, the wonderful dark explorations for which he was to be their guide. His voice traveled like a drug dripped down the spiraling canals of their ears until they had forgotten everything, until they had forgotten their own names, until they turned and offered themselves up to him, their bodies sweet and soft as marzipan."

from Bel Canto by Ann Patchett.

Goodbye.

We stood on the corner in the mist. The city streets were slick and bright. I heard cars swish past behind me as I faced him.

'Well,' he said.
'Yes,' I said. I rearranged his scarf so it crossed in front of his neck, to keep him warmer.
'There's nothing we can say right now that won't sound stupid,' he said.
I nodded.
'Is there anything stupid you want to say?' he asked.
'No. You know how I feel,' I said.
'Yes. I hope you know how I feel,' he said. 'Thank you for everything.'
I smiled and shrugged.
I held his lapels and we kissed briefly, twice.
'Goodbye.'
We both turned and began to walk away from each other. After I reached the oppposite sidewalk I turned and watched him go, across the double lanes, the island of grass, the opposite lanes. I watched until he was halfway down the next block. Then I turned around, walked into the building, and rode the elevator to the ninth floor, weeping soundlessly.

Relief.

Oh.thank.you.Gods of Cable.

I now have all the internet I need.

Hello Cleveland!

I have lots to update, but too no energy tonight. I mean no engergy. No energy.

Point made.

Sugasm #20

The best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them. This week starting with the letter ‘M’ for Mistress.

Meeting on the second floor (gentlygently.blogspot.com…)

After Action Report (swelteringcelt.com…)

Baby… (damnjezebel.com…)

Dave Naz again (eroticandy.blogspot.com…)

Delightfully debauched (curvaceousdee.blogspot.com…)

Gusher Pride (shaysotherspot.blogspot.com…)

Her First Lesbian Sex (sensualarousalblog.com…)

Hiding from my orgasm… (whatsyourpleasure.blogspot.com…)

Kabbalah Curious (sugarpit.com…)

Learn to deep throat (hotcouple.co.uk)

My New Toy (radicalvixen.com…)

Pervert! (sabrinainstockings.com…)

Ready (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com…)

Redheaded beauty Carissa on Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com…)

Smoking Room Adventures (secretbrain.blogspot.com…)

Strokes of Genius (deltaofvenus.blogspot.com…)

Ten Signs You’ve Been Around Porn Too Long (sugarbank.com…)

The Art of War (chaosnoir.blogspot.com…)

This Could Make Me Rich (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com…)

The F-stops Here (theholidaylife.blogspot.com…)

And some extras for this week



• The gag (rogerothornhill.typepad.com…)
  
• Those New Lace Panties (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com…)
  
• Time Flies… Oh! and HNT (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com…)
  
• Vixen Devilgirl: Getting the Lips Right is the Most Important Part of Good Head (tirepaddle.com…)
  
• Women: What Are Your Best Cunnilingus Tips? (Full post, finally.) (sexeteria.blogspot.com…)
  
• You like…? (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com…)
  

Sugasm is lovingly policed by Sabrina Morgan

High and....Well...Not Dry.

I asked him to write a description of what it is like to get head from me, because it is a thing we both love. And, well, I'm a little vain about it.

He complied and I have just read, and re-read it three times. Somehow he manages to capture the bestial, savage, loving deed it is between us. I am going to try to convince him to let me post it here.

Anyway, I'm stuck here at the computer with an unbreachable distance between us today. All the fluid in my body has migrated you know where. Dammit. Dammit. Even though we were together for a time last night, it is not enough anymore.