Hands

One of the first things I look at are the hands.
There is a reason that hands are so often used as an art subject - you can tell so much from them. If you pay attention, they'll tell you most everything.

Evan has strong hands. They are big with gnarly knuckles from hitting people and things too much. The veins push out the top. They are heavily calloused and have myriad scars of all sizes.

Just thinking about those hands running the length of my body gives me gooseflesh: he wraps them around my arms as he runs up them, which makes me feel like I'm just tiny, then spreads them open to feel out the width of my chest, pausing to gauge the heft of my tits and roll my stiffened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers as he moves back down.

One hand can almost completely encircle my throat.
I shudder as my breath catches in it.

I can feel his breath hot on my neck as he passes those hands down my back, causing me to arch involuntarily as he rests them for a second at the top of my ass.
He enjoys watching me squirm, and he knows that the more he uses those hands, the hotter and wetter I am getting beneath them.

He gives my ass a perfunctory rub and pinch, but although he likes making me squirm, he is not a very patient person and so likes to get on to business.

If I am wearing pants, they're coming off now. If it's a skirt or dress, he likes to reach up underneath and I can't help but feel like I'm doing something naughty - caught with the man's hand up my skirt. I wear skirts a lot.
He runs his finger along the edge of the crotch of my now-damp and fragrant panties, then slips it underneath, making me twitch as he barely, imperceptibly, brushes across my slick opening.

Soon, he is playing about with his left hand kneading my tit and tweaking my nipple while the right hand is having a grand time: 3 or 4 fingers are plunging into my dripping gash knuckle-deep while I'm panting and bucking like a wild filly, riding that hand for all I'm worth.

Sometimes instead he keeps me bent over with one hand pressed firmly against the back of my neck and delivers sharp spanks to my round upturned ass that sound like little firecrackers (they feel like little firecrackers). His hand covers an entire cheek, according to the red evidence I see afterwards. In between spankings, he pinches and rubs my clit. Sometimes he finger-fucks me mercilessly and makes me beg him to spank me some more, repent my sins.

When he is done playing with me like that, he'll use those hands to pull my head down over his crotch so he can feed me his bulging cock.

I'll suck him as hard and deep as I can while he runs his hands all over my head, neck and shoulders. He pushes my head down as he thrusts violently up into me. He pulls my hair to keep inside my mouth as he explodes deep into my throat, making guttural noises that sound not human.

Spent, we'll lean back together and he'll pull me to him, caressing me with those hands. Petting me like a little cat.

My date last week had no such hands. They were fine and delicate and looked as if they had not seen a hard day's work in ever. It was... unacceptable.

FrankenMan will not have fine delicate hands, hands I could break with a sharp look or a gnash of my teeth; he will have _those_ hands.

FrankenMan

Frank-ly, I'm a bit daunted by the prospects of finding new prospects. Sometimes I feel like I have too many requirements, but other times I have a hard time coming up with any that make sense. It's kind of like when someone asks me what I want for my birthday. I think of shit all year long that I'd love to have. They all fall right out of my head when someone asks me to list them.

So, in the spirit of Mr. Stroker's series on his Perfect Girl, I figured I'd use this space to do a little meditating on Mr. NextBigThing (I just can't bring myself to type "Mr. Right").

I think of Mr. NBT as a conglomeration of traits and features I have known and loved (or really really wanted to love) in other men. Thus: FrankenMan.

I know that FrankenMan will have a wicked sense of humor, and will have mastered the art of self-deprecation (without having actually fallen for that line) a la Anthony Bourdain.

Yes, NBT will be much like my favorite co-ex-addict, or whatever the proper term for fellow former junkie is.... He'll be tall, I hope, although maybe not so skinny. Seriously. I would be concerned about breaking Mr. Bourdain, which would be bad since he's all famous now, and probably insured.

He'll have that wry wit and dry humor. He'll drink, maybe even smoke, and be upfront about it: No Reservations, and certainly no apologies.

He will live life on the edge and to the fullest. He'll be able to cook - in the kitchen, and (I presume) of course in the bedroom (or wherever else might take his fancy).

He'll be a little bit dirty. As much as I like the kid glove treatment sometimes, what really gets me off is a good down and dirty fucking. I'll take a good, sweaty, grunting pounding and hair pulling over gentle smooth gliding any day. And twice today.

OK. How are we doing so far?
Bits o' Bourdain - check.

I have a date later this week with someone who seems to have the humor part down. We shall see about the rest. In the meantime, I'm considering giving the spouse some breakup sex, just to keep the fires quenched a bit, lest I have to get that "I fuck on the first date" shirt printed up after all.

*sigh*

Lately I'm tired, uninspired.
I'm stuck in this unhealthy limbo.
We had the "Talk."
There has been no walk.

I'd like to get on with it; he is not motivated to leave.
So, we are both just sitting here, looking at each other on borrowed time, damaged goods.
I'm meeting other people, looking forward to some time with someone I haven't damaged (yet).
I think, today, I think I don't want to whore.
I just really wanted an honest clean go at life with tabula rasa (as much as a tabula can be rasa-ed at this point).
That being said, however, I still am considering allowing the restauranteur to retain me. It would be nice to have that small piece of security. I guess that would still be whoring, but only with the one.
As long as there were no efforts to keep me off the market, I think that might do.
I wish I had paid better attention in Economics class.
What I know is that I have a bit more than half the income I used to, and almost all the same bills.
I'm younger and in better shape to capitalize off of my looks now, while they still exist.
I'm conflicted. Hence, the *sigh.*

Dear readers, I know we don't talk much, but I wonder what you think?
Help a half-baked idealist out, eh?

Phoenix

Motivated by recent loss, propelled by recent events that have been upsetting, and emboldened and heartened by this post and those that followed by Always Aroused Girl, I finally sat my dear husband down and explained to him that I did not think our friendship was going to survive this marriage at the rate we are going.

Then, I held my breath and awaited the wrath/tears/insert generally expected reaction here.

What happened instead aroused and re-awakened my awe and love for this man, for surely, I have never known another love as pure and selfless as this one.

After the initial shock, there was understanding. There were tears, to be sure, and questioning, and explaining, and finally, there was some agreement.

We are both held back by this relationship. It is only fair to ourselves and one another to take the opportunity to experience life on our own individual terms, accountable to, including only able to blame, ourselves for not becoming who/what we could be.

What is more refreshing is that this is not one of those stereotypical tawdry breakups with one-sided pain, laden with adultery, abuse, or rancor. We will actually be a true incidence of "irreconcilable differences" that parted on amicable terms (and not as defined by the spin of a publicist). In a twisted way, it's kind of cool.

I feel truly blessed today, friends, and I am not a religious person.

Thanks to AAG, (I am sidebarring you here) and my sincere wishes that the next chapter in both of our lives becomes proof positive of that tired adage: "no pain, no gain."

Me?

I'm looking forward to the continuing the ride. I know it'll be a wild one.

A Bit of Kali-Ma

I'm feeling dangerous tonight. Not myself.
I feel like breaking things, like destruction herself.
I feel like hearing him beg.
It happens sometimes. It must just be one of those days. One of those nights.
Usually clears up with a good night's sleep...

Who's in Charge?

So, during my multi-state fucking spree with John the Con, I got to learn a little bit about his world. It is true – on occasion, we talked.

Quit laughing.

I admit that it was difficult, at times, to have a conversation with John, who careens through life with ADHD on speed. My neighbor called him the “Antichrist-savant.”

No, really. Stop laughing. It’s unseemly.

I learned that the best way to converse with him was to similarly pack my nose full of shit and enjoy the ride. If I couldn’t keep track of his thought processes, at least I could hold his pace. I learned that it ain’t easy being a 1% these days. There are images to upkeep, bills to pay, sentences to serve…

One day, John asked if I might like to work for his particular organization... as a Dominatrix. Initially, I was somewhat flattered, as I imagined that Dominatrices (?) are somewhat up the scale from strippers, whores, and sex slaves in a club where there are no female members, just “known associates.”

Whilst giving me the pitch, he showed me a nicely-appointed dungeon I could use (rent-free!) to ply my trade. There was even a barred cell installed in this room complete with ceiling and floor hooks, which I thought odd. After many years behind real bars, what nutter would build fake ones in his own home?

There was an impressive array of sexual props and toys – a serious and envy-worthy collection. Ticklers and clamps and crops, oh my! I could have had fun all by myself in there for ages – who needs clients? He assured me that I would not have to have sex with clients, because apparently he wanted me to only have sex with him.

So, he pitched, took a breath, leaned back, and offered me the opportunity to think it over. I mulled over my decision for about 3 long seconds before politely declining.

In what parallel universe am I going to make my living off of the voluntary submission of others only to be forced to turn right around and submit myself? There was no mention of what my cut of the proceeds would be, and if my business was to be anything like what I saw with the girls who were stripping for the club, that percentage was sure to be negligible. I said “no” as nicely as I could (what happened to the _last_ Dominatrix?!) and offered to just continue fucking him. No charge.


One of the traditional (and often self-flagellating) exercises Americans tend to do at the end of a calendar year is to engage in some self-reflection, a bit of introspection. We take stock of how the year went, generally kick ourselves in the asses for what we did that was wrong/stupid/fucked up, and give ourselves nominal pats on the back for the good things we have done, somberly and resolutely pledge to do better this year, wallow in loads of diabetic-coma-producing sweeties or chemicals to assuage our inevitable depression about our past follies, pass out, wake up, join a gym.

Since I already belong to a gym (having proactively joined one at the onset of the holiday and pie season) I got to skip the last step in the sequence this year – lucky me!

This time, I thought mostly about who is in charge of my life? More often than I’m comfortable with, it’s not me. Although I avoid resolutions as I think they are an invitation to future disappointment, it is my intent to take great steps toward regaining personal control over my personal life. Wish me luck; it promises to be quite a ride. I’m reminded of the Chinese proverb (or maybe it’s a curse?): May you live interesting times.

2007

So, it is out with the old, and in with the new. Best wishes for a Happy 2007!

As for me, things are looking up a bit in the blog department. Wow! Apparently, nothing spikes a StatCounter like the author taking an extended vacation... I’ll have to remember that.

Where did you all come from anyway? Inquiring minds wanted to know, and are not very patient, so did some research all on their own...
I learned that Lou of Unfettered Cravings added me to his blogroll – thanks Lou! I think his blog is great, so that works out nicely. I’ve added him to my sidebar as well.

Also, thanks to Viviane for linking to Such a Nice Girl in her Sex Carnival. Two great posts also found there are: Dear Abby Lee: We’ve Outed You! on blog privacy and The Best of Craigslist, which is feckin’ hilarious. I’m considering relocation to the Bay Area as we speak.

As a result of that link, I think, I found feeds of that same post on these two other sites:
Sexoteric Blog
My Adult RSS
Thanks, Persons Responsible for That! (I’m afraid I don’t know the technical term for most things computer.)

Finally, many of you got here through The Sugasm where I submitted a post for #59.
I guess the way to get the links to show up in a copied post is to do it manually, so I’ll spend some time on that.

At any rate, no matter how you happened upon me, warm welcomes to you all. Feel free to drop me a line at the e-mail address in the profile, and enjoy your time in the Mirage.