worn panties

finally, we were getting heavy, ground soaking rain, after months of dry, hot weather. the dark grey skies had opened up their low rolling clouds as i was completing a small list of errands, which had me driving all over town, picking up and dropping off various items. before i went to the grocery store, i stopped to make a clothes donation, into the bin at the side of a large box store.

i was wearing low slung jean shorts. frayed along the cut off bottom, white strings of bleached denim tickled the top of my tanned and firm thighs. my pale purple capped sleeved t-shirt, had a wide and low scooped neck , showing a generous amount of cleavage with the full round tops exposed. The shirt was carelessly rucked up around one side as they were just a little too large at the waist. needless to say, as i exited the car, i was soaked almost to the skin, with rivulets of water cascading off my  bared skin and instantly soaking through the cotton of my top.

i was focused on the rain, distracted by the warmth of it against my skin, thinking how warm it was and how much the humidity was increasing, rather than improving. i opened up the side door and pulled out a small bag of clothes i had sorted through the prior day for donation. odds and ends from my lingerie drawer. nighties, teddies and slips i no longer wore. camisole sets i had grown tired of.

as i stepped up onto the curb and started to hoist the bag into the bin, two things happened almost simultaneously. first, an item fell out of the open top of the bag as i was lifting it, by the time it reached my shoulder height. the second was a man, who had just come into my peripheral vision, bent over to pick it up for me, as i turned to see what had fallen, lowering the wet bag to my side.

as he stood straight, looking at what was in his hand, i also looked at what he was holding and staring at with such intensity. it was a pair of sheer, vintage type panties, full bottomed, with delicate lacing around the legs and detailed stitching on the band, featuring a large and prominent gusset area, as was typical of foundation wear from the 1950’s styling.

we seemed to raise our eyes almost at the same time i saw him swallow hard and say “I’ll give you $50 for these”. the look on his face was cascading; arousal. sparks of a desperate kind of craving. fear of speaking impulsively and without thinking. deep dark need. As he spoke, he didn’t even wait for my instant reply; his wallet was out and his money was in hand, even while I was saying “Okay” and our hands reached towards each other, His to give and mine to take.

the moment the money was exchanged, his eyes got wide. surprise, delight, fear,pride of possession. All passing in succession as he quickly turned and went around the corner of the building. i stood there in the pouring rain, looking down at the wet money, slowly going limp, watching the rain pour off it’s sodden edge, and i smiled once the confusion started to pass. and then i chuckled.

and then i tipped my head back and faced the stormy day and laughed and giggled and gave myself over to the moment which took me several minutes to understand. i had just unexpectedly sold a pair of my lovely worn, but clean panties, to a stranger, in broad daylight, beside a busy mall during a severe thunderstorm and had $50 to show for it.

needless to say, as i entered my car, i tossed to soaked bag of lingerie back onto the seat beside me, thinking that there may be potential for alternative ways to dispose of them, other than donation into a charity bin. certainly more profitable ones, anyway.

Posted in erotica, fetish | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

shift work and shaft work

he said nothing as he slipped naked into my bed. i turned towards his cool body as his hands slid up my ribs to cup the heavy fullness of a breast, as he lifted it towards his eager mouth. his lips fastened over my puckered areola as he drew the nipple deeply towards the back of his throat, suckling hard and nuzzling in  erotic awareness of the softness his shadowed beard was rasping against.

arching into it, i silently demanded he suck harder, which he immediately complied with while using his other hand, wrapped around my hip to slide up my naked back and press gently, bringing me forward and pressing my breast harder towards his mouth. I could feel his cock hardening against my leg. The sheer weight of it, arousing me as I visualized how beautiful his big erection is once fully engorged.

i wriggled away from his mouth and touch; shimming down the length of his body, breasts dragging over his hairy form, as he shifted from his side to his back, as i inched my way  down his body, hands sliding over his groin and thighs, my own mouth searching for succor and towards the secret pillar of eroticism which was hidden from me by the darkness.

nails gently biting as my hand opened up as it moved over his upper thigh, so that i could cup his balls to gently knead them. i gently stroked the base of his shaft, almost as an afterthought, as i focused on the soft orbs, weighing them, molding them. my head was now on his stomach with my long hair trailing over his chest, draping over his side. i ran my cheek and nose against his shaft and felt it jump at the incidental contact. i felt his testicles contract on the palm of my softly clasped hand. i could feel his respiratory rate increase, with the positioning of my head.

i dragged my lips and tongue over his engorged head. i used my full lips to pull his foreskin and push it down as my mouth started to gently and far too softly, milk and stoke his cock. i used my hands to augment the gentle ministrations until it became torturous for him. His hips started to thrust. his cock seeking out more pressure and a faster cadence. all of which i prevented him from achieving by lifting away and pulling back on his balls, using them to guide the direction i wanted his cock to take.

he was struggling. his body was becoming taunt with the efforts at maintaining control. i could feel his stomach muscles tightening under my cheek. I could feel his quads bunching against my soft body and his glutes clench against my breasts. i could hear him pressing back against the pillows and his head tossing as he breathed heavily out of his nostrils, sounding like a bull ready to charge.

and that is when i took him hard in hand, stroking long from base to tip and used my mouth and tongue to do the same, but only on his head so that he received a tandem handjob and blowjob which brought gasps from his mouth as he received all the pressure and speed he had been aching for. it lasted long enough for him to catch his breath and realize what i was doing, before he flipped me to my back.

he entered my dripping wet pussy in one violent stoke of male dominance, so that his balls smacked my ass and he took back the control i had almost made him lose. he rammed me hard for 6 or 7 strokes, grunting his frustrations against my neck through clenched teeth; bulging biceps, shoulders and forearms, pushing me further underneath him, so that i could not escape from the pounding.

now it was me who was crying out and gasping. Left breathless and molten by the instant onslaught to sensitive and aroused flesh. he fucked me like a man who had been denied and teased which was the state i had purposefully pushed him to. there is nothing more arousing to me, than being used hard underneath a man who forgets himself  once he has gained entrance into your hot eager body. in those few seconds to minutes of feral coupling, he is the animal he keeps a tight rein on.

i revel in his loss of control. nothing makes me feel more alive, more like a woman, than having a man forget to be gentle with me, not care of he is hurting me or giving me pleasure. to make the only thing he is aware of, is his blind and driving hunger; his need to ejaculate fiercely inside of me so that his cum bursts from my body like a broken dam in epic waves of splashing virility.

he left me sleepy, tucked in, covered, well used and wet. quietly letting himself out after locking the door behind him before he drove home and the bed he shares with his wife.


Posted in erotica, lover, Relationships, The Book | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Gay parents

A friends daughter married her girlfriend over the week-end and it made me think about how parents respond to the fact that their kids are gay. Most parents will universally agree that having kids is a defining moment in their lives and raising a child is the most important thing they’ve ever done and you can not imagine life without them, once they are here. They don’t really understand people who make a choice to not have them, after they’ve experienced personally it, in spite of what their opinions were about it before hand.

So parents who have made the choice to have kids, might struggle with the idea of their children NOT having children, biological or otherwise. A child’s sexual orientation doesn’t matter to most parents as much as their desire to have them provide you with future grandchildren and being gay, used to mean that chances of grandkid’s were slim to none.

With the way the world is today, gay couples who want babies can have them and it is totally accepted. As a parent, I would be upset learning that my kids didn’t want children, over them being not being married or in a same sex union. It all boils down to my selfish desire to experience the joys of a baby you love more than life itself, except this time without the responsibility of ensuring they grow up into upstanding and productive citizens.

Parents want their children to be happy , to be treated well and to be loved by someone who loves them as much as you do. The gender of that person doesn’t really matter. What would be of more importance to me personally, is knowing they want to one day have children. Otherwise I’ll suffer from a severe and prolonged case of granny envy because the idea of grandkids is what got me through raising them through their teenage years. I would resent that dream being taken from me. It would crush me. It would take me years to adjust to the new reality that I wouldn’t be someones Gramma.

I don’t care who they choose to live with,or have a life with, have sex with with, as long as I  eventually get my grand baby. So when people come out to their families, they might want to consider laying their future family management plans out there are well, not in detail, but at least in partial disclosure, because to the majority of moms, that’s what we’re actually interested in.

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i don’t care

there is no music in my soul. i’ve been grey and sad for a long time now. my last hurt, hurt me deeply and it seemed to sever the little strand i had held onto, that kept me hopeful, that allowed me to be content and happy. i know i’ve been self destructive and i know the reasons why. and even in the knowing, i’ve not been able to change the behaviors, while i realize they are not in my best interest.

it’s like i am hoping to feel the pain of something tragic or dangerous to shatter me out of the numbness i’ve allowed myself to envelope me, like scar tissue over a sharp foreign object, embedded deep in my tender flesh. this is the closest i’ve ever felt to complete disassociation from anything. i get no joy from anything. i process the world around me in a cynical fashion, not believing in anything other than the innocent, narcissistic violence of children before they are taught societal rules and compassion.

i don’t believe in love. i do not trust people to stay in your life. they don’t. and they never will. i almost feel sorry for people who live in a world where they are unaware of how false the idea of that is. every time i’ve allowed myself to touch it and trust it, i’ve been burned. 100% of the time, i have been damaged. there is a sadness in me now. that lay behind my eyes and won’t allow me to get lost in pleasures i once had.

i’m not even struggling with it. it’s like i’ve resigned myself to watching myself bleed out, not caring one way or the other if someone applies pressure to save me. i don;t want to put the effort into saving myself, yet again. at this point, i am more interested in the pooling blood and the feeling of cool detachment as i watch myself implode from the safety of being outside of myself. at least with , you feel it’s comforting weight, even as you struggle to breathe from underneath it.

what i feel now is a lack of feeling and that i know should be completely disconcerting on some levels and yet, i really don’t care. i’ve tried multiple things to change it, to move it, and nothing is working. i am at the point of thinking that medication might be the only option i have but i do not want to go through explaining what is happening to anyone able to prescribe me something. i am not doing therapy again. i am not sharing head space with anyone ever again.

i feel wounded in a way that makes no sense to me. and i keep trying to move beyond it, acting normally and as i should, yet there is no feeling associated with the action.  my voice is dead. and where that once would fill me with dread, i simply don’t care. and my awareness that i don’t care can’t even propel me towards motivation to change as i’m done. i just don’t want to.

Posted in mental illness, Relationships | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Marital improvements

My husband is trying. And by trying I mean full court press of shit he should have done over the last 20 years, kind of trying. As in little surprises and doing some thoughtful things because he’s heard me say something and he’s remembered.  As in buying me new rings for our anniversary. Making some future plans and spending some time with me. And as I write this down, I realize that it may not seem like much or it may seem like pathetically little to some as he should have been doing this all along, but the reality is for him, these are massive strides.

One of the biggest things is his commitment to sexually pleasing me. Our sex life is a massive source of frustration for me. We are completely incompatible and he has had zero interest in improving things. However, he has been giving himself to pleasuring me as a way to cope with that. How is that a bad thing? Well, what arouses me is an aroused male and one who is actively seeking to ejaculate as cum excites me. A flaccid dick un-excites me – it’s almost offensive when it’s a constant as opposed to an anomaly.

A man who purposefully does not want to be aroused or ejaculates can not give me the excitement I need to feel ‘taken’ as that situation is one where I am the dominant, which does not match well with my need to feel submissive to the male partner’s sexual demands, to be sexually fulfilled. When I am dominant, then I am not searching for that sexual fulfillment for myself, but getting it because of meeting the needs of my partner. Confused yet?

I’ve struggled for years with trying to understand or figure out what may or might now excite him, totally based on his physical reaction when I try something. I’ve drawn conclusions about it, yet nothing quantifiable presents itself as proof of my theories. Yet he is trying. He is actively letting me know about his erection and he is letting me use it until he loses it and he is working hard at his oral and digital skills as well as using toys to make sure I am pleasured.

And he may finally be hearing that when he does this to me, I prefer him to finish…as long as I don’t demand that he does all the time. He wants the denial and sexual frustration which accompanies it. He wants to see the guy hitting on me and see him aroused for me. Where that will lead? We’ll see. Something tells me, it could be a whole new positive life style for us, or it could be the beginning of the end. That’s the funny thing about this. You never know which way it will turn, until you’ve fully committed to it. No different than catching a massive wave.

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women’s fragrance

i can’t say I am surprised at the number of men sniffing at my skirts and scenting the humid air, as the musky female scent of my damp body reaches them. there is something to be said about pheromones and natural, clean body odor which triggers a sexual response in the opposite sex. nothing is more arousing than a woman who smells like one, because most men want to taste her until he risks smothering

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i am an addict to his sex

you are like the used and dirty needle that multiple addicts have injected themselves with until the edge was so ragged and blunt, they finally discarded it along with the other debris which collects along the creases and cracks of broken casements along the dirty ground, pushed by gusting winds and overlaid with the putrid stench of rotting garbage, in a deeply shaded alleyway.

and as much as i look at the dull glint of your pitted surface with feigned disgust, knowing the evil and unseen things which lurk there; with as much time that has passed since the last time i used and injected myself with your poison, which i crave with every ounce of my weak and hungry body, i would knowingly allow myself to sink into that blessed oblivion which only comes from your special brand of drug, all the while pretending like i had a choice.

Posted in Affair, lust, writing | Leave a comment

a mans facial hair

there is something that happens to me on a biological level when  i see a man sporting, not just a goatee, but a full fledged lumberjack, groomed beard,  it’s shocking. it’s bold. it’s titillating. it makes me feel naughty and giddy. it makes me need to giggle as i exhale nervously and it makes my tummy flutter. i become instantly aware of him as a male. as an animal. as this big very different animal which is brazenly hairy and wiry and delicious. my imagination is so intense i can feel the scratch of that beard against my sensitive skin. i can visualize it. and my body responds to it in a very female way. ohhh, i arch for it. my lips part, my nipples harden, my pupils dilate and i can feel my labial folds engorging even as i feel the trickle of lubrication begin in hopes of easing his imagined entry into my body.  but it’s not like i am going to say all of that, when he initially asks the question to me. instead he will hear a rather simple, yes. as a matter of fact? i do like your beard. because while he may be able to handle the truth, indeed, absolutely love it in fact, i am positive that type of reply on a first date, at the local coffee shop, may raise a few eyebrows along with some other body parts and we do have to be mindful of how much one reveals on the first date, don’t we?

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the facebook block

i’ve blocked my spouse from facebook …again. he just frustrates me so much at times that i feel i can’t subject myself to that kind of explosive and instant anger he inspires in me. i tell him to not do something because it upsets or bothers me, and like a child, he then proceeds to taunt me with it until i react and then he uses it as proof that i over reacted. it’s an endless cycle at times. in spite of my telling him i was angry, he now knows it, because he hasn’t even tried texting me this morning. which is good since i don’t want to argue. and annoys me because all he would have to do is say he was wrong for pushing me once i told him to stop, multiple times. you know what? that’s wrong. i’d still be pissed off with him. the only way he can fix shit is to not do it in the first place because his words of apology mean nothing to me, because they are completely insincere. they mean nothing. they don’t stop him from doing the same thing, over and over again.

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excluded and wanted

so what I thought would be a 1 night meeting, casual, no commitment, no expectations, has resulted in communication and a 2nd meeting, which turned into an actual date. will it turn into anything? who knows. i don’t even care. i met him because i was hurt and furious about being excluded by my husband and his family, again, from a big family wedding i was not invited to and they attended. he could not have pushed me any harder, into another mans arms.

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