In an ugly world

Rochelle thought to herself, how ugly everything passing outside the windows on the street was at that very moment, as she peered out onto what many people would have thought to be one of the most scenic sky lines in the world.   Then again, she thought that fairly often.  It was not the backdrop, but the people that inhabited it that mystified and offended her so very often.  Her tone mumbling and with no one else to hear “For god’s sake why were people so foolish, so petty, so blind to beauty and what it could do for everyone”  the thought was that most people remained in at least her mind in the darkest ages of dress mankind had ever known.   The world with rare exception was much better viewed at a distance.  It was best seen as an abstract where the lines and colors blended gracefully into one and other like a beautiful collage where no one detail took precedent over another but was a feat for the eyes none the less.

 

She sat in her condo high above the world contemplating the things that were to come that day, things that should have concerned her, things that she should be looking forward to but ambivalence to anything of such stature was all that could be found.  Instead, she obsessed about the depth of her deep dark eyes, the softness of her feet, and other things that perplexed her like a book given as a gift from one of her dearest friends,  “the Complete Book of Running”.  Rochelle and her companions were so often on the front edge of things, their trends would end before the rest of the world would begin them, this trend was one of those but she could not see the forest for the proverbial trees as she stared out onto the park off in the distance.  She pondered with all of her intellectual prowess and to date, uselessly sharpened mind if there was a there a hidden message in there for her as she pawed at the first few pages.  It seemed perhaps even a little too preoccupied with the entire running thing.   That was in her mind best left to men who were paid to do so and poor country children that lacked other means of transportation and entertainment.

 

It was a shallow world that she inhabited, but she studiously spent her life knowing every inch and grain of sand in the small pond  that was her habitat and changed quickly with it as the currents would shift.  She would tell you after all that she had in fact chosen her world and while she believed that in her heart to be one of the purest facts it was the biggest lie anyone could tell themselves.  She had not chosen her world any more than she had chosen to be conceived.   She had not created anything in it, she was simply one of those things that was a dot on the abstract that is life, a dot with exceptional grace, beauty and mind but a dot none the less.  The world she lived in and had committed herself to with an unwavering purity had chosen her and done so from a very young age.

 

“Am I getting fat?” she pondered with delight now standing nude in a dressing area lined with mirrors that alone was larger than most apartments found in the city.  “Of course I’m not” as she looked back at her own reflection it was as perfect as a naked human specimen could be.  Her modest chest with taught breasts, led across a smooth stomach to her petite waist, which of course gave way to her sensuous hips.  She was woman that men would die for in her physical beauty alone although she had so often so much more to offer.  Her honesty, her commitment to something she believed in and of a genuine caring nature, at least if she deemed you worthy of her time.

 

 

 

The day passed and she made her way to meet friends.  It was one of those previously mentioned events that typically would be a high point in a day not filled with very many low points, still today this was just another thing that must be done.

 

The two old men sat to her left, one eating a baked spinach knishes and the other hot pastrami on warm rye.  Each one adorned in their own ill-fitting, off the rack, garments made of questionable synthetics at best were the perfect example of what so often troubled her.  “It is a travesty and atrocity beyond compare”  She blurted out to her table filled with other impossibly thin, vaguely sober, and equally ungrounded friends at Ben’s Kosher on 7th not far from the garment district.  It was a time when models, designers and anyone who could be associated with the fashion business frequented the art deco laced eatery.  It was in the fashion world as much of an Icon as the hot spots of any era.  It was littered with agency types, up and comers, models, photographers and magazine people.  It was a place to be seen, the midtown fashion world equivalent of the best country and private clubs for the Wall Street set.

 

There in the contrived elegance and fake schmaltz, serious, perhaps even life altering conversations were afoot as Rochelle and her friends picked at their food much like they picked at the surrounding worlds obvious and often obscene imperfections.   Each and every time she went out in public she considered it to an appearance, not the kind you’d find on page six that was for movie stars and wanna be’s but the mere fact that she was gracing the world with her silhouette, her panache, and her knowledge that by just being there she was making the world not only a prettier place but a better one as well.

 

Once, not so long ago, a soon to be former friend asked her if she had married into money.  After all, her upper east side lifestyle was akin to that sort of thing.  It was for most part neither uncommon or shameful. In disgust Rochelle replied that “Marrying into money is nothing more than prostitution, the ugly things you would have to do for the lifestyle were hardly worth it.”  Her tone now acusatory itself finished with, ” My money and life came to me the only decent way it could have….Inheritance!”   Not long after that, the Long Island born acquaintance who innocently ask the question but had in fact married her money was cast aside as any unwanted mutated orphan might be by trite soulless people.  Perhaps held in even lower regard than the same penniless people Rochelle had so often passed on the street quickly and in utter disgust.

 

 

 

There was afoot the notion, and some of her friends even the most refined ones were beginning to accept if not embrace it, that the truly Couture could be produced outside of not only Paris, but France.  To Rochelle, who considered anything not completely created in Paris a mockery and a shamble of rags, sat there on the edge of her chair shaking in disgust at such a thing.  Before her sat her usually well informed and educated peers but how could they suggest this?  Milan for all its fine tailors, its exotic and quality swaths of fabric produced impeccable garments, but to refer to anything as Couture was unthinkable.

 

She argued with logic that Yves Saint Laurent qualified, that they carried the seal needed.  They followed the strict guidelines and standards.  The others just rolled their eyes.   Rochelle who was a purist in the purist sense of the word was not willing to wavier.    She has horrid memories of a home in a pastured wasteland as a small child in Westchester.  It is covered with sprawling lawns and an affluent suburban set which is mere miles from Manhattan, 30 minutes by train.  Yet it might as well have been in the middle of South Dakota to this very day as far as she was concerned.  Fortunately she was rescued from a life that consisted of green grass, room to run, to play and puddles to splash in when it rained that weren’t lined with asphalt.  Her mother who felt equally isolated there moved the family back into the city before she was old enough to start school.

 

As the debate raged on, she recalled all too fondly her first trip to Paris in her late teens accompanied by an overly domineering mother to Channel’s Paris location.  She felt alive there, like a child filled with awe and wonder, to be standing in that great house.   The fittings, the energy of the staff,  the absolute precision.  It was then that she realized that it was a language and world all its own.  Ever since, she had traveled there at least once and often twice a year for new additions, she was awaiting her latest Nina Ricci.

 

The nights at the Lincoln, and all that that often meant, with pomp and posture attended with other well heeled individuals.   She was so often not just a face in the fashion crowd, she was known in the inner most circles.  She was considered an authority, an expert on such things and despite often wondering the streets of both NY and Paris, a fixture at runway shows often as the personal guest of the most renowned designers she was never complementary and polite just for the sake of being so.  Their works were what mattered and achieved accolades only if she felt they warranted it.   Yet somewhere in the distance something was eating at her, that unspoken something that had been a distraction all day, the hours of conversation were merely a way to pass the hours before she had to make her way toward the inevitable.</p>

 

 

 

The thoughts perplexed her as she made her way back up town.  Standing again in her dressing room with wine in hand as afternoon slowly gave way to evening and her most pressing engagement of the day. Again she stood naked in front of those mirrors pondering what to wear, carefully assessing her options and her collection.  Nothing seemed quite right and then at that very moment she noticed it, it had been there all of her life, an imperfection that shook her to her core, the one thing that not all the clothes in the world could hide, the ethnicity of her face and hair.  More so, that damn round face.

 

The bell rang and she slipped into her robe to answer it.  The box of all boxes was in the hands of the door man.  She thanked him emphatically.  Her mood lifted, all of her problems vanished.  The gentleman who rarely thought much of anything his wards received did know her well enough to understand her joy of seeing him with such a plain brown box.

 

Quickly she fixed her hair, and perfected what she could on the round face and obvious nose.  Her pale skin rosed with the softest shade of pink, her lips pouted demurely with a wicked smile, her eyes darker and deeper than they had ever been from her sense of satisfaction.

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Moments later taking the elevator down she moved purposefully toward the already open and waiting door.  She crossed the street and made her way into the park each stride bringing her a greater sense of satisfaction, her face still round, her hair covered  as she walked like all the world was watching so strong so confident and then the  thought she had been suppressing all day crossed her mind.  “Let’s see the bitch out dress me now.”  She smiled and then took an appropriately somber face.   After all, she thought “She’s dead.  It’s not like she can go change, all she has left to do is rot.”   And that is how Rochelle paid her last respects to her mother.   By whispering into her ear, “This time it is you that is horridly dressed.”

Thongs, push up bra’s, itchy burlap, and the decay of America’s morality

Greetings from the middle of a cornfield, if there is a hell, it is in the heart land and surrounded by cold winds, dark skies and brown desolate fields…and one very disgruntled foul mouthed and morally liberal east coast bastard or more simply put me. That is more or less where I am at the time of penning this little rant, in a make shift “city” in the great state of corn and formerly great state of a college football team dedicated to corn that now at very best sucks balls.

 

While for those from there might seem like the fourth horseman of the apocalypse but where my current home is had declared the end of the world on AM radio today as I drove to the airport and prepared to climb onto yet another flying phallic symbol.  “WHY FOR GOODNESS SAKE WERE YOU LISTENING TO AM RADIO”  you bellow at the top of your lungs and it is a point well taken the answer is simple…traffic reports.

 

The almost cookie cutter alarmist well informed and morally superior radio personalities come on using their 50,000 watts of influence and state “Tweens and teens in Push up Bra’s and thongs perpetrated by Victoria’s Secret”.  Now look anyone under 25 is probably far younger than I would entertain more than a passing conversation with on topics of a relationship of any type, unless placing a drink order at a regular stop of a watering hole then that is a relationship that I would fully support even at my somewhat advancing age.  But why the outrage?   To validate their point, they had two authors whose names I can’t recall but who claimed to “have their pulse on young people and trends”  they were billed as best sellers and had written books something like “inner beauty and burlap sacks”, and “keep your kitty to yourself you slut boys and grown men only want sex”  ok so I may have gotten the titles wrong but think I caught the general gist of their message quite well.

 

Yes the world is going to end any day not because Pakistan has been plunged into civil unrest and the nut job terrorists could wind up with the bomb, not because al gore has an ever increasing carbon footprint from running all over the earth telling us how to change our lives (try video conferencing instead of a private jet you big wind bag) but because teen age girls are wearing thongs and push up bras.  It’s been a while since I’ve railed against our stupid racist homophobic mentality as a whole but this one got me going yet again.   12 and 13 year old girls with the fashion equivalent of dental floss between their cheeks is the last front of moral decay.  Blah blah blah, ironically the push up bra topic got dropped almost immediately from the conversation…why?  Because flat house wives wear them to appear to have a racks since they were the age in question might be listening to the show.

 

“American business will sell what it can without moral regard.” The host and guests all agreed emphatically with the statement.  I shuddered at the hypocrisy.  Not a word was said about boys going from tighty whities and boxer shorts to skin tight sport briefs.  You know if they paraded though town in those the family jewels could and would be on full display.  But not a word it was all about girls as sexual objects…just like always.

 

 

As I pondered it I wondered what was thought of the decline of hoop skirts, ruffled bloomers and the god awful invention of the tennis skirt and bikini. Moral out rage we must pass out hefty bag like garments to all females immediately or god will smite us.  Warnings of the end and utter demise of our moral boundaries probably echoed through the town square and in the papers.  Men used to always wear hates in public now it is guys in ball caps, a few older men keeping their bald domes warm and wanna be style conscious nut jobs.  (said the shallow man writing this while sitting next to his Burberry overnight bag, talk about hypocrisy!)

 

Then came the “blame the parents” but I would like to offers some of my own suggestions as to why and how to fix this possible dilemma with my typical tongue in cheek manner.

1.  Have a thong burning outside your chosen denomination’s religious establishment.   Burning books has worked so well over the last century it really should be expanded to undergarments.  While your at it I’ll be across town at the local slut fest having a let’s burn your Granny panties party with your sister and husband who also thinks you’re a maniacal prude.

 

2.  Require that all thong purchases be recorded and insist on the purchasers government issued photo id.  Log them into a data base and track these miscreants every movement.  It would also help flush out transvestites, cross dressers, homosexuals and couples  that believe that there are more than one or possibly two acceptable sexual positions.  You really have to watch out for those kinky fucks unless they are ordained ministers or gov’t officials then it is all OK.

 

3.  Random thong inspection stations in publics schools, movies theaters, 4h meetings, and restaurants.   Surely nothing could stem the terrible tide of thong wearing girls and women than that.  Bloomers would of course be issued on the spot and the thongs seized.  Pulled off in a grotesque and painfully embarrassing wedgie until it snapped and was removed over the offender’s head.  Women from 6-80 would fall into the legal search range as to avoid profiling.

 

 

4.  Here’s a keeper hey Susie Fat Ass and Mother Mary Morality.  Lose 170 pounds or so, get a skin tuck or two, buys some heels and strut around feeling sexy instead of blobish for a change.  Now put down the good book, get thee to a gymnasium, and end your 4 decade love affair with Big Macs, things deep fried in lard and resign your post as president at the local “Any Woman under a size 20 is a Whore” Chapter

 

5.  Only sell them with biblical verses on the front, something about wasting a man’s seed comes to mind, also the one about not coveting things, they there is all the ones about only god can judge.

 

6.  Sell them only in mommy and me packages.  Talk about sick that would be troubling.

 

7.  Think of it as a small solution to global warming call your local elected criminal and demant that all sexually based and appealing under garments be made from “green” cotton and silk.  Look at it this way less material even in larger sizes, more could be shipped at once the possibilities of positive environmental impact are immeasurable and far out weigh the moral damage they would cause.

 

Before the conservatives (as if any are brave enough to read me on a regular basis) blurt out.  “Malfic you don’t get it”, or “wait until you have a daughter”, or any other number of things implying I’m in the dark.  Take this in I have two girls that fit in the age range discussed tween and early teens and guess what their undergarments are none of your fucking business and aren’t really any of mine either unless they are strutting though the house in them.  To which a simple “would you put some god damn pants on” usually tends to do the trick.

 

 

Let’s take a poll Go to church an Sunday and look at all the good god fearing women there and count the fake tits, push up bras and guestimate the number of thongs.  Then next week end go to the local swingers club, count the fake tits and thongs but bet you won’t see many if any push up bra’s and odds are the fake tits and bra’s will be greater per capita at church then with the swing set.

 

Here’s another fun fact based on my life and my life only.  Early on and though my college years most of the morally loose women I knew wore the most conservative undergarments day in and day out and the prudes and non adventurous ones were the most scantily clad under their outer layer.

 

Now I’m off to start my burlap, bloomers, chastity belts, and more website.  I intend to market it to the Religious Right, Hasidic Jews, Environmentalists (they like burlap from what I’m told, oh wait that was hemp my bad) and Moderate Muslims by talking about the benefits of virtue, chastity and the time honored tradition of female sexual repression and then use the profits from their puritan asses to put my kids through college at Berkley or NYU.  Which might make them complete ranting nut jobs (like their father) but would at least make them tolerant of others and generally accepting of people as they are regardless of what they do with their genitals and their type of undergarments.

Body Lube, Rubber undergarments, and girls sporting provocative sayings

Now for those of you thinking there he goes again off to the fetish shop to find a yet unattainable piece of deviant this or that to reach Nirvana, or off he goes sneaking out to the local munch to mix and mingle with the leather and pain crowd yet again but at least he knows not to wear white this time, or perhaps even outing an alternative lifestyle a bit again or participating in some St. Louis based kink convention like Spanksgiving. (Google it I didn’t make this one up)

 

I give you this. There is not a good Fetish shop in this town, if there is dime me in since I’ve been here 4 years and can usually find one in any city in the first 30 minutes.  So far no such luck and trust me it’s not for lack of trying.  Gay men may have Gaydar but I seemed to have a highly developed sense of Kinkdar.  No kink shops here thank you very much, and the Pizza sucks, damn puritans.

 

But while out the other night in a shop that caters to my completely obsessive new fetish that includes “specialty” shoes and body lube the nice girl asks me as I stare mindlessly at their wares.

 

“Do you have enough rubber underwear?” The pretty, rail thin little blonde asked again since I didn’t answer the first time.  This is the same girl that few months back was obsessing perhaps unhealthily over my feet more than an old lover with a foot thing ever did.  I was quite concerned at the time. But somehow I got over it.

 

Now I’ve been asked about a lot of things by women I don’t really know but about owning rubber underwear until that point hadn’t been one of them.  I love Latex, but not me in latex. Women in latex very sexy, me in latex well, not so much so.

 

I stare back at her ” I don’t think so” knowing damn well I didn’t own any for any purpose.  There are a lot of things I don’t own leather pants for example are for rock stars and gay bikers for example.  OK I’ll give you hunters if you are referring to brush pants.

 

She points out that they have both boxers and briefs that were obviously in plain sight somewhere in my soul I’m grateful she didn’t point out a thing option. Perhaps she assumed looking at me that I was blind or at least visually impaired from some acquired illness or jerking off incessantly.   I must have had that diseased masturbator look about me for a few moments there.

 

“Keep in mind they run a little small” She added then showing me the ones that were only rubberized in the dead center portion of ones nether region and how the rest was “comfortable lycra”.   I picked up what I came for body lube to keep from chaffing as I sweat and decided to pass on the new additions to my wardrobe.  When it gets colder out I’ll worry about freezing my balls off and getting frost bite on my member but not quite yet.

 

Great running shop and based on how lame this town is it is the first place I’d been to that sold anything rubber that was wearable by anything other than my car.  But still it’s not the same without them selling baby powder to put it on with and black beauty to make it shine.

 

 

The next morning arrives and as I head out into the 27 degree weather and I start with the body lube, it’s cold out and personally I can’t stand chaffed nipple so going from north to south I end with the arches of my feet and then head out to find an assortment of people in everything from short shots and teensy weensy tops to people bundled up for an artic expedition.

 

Now I’ve always been one for edgy phrases of bold declarations like, leather daddy, it’s only kinky the first time, or my personal favorite “Rope Slut”.  Most were in tights, the men included even though it was not the ballet or Peter Pan but my favorite was watching 4 lithe little numbers pouring out of a car that on the back window that had written across it “FAST GIRLS HAVE GOOD TIMES”.

 

In a fashion that is true to myself I found a position near the front and conversed demurely with the “fast girls” as they contorted themselves into a variety of positions fit for the karma sutra if it was published by Nike.  Scantily clad they stood there apparently so thin that their bodies had become immune to climatic changes and freezing weather.

 

Then it happened the gun went off, the mad dash began and once again I failed to keep up with the fast girls, ahh the story of my fucking life.  I could always get a fast girl but I could never really keep up with her after a while and away she went off into the distance with me still chasing after her ass, in this case quite literally.  Why should running be any different?

 

For more than a few minutes I watched and tried like hell as they pulled away from me more and more with each quick bounding stride.  And that’s when it hit me the girl in the store was not trying to sell me rubber pants to keep my Willy from freezing this winter because she cared.  It was because with a single glance and few words she had me pegged as slow.  Bitch!  Moral of the story never trust fast girls.

Girls night out, innuendo, and another woman in my bed

So many of us shade our sex lives from the light of day.  I’m usually a little different, more open, even an exhibitionist about things but still most often omit damming details and specific events that are best left to the imagination or kept between lovers.

So OK so my subscribe banner is a chest that is attached to a woman that I not only know but also love.  Trust me any part of her is far more interesting than anything I possess.  Ironically I still consider myself more of an ass man than a tit guy.  Anyone who pays attention to what I write knows what I’m into and in this case hopefully the Blonde will forgive me because this is one that I just had to share the details of unaltered, without omissions, and intended to recall it with out any embellishment in the least.  But that wouldn’t really be that funny so I punched it up a bit for effect or laughs but all in all for once it is an accurate depiction of how my mind works.


The black type is the Gospel of what happened on one specific occasion.  The red ink however limited is how I would like to think it went. You know if I was really on my game.

It is if nothing else the quintessential example of the life of Malflic behind the corporate greed, obsession with German cars, occasional distraction by shiny things, distrust of law enforcement, and blood lust for power beats the heart of a man who wants what all men and teenage boys really want at the very core of their beings.  SEX and lots of it preferably but not necessarily with beautiful women!!!!

So on this occasion my very, very beautiful companion has plans that didn’t include me, I’m a big boy I can entertain myself for relatively short periods of time with out the need for supervision.

She comes down stairs in black heels (mmm love her in heels), beautifully curve hugging deep dark blue jeans (you really have no idea what you’re missing), a tight black shirt accentuated by her long flowing locks (there’s good reason I refer to her as my Chesty Blonde), and a genuinely pretty face to top it all off. The kind you really don’t see very often. Add to it that she’s a good soul and a nice kind person and you quickly see why people are wondering what she is doing with my ugly, sarcastic, shallow ass.  Good question but who am I to tempt fate?

I offer to drop her off and pick her up at the end of the night.  No need to worry about a few soda pops if she wanted to imbibe.  She agrees and off we go.  I kill a few hours out and about doing nothing of particular consequence and head home to stare mindlessly at the TV and wait for the phone to ring.

It finally does a little before 10 and another woman is on the line.  Now it’s not another woman in the sense that I have another woman who calls me at home when the Blonde is out, nor is it a wrong number, or a telemarketer flagrantly ignoring the do not call list. Rather it a friend she is out with.

Wait why is she asking if I’m the only one on the phone?  Of course I’m the only one on the phone I assure her and she all but screams a few very suggestive things into my ear, not the subtle sensual whispers of a lover’s request, not the playful banter of a phone sex operator reading a script and pretending to get off, but a woman who uses words and made suggestions about the state of my usual companion that were by any estimate the stuff of the very best dear Penthouse letters from the late 80’s (which is the last time I bought a Penthouse so I’m not sure about the current content).   And from there it got really, really dirty.

I like people who aren’t afraid to say what they’re thinking.  I curse like a sailor and talking dirty isn’t usually an issue unless I do it at an “inappropriate time”.  She seemed to be very good at both using profane words and oddly combining them with suggested states of arousal, lewd acts, and suggest how I could in the not too distant future help remedy the situation and building need in a rather shall we say hard and fast manner.  The best part is she didn’t need my Amex number, or a case of beer first to talk like that and she wasn’t trying to tempt me just to get back at an ex anything.  Sorry boys (and in some cases girls) she’s spoken for, lucky man.

OK the girl got my attention and if a fraction of what she was suggesting was true I was in for a good night she’d drop the Blonde off in a bit.  30 minutes later pouring a drink that kills the last few shots worth of Kettle, the last drops of the OJ and a glass of wine for the companion of mine who should be arriving in the near future.  Off to light a few candles, turn up the heat so the house isn’t to cool, and always the hopeless romantic retire to the bedroom to wait and watch sports center sports center since there was no decent porn on cable.  (Why this surprised me is in itself a mystery there is never any decent porn on cable yet I hold out hope)

About 90 minutes (or more) later I hear the front door, her foot steps on the stairs, through the loft, down the hall, Sports pale in comparison and I stay reclined across the bed clad in plaid pants and zippered top. She walks in to the room as beautiful as ever and surveys it, says hello and then wonders back out into the hall.  I had by that point consumed the vodka, the original wine I poured for her and one or two more.  Still stone cold sober but mellow and patient knowing sooner or later she’d be back I waited.

The door opened again as she wondered in smiling, an extra twinkle in her eye and a devilish grin.  Trailing a step or so behind her was the quite alluring dark haired body of the verbally creative sexually charged woman that called me earlier making lewd suggestions about states of arousal, potions, lotions, and dildos.

” I see you brought me a present” I offered coyly.  The friend grins and then takes a few quick strides followed by a large leap over the foot board and jumps into bed with me.

“JACK POT, FUCKING JACK POT!!!!  FUCKING EH, GIRL’S NIGHT OUT IS THE BEST NIGHT EVER!!!”  And other similar things run through my head at a million miles per hour I’m thinking something about the number three in French what is it a again twat no that’s not right it just kind of sounds like that.  Trois! Trois! Trois!  I got it!

 In reality my mind is going a million miles an hour with things like “why is this woman in my bedroom” and “now what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Her elbow and shoulder ricocheted off my head as she came to a sprawling rest next to me but who cares I’ve been hit in the head a million times for a variety of reasons, failing to move quickly enough is probably the most common one.

I’m still drinking it all in, the rest of the universe outside of that roomed ceased to exist completely.  She’s giggling, my Blonde joining in near unison watching me closely, things still look very good from my lounging view point.  My imagination is still doing the math on the possibilities and required questions like straight or Bi?  Kinky or Vanilla? Even if the answer is yes should we save that for perhaps another time?  What had they planned?  Then after a few awkward moments she rolls out of bed, stands up tall, looks deeply into the dog’s eyes, and starts talking to him.

Cruel vile women!  She’s already lost interest in me and is telling the dog how pretty he looks! What a good boy he is!  How nice it is to see him.  90 minutes earlier she was talking dirty to me completely unprovoked, 30 seconds ago she came bounding into my bed and now she was talking to the god damn dog rubbing his head, scratching him behind the ears.  What the fuck?  At this point my tail wasn’t the one that was wagging!

The ladies converse and said it was all her idea to shock me.  Shock me?  What shocked me was the fact that it was the first time in recent memory if not ever that a woman came at a blinding speed to get into bed with me and then topped it off with paying attention to the dog.  She could have brought home a 100 naked writhing sluts that looked like playmates but were really just nuns out on a bender looking for a nice hard fuck and it would have shocked me less than a woman jumping into bed only to jump right back out and talk to the god damned dog.  Sure I should have known better and the truth be told am such a Germ-o-phobe that sort of thing wouldn’t have worked for me anyhow even if I wanted it to.

And there you have it life summed up into a simple experience, no threesome, no wild new things to explore just a few giggles, some nice conversation, a dog that felt loved, and me as the butt of the joke.  In the end all was made right and ended well but the number involved was not trois but deux and those are the details best left between lovers and to your own imagination but it was awfully damn good.

And in all fairness I uncharacteristically let the Blonde read it before posting and she found my view point less than amusing, but boys will be boys even if all they really want is sex.

2 young lesbians, a drunk girl in a convertible & watching lovers quarrel

Best of works are older pieces originally posted else where, typically they are humorous looks into my less than normal day to day life.

Greetings yet again from sin city, if I had a fifth place I called home there is no doubt that this would be it based on the amount of times I seem to make it here every year.  As an update to my gambling losses I’m down, every red cent I bet this year but on the up side it amounts to 8 bucks (2 per trip).  I was up 80 and blew it all, most gamblers will laugh but for me to not walk when I go up a nickel is a rare event.  Now on to the sites and sounds on the strip this time around.

So Thursdays here start to get busy and with the big fight weekend coming up the news predicted of dire situations and “escalating gang violence” from all the LA hoodlums that were going to show up for the week end.  The erratic and alarmist news caster reassured the viewing public that it would be nothing like the rampant violence and massive crime problems encountered during the most recent Democratic National Convention oh wait it wasn’t the DNC it was the RNC, wait that’s wrong too it was the NBA all Star weekend.  I took a deep and relieved breath knowing that it would be bad but not that bad Still I was prudent and kept on the look out for commie bastards, any potential members of the Axis of Evil, and anyone who might attract the ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Clintons, G.W., or Al Sharpton. What they should have warned me about were the 5 Japanese senior citizens in the suite next to mine that would converse at a seemingly in human speed and laugh merrily at a sleep depriving level all night long the first two nights.

So as I finished my business and began roaming the strip last night me and another middle aged white guy in our blatantly demure corporate causal attire, served as a testament to the possibility that there would be escalating fiduciary responsibility in Sin City along with  the gang presence.   Yes the first two horsemen of the apocalypse had arrived reprobate financiers and drug dealers.  Get thee to a nunnery and may god have mercy on your soul!


The only sign of things that had begun escalating was all the fat mid westerns roaming up and down the blvd after grazing gluttonously at the no longer bargain priced buffets .  After stops at the Bellagio, NY NY and Caesar’s we headed toward Treasure Island.

Oh sure people had been trying to hand us pictures of mostly nude women who would love to visit us for a fee of course but standing waiting to cross in front of Treasure Island the treasure of the evening occurred.  A completely inebriated, perhaps inebriated is too polite of a word,  let’s start this over a completely  shit faced drunk about to pass out in the gutter with all three sheets in the wind woman looks out of her electric monkey shit blue Bimmer with the top down and asks the youngish couple next to us.  “is that your girlfriend?”

Frankly neither of us had noticed the couple before, we were too busy noticing the long legged show girl type strutting in front of us, the Latina with lovely hips and thin wispy skirt and the miracle of modern science in the see through blouse and dark nips standing in all their glory that were beaming at us as much as her pearyl whites that she flashed a little wider with each bouncing stride.

So on to the lesbians. Taking in the pair neither was over 5’3″one was dressed looked a slightly hippy McDonald’s eating out of shape skater boy in a ball cap, baggy pants  sneakers and t shirt.  If the question hadn’t been asked I wouldn’t have thought her to be female, I wouldn’t have looked close enough.  The other in a short denim skirt that showed off her short, thick legs and full round ass.  Not unattractive but compared to the surroundings not in the top 30% either, she had a cute little round girl next door face, longish dark hair and a good sized chest.  These were not the male idealized sexy hot play toy porno lesbians that the adult video companies portray in their fantasy indulging productions.  They were just a real people and a real couple out on the street.

As the boyish looking one replied that the other was in fact her girlfriend and took her protectively by the hand. The drunk hot long dark eyed brunette in the bimmer (who was flanked by an even hotter disassociated looking blond and two Latin lover types in the back seat)  began to blighter on how cute the young lesbo was.

She then eventually she called out ” I’d so fuck your girlfriend!” The butch one got pissed, it was more akin to the starting linebacker from a football team’s reaction  if the president of the high school chess club tried to advance his bishop to capture afore mentioned linebacker’s queen and began screaming back indignantly about how she wouldn’t.   As the light changed and the bimmer pulled out the young couple crossed the street and the pair began to argue.  They argued about the stranger’s proposition, they argued about how the other lacked a sense of fidelity.  The cute one tried to reassure her, she took her hand, she stopped threw her arms around her and kissed held her partner, quite lovingly.

 

Now any of us who have been around the block know that some people can kiss anyone they want to lovingly and with a heated passion at any time they need to so while it could have been genuine affection it also could have been an attempt to hide past infidelities and trysts.  The butch girl wasn’t buying,.. as we walked up the street a few more blocks you could see her discomfort, you could see her fear and I could remember how un-fulfilling, desperate, unstable, and all consuming young love was and seemingly still is.

How passion and uncertainty of a future could vanish in an instant, in the very second that something better came along.  Gone with little or no regret  by one party and a large gaping wound on the other, the uncertain one the one who failed to see the futility in their devotion and love, and the lack of intention and genuine reciprocation.

The cute one pleaded, she implored, she border on begging her lover to believe her that there was no one else that she had no interest in anyone else, not at that moment not ever, clutching at her, reaching for her hand, stopping just short of a Shakespearian act of throwing herself on to Las Vegas Blvd. to prove her own devotion. A cold hurt shoulder still existed.  Perhaps it was and I am merely speculating here that the butch girl would have jumped at the opportunity to have a dalliance with the drunkard in the car.

Fuck I would have done her and to put it in crude layman’s terms, she was a woman who wouldn’t just look good bent over a sofa, she was in fact very hot, quite pretty  facially and seemingly open sexually speaking …sure I knew nothing more about her than the Quarreling couple she could have had a host of un-redeeming characteristics other than  her adult beverage consumption rate to go with her looks but for them moment we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

As my counter part in crime ( or fiduciary responsibility) for the evening turned to me after four speechless blocks and stated “you don’t hear that every day”

I shrugged and said “I guess just because you live an alternative lifestyle doesn’t mean you don’t have the same problems of jealousy and insecurity.  If  she likes a she and she and she likes a she ,then I don’t see why the butch one didn’t return the proposition with and “I and I’d so like to fuck you too   Making it a ménage three.”

 He stopped and corrected my French saying don’t you mean trois ?”    “No I meant three it rhymes better with she.”   He looked perplexed and we headed back to Agent Provocateur to consider wasting money on an iridescent blue garter, g-string and matching mostly sheer bra that his wife will never wear, not for him, not for herself.   Sometimes I just don’t understand people.

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I did however ever see a woman at 3:30am posing in a hotel lobby lips puckered up kiss to a Wayne Newton poster, her friend snapped a picture, then she turned hiked up her skirt revealing a thong and placed her backside with amazing skill and dexterity on poor old Wayne’s face as if  he were about to spring to life and get her off.  Her friend snapped another pic and security arrived to discuss their behavior.  Stumbling into the limo not from intoxication but fatigue I was passed by a woman that for some reason reminded me of the old Motley Crue song Same Old Situation and a line from training day soundtrack at the same time ”  …with a Portuguese time piece named Karen”

 These thing also go into the category of things I don’t and never will understand.

Do you like to watch? An interlude with a Masochist

That’s how it all began, hot and heavy into a lust and on my part a beverage influenced encounter.  The simple question of “do you like to watch?”  Was asked and at the time being young, dumb, and male I provided a look that must have explained all too clearly that I wasn’t quite following the question.

“Do you like to watch a woman?  Would you like to watch me?”  She directed the question somewhat more directly at me as she reached down and touched herself.  Did I like to watch? Now I was getting the idea of what she was talking about. What the hell of course I liked to watch.  If my college had offered a major in Porn watching,  advanced debauchery, and sorority girls with excessively questionable morals I would have graduated first in  the class with the exception of porn watching because my one anally obsessed roommate had seen more porn than the people who film the stuff for a living.  Unlike him though I actually had a very consistent carnal diet and had been not only around the block a few times but spent a few years playing in those less traveled alleys and dark shadowy spots along the way.

So I answered affirmatively and she moved her warm flesh away from mine, the heat from our intertwined bodies immediately dissipated.  She was petite, with almost porcelain white skin, a very cute little ass, racing stripe shaved pubes and just out of arms reach at the edge of the bed, as she went to work on herself.   Now as fascinating as it was after a 20 minute solo of rubbing, exhibition, and “oh now watch me as I move like this” getting herself repeatedly to the edge of god knows what, murmurs, moans, and her self called play by play and commentary that would have made John Madden jealous. I offered to help out.  Sure she was getting off but the thrill had faded and I might as well have been watching the news.  That offer led to a lets show the boy what I can stick in there session, and while a change of pace eventually I came to the conclusion that odds were short of cutting my leg off above the knee I possessed neither the length or the girth to meet her needs.  In fairness to her when I was allowed to rejoin the fun there was never a single complaint that I was no where near the size of her coke can wide dildo.

That was our first encounter, a little different pace but as we then began to do more civilized things like get to know each other a bit better, and on occasion fuck like normal human beings it quickly became clear that she was a little less reserved than yours truly which is to say pretty much not at all.  A few weeks later sitting in the warm and rare spring sunshine she brought up the topic of de Sade.  At this point I didn’t know what we now call a scene was but had been playing with the bondage and pain crowd on my own and was quite the budding little sadist.   Unlike a lot of people I admit that I have a sadistic streak, a well tempered one mind you but deep down it is part of who I am.

She went on and on about how she wanted to be whipped to orgasm, describing in great detail how and where. Talked about how she loved to see red welts raised on her flesh, that every one of her lovers had eventually spanked her and the more soundly the better.  After hours of discussion, countless innuendos cast in my direction she confided in me a fantasy that she said she had never dare share with anyone.   I wasn’t sure I believed her but what the  fuck after all the things she talked about  I was game to listen.

 If she was sharing what she had been and was such a student of such things as de Sade surely this had to be something spectacular that my twisted little soul might not have even imagined.   It was but sometime things just don’t turn out as expected.

 Rather than dime me in ahead of time she set a time and day for me to visit, one where we’d have the apartment all to ourselves.  So I showed up in true college fashion, beverages in tow.  The lights were off, candles were lit and music was playing, not soft romantic stuff like one might have expected but classic rock.

 She was in shorts and a T shirt, nothing spectacular just everyday clothes, after a very warm and passionate welcome and a few minutes of chit chat.  She asked if I was still ready to help her with her fantasy and of course not knowing what I was getting into I agreed.

 “great wait here I’ll be right back”  she said disappearing down the hallway towards the bedroom leaving me in the flickering candle light listening to music that I had no appreciation for at that point in life.

 My imagination raced as to what was about to happen but she showed up in heels, dress pants, and a blouse that had an inordinate amount of tiny little buttons on it.  She looked like an IBM employee hiding a button fetish.  Now I was expecting a slutty little number, a teddy, crotch less panties, maybe a leather skirt not a job interview suit.

 Taking my hand she got me to my feet kissed me and then said “ I want you to literally tear every stitch of clothing from my body.”  After clarifying what she had just asked for making sure of her desires I finally had a real use for all the time I spent in the weight room. Nothing with her was ever that simple.  “Pop every button off my blouse.”  The request was completed adding a deep wet kiss.

 Offering a wrist I took the cuff in hand and with a gentle tug popped the button.  Then the other arm followed suit.  “start at the collar.”  She instructed.  So I did.  Then she added after the first three had let go.  “Be rough, don’t just pop the buttons.  Rip my clothes off. Don’t just undress me.”   She didn’t have to tell me twice as I ripped her blouse open with one explosive pull, buttons flying through the air, bouncing off our bodies before finally littering the floor.  A bra, the girl was wearing a damn bra, a sexy little lacey number.  Pressing against me and doing her best to arouse me (even more) asked “Now tear off my pants”.

 I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to tear off a pair of pants but it takes a great deal of strength once the zipper has been destroyed, not to mention determination. She was bound and determined to have the pants turned into nothing more than a pair of rags that had been ripped from her frame. She responded to every torn inch of fabric and seam  with her play by play commentary when not murmuring in delight.  After that was done the same request came for the bra and panties whose lace possessed very little challenge.

 Now naked and visibly aroused with torn material draped on her and surrounding her feet she proceeded to undress me.   Normally thank you very much but finally we were getting some where that interested me a little more as she took me in her mouth.

 Then she stopped looked up and added “I know you like to watch”  she added stroking me with one hand while talking.  The other hand slid a small gym bag out from beside the couch.   Here we go again I thought as she eventually had me sit on the couch.

 Opening the bag she pulled out the infamously large toy, a few others and then a short leather strap.  She was on the table right in front of me spread her legs and then CRACK she smacked her inner thigh with her open hand again and again until it was a fiery red.  These were not playful little slaps the girl was literally wailing away on herself in the same spot over and over.  Then switching sides until every inch of her inner legs from just below crotch to mid thigh were literally beat red.  Her pussy wet and glistening in the candle light as I looked on.

 Closing her legs and kneeling between my feet she when to work on me again, unlike her previous solo act she was keeping my attention and passively involved.  It was still all about her but some how I didn’t seem to mind. Quickly I came to the conclusion she had not been exaggerating when we discussed her pain filled desires.

“I failed to get you off”  Her eyes meeting mine “ tell me to punish myself”.  Again she went to work on me, this time half heartedly at best.  So Playing along I reprimanded her and told her she needed to be punished. “you’re going to punish me she asked?”  but I played along and told her to punish herself and not to stop until she had learned not to disappoint me.

Back to the table she went legs spread wide red thighs waiting not a hint of modesty she cupped a breast in one hand and used the small (an inch or so wide and 5-6 long) leather strap on the breast and nipple.  Then viciously pinching her own nipple pulling it way from her body holding quite taunt she proceeded to whip the underside flicking her wrist and snapping the little piece of leather upward.  Once both were very self abused to the point just short of bruising it was back to her thighs this time with the strap.  Shortly there after she slithered between my legs as I looked on in wonder having played rough but never like this she was not only hard core but seemingly in to extreme self flagellation.

Looking up at me with the same eyes as before the routine repeated itself.  Warning her she had 2 minutes to make me cum.  She smiled so I guessed right.  After two minutes of a sloppy half assed suck fest she of course didn’t.   Bringing her to her feet I toyed with her lips teasing her mercilessly, she moaned in delight as I scolded her.  This time she sat on the edge of the table and slowly used the leather on her own kitty, little slaps, well spaced then adding a toy and reaching underneath herself with one arm to hold it in while swatting away with the other before again going on to a touch up session on her chest and thighs.  Occasionally looking my direction before looking away and continuing.

“There’s one more thing she said curling up on my lap”.  Again with no idea I just waited knowing she would tell me.   A few minutes passed in an odd silence and groping when she finally chimed in with, “I saved my ass for you”.  She got up, went to the gym bag, handed me a paddle and proceeded to cross the room and bend over the table.

I sat watching and she stayed in position just waiting for me to join in the fun.  By the time I had thought her bottom was thoroughly scorched since it was a fiery red with out a hint of the pale white it had started out as.  “Harder” she said “spank me harder”.  A few minutes later when I paused she pleaded for me to keep going.  Soon she was wincing with each swat but still wanted more. Obliging as she reached between her own legs the session continued on at varied pace and intensity until she was just short of completely raw.

Without changing positions she savagely impaled herself on me. Sometime later we hit a point of pure exhaustion. The rest of the weekend followed much the same way, she had thought it all out, knew exactly what she wanted and I was nothing more than a dick with a wicked streak.  A few more pure watch me get off solo acts, a bare assed switching while hand cuffed to a tree in the back woods of a state park, multiple request for this and that including trying to take her kneeling over the edge on the bath tub and countless other things.  She was insatiable

Clues Hints and Requests (Part 2)

BE ADVISED This story depicts  consensual M/F Spanking play and fantasies and is intended for adult audiences.

After a long week of work Jeff received a call on his way home Friday night.  “There’s a note waiting for you by the front door when you get home.”  Gina told him as he drove up the highway.

Jeff continued to listen as she continued. “Just do what it says and you can make my wildest fantasies come true. OK?”

She asked thinking about it, could she really follow through with her plan?  There was still time to change what it said.

“NO” She thought to herself, this is the only way.

“OK”  Jeff responded enthusiastically, not knowing exactly what was waiting for him at home but he couldn’t wait to find out.

Gina added “it’s a little bit kinky. But it’s something I want to try.”  A lie a bold faced lie, she wasn’t trying anything new, she knew she loved and craved a sore bottom, it was just that she was trying it with Jeff.   Who agreed without hesitation to enter the house and read the letter “before going anywhere.”  She made him promise and he did.

Forty minutes and a frustrating congested ride home Jeff entered the house parking in the drive rather than the garage, and went in through the front door.  Jeff was after all quite a literal fellow and promised not to go anywhere until he read the note by the front door.  Opening the soft pink paper the letter read.

“You are the school principal and there is a naughty girl waiting in your office.  Put on something academic and meet me in the office upstairs”  The house was quiet except for the fountain gurgling in the foyer as Jeff made his way to the master bed room looking in his closet chose a brown suit that was a touch too big, a long out of style blue tie and a white shirt.

Gina sat in the office on a small wooden chair beside his desk on the far side of the room nervously wondering what had taken him so long.  The room was dimly lit the books shelves and dark wood work absorbed what light there was causing the room to be filled with a soft yellow glow.  Jeff made his way back through the house up the stair case across the landing and down the hallway towards his office which sat directly above the garage.  Another piece of pink paper had been laid in the hallway three steps before the glass doors.  It read

“Gina has been sent to your office for the third time.  Previous visits have failed to make much of an impression, A few things you need to correct her behavior have been set out for you.”  She signed it with a smiley face inside of the letter G.  His mind raced with the possibilities and was just now starting to get what this was about.

Opening the door Gina all but jumped out of her chair, her heart began to race and she could feel herself starting to turn bright red with embarrassment.  His entrance had startled her, she expected to hear the garage door.  Gina thought she would have a few minutes while he changed to work up the last bit of nerve, it had taken all of her courage to get to this point.  She felt exposed, like he was seeing something so deep inside of her, a piece of who she truly was.  As Jeff spotted her sitting there before he walked through the glass door sitting there anxiously in a school girl’s uniform with her hair pulled back.  He saw her jump and glimpse at him meekly.   He stood there just watching her, as she looked toward him but not in his eyes.

“I’d be embarrassed too.”  He said, firmly but not in an overly stern tone.  Gina wanted to jump up tell him to forget the whole thing, make a joke of it. She was mortified, what could he possible be thinking.  She began to mutter and sweat.  Jeff saw his fraternity paddle sitting on the corner of the desk, and doubts about her desires since the second note had been erased.  She stood sheepishly fumbling for what to say.

He repeated himself “I’d be embarrassed too if I had been sent to this office for the third time.”  His tone fluctuating between stern and playful, Gina looked into his eyes, she knew his expression told her that he understood, she began to smile.  “There is nothing to smile about young lady and you won’t be smiling when we are done here today.”

She began to answer but he politely interrupted her “were you asked a question?”  She looked down “no”  “since you want to get right to the facts.”  He walked up toward her, her knees were weak, she felt as though she was really in trouble with him.  Jeff continued “  what did I tell you would happen if you were sent back here for anything?”  Gina looked at her feet, she could believe that he was going to make her say it, he knew what she wanted.  It couldn’t have been made any more clear.  He waited for her answer, not daring to speak himself, what if he had been guessing wrong.  Gina in a barely audible voice, with a lump in her throat finally replied.  “ You said you would spank me.”  Jeff moved in closer his voice still resonate and clear “ what was it you said, I couldn’t hear you clearly.  Really you should make sure you speak up so you don’t have to repeat yourself.”    She flushed, he way toying with her discomfort.  She began to get angry but then she heard her own voice “Sir, you said if I was sent back to you I would be spanked with the paddle.”

The room was swirling and Jeff lectured her on her behavior, she drank in every word knowing that it was past the point of no return.  Finishing his lecture he asked.  “do you have anything to say?”  “no sir.”  She replied, not sure of what to say.  He stepped in close and looked her in the eye, his voice softened breaking character for a second he ask gently “Is this what you want?”  Even now he wanted to make sure one last time that he had not in fact misread the situation.  Gina smile “yes” and kissed his cheek gently.

“Stand in front of the desk”  He instructed her

“Bend over placing your elbows on the top”  he continued.  Adjusting her legs pulling her bottom away from the desk then lifted her skirt that barely covered her when standing exposing a thin pair of cotton panties.  Picked up the paddle and tapped her bottom lightly.  She couldn’t believe what it had taken for her to finally get here.

Jeff’s voice broke the tense silence  “You are going to get 12 swats. 3 for each trip to this office and three for that skirt being too short.”  12 Gina thought to herself 12 was a lot.  But before she could protest he added “ and you’ll get 2 more each time you move out of position. Are you ready to begin?”

She answered “yes” The first fell it was not full force but she felt the rush across her backside from the impact.  The second fell in the same place a little harder, the sting was starting to build.  The third was far harder than the first two, Jeff was taking to this a little too well she thought to herself.  The fourth fifth and sixth were spaced far apart and hard swats the pain was building to a burn, she started to move.  Jeff stopped “do you really want me to add two more since you are halfway?”

“No sir” she answered.   Between each of the next six he paused to lecture herand let the full effect of the swat settle in.  On the 12th swat she barely stopped herself from jumping, it felt like it had been delivered full force although it wasn’t anything more than just a little harder than the last six.   But still it was the kind that she would remember anytime during a paddling but especially at the end with an already bright red bottom.  “Have you learned your lesson young lady?”  “Yes sir”  Gina replied.  “good then take this note with you”  Jeff wrote quickly on a piece of paper.  Gina read it after he told her she could leave the office.

“You had better take your time getting ready and heading down to dinner.  When you get spanked at school you might also be spanked at home.”  30 minutes later she came out of the bedroom with a sore bottom, and extremely aroused dressed in jeans and a t-shirt to find a bite.

As she walked by Jeff in the media room his voice rang out “ Come here we need to talk about something.”  She wondered in and he asked “Anything interesting happen today?”  “Not really” she replied. He looked at her “Funny the school called”  She froze.

“I told you if you ever got sent to the principal’s office what would happen.”   He spared her sit spot until her entire bottom was blazing more than before then finishing her trip across his lap by spanking her where she had already been paddled..  She kicked and squirmed but he held her firmly in place.  Afterwards as she was gathering her jeans and putting them back on.

Gina looked at him “this house is a mess.”  The house was immaculate Jeff was puzzled.  “Maybe next time you see her you should you should spank the maid?”  He smiled at her and laughed.  “All you had to do was ask?”  Gina blushed again.  On Sunday morning Jeff came downstairs to find the kitchen in a controlled state of disarray and Gina in a French Maid’s costume with a still slightly tender bottom sticking out from under the skirt.  She still couldn’t ask for what she wanted with her own voice but at least he was now picking up on her hints.

Clues Hints and Requests (Part 1)

BE ADVISED This story depicts  consensual M/F Spanking play and fantasies and is intended for adult audiences.

 

 

Gina had known Jeff for quite a while even before they began dating.  He was everything she had ever hoped for in the person she loved…well almost everything.   He was successful and athletic.  He might have been the only man who actually listened when she talked and made it a point of following the conversation.  Gina knew that she talked; a lot.  Breathing at times seemed optional for her.  Even though they had been together for a few years she would still melted just looking at how handsome he was.

Gina was the kind of girl that most men dreamed of also.  Her lean and long frame was accentuated with sensuous curves and a sexually playful curious nature.  Gina knew she wanted something from him that she just couldn’t muster up the courage to ask for so began her quest into tempting him into fulfilling her well know but yet unspeakable desire.

At first she tried a sexy strip tease, gyrating in a room bathed in candle light. There was not doubt by Jeff’s reaction that he was enjoying her performance, standing there in just heels and a thong, barely and arms length in front of him, her hips moving slowly with the music. Gina asked after smacking her own bottom gently if he would like to help.  Jeff helped her alright and while she admitted that his attention on her pleasure was delicious except that he didn’t figure out the one thing she was hoping for.  Not one smack or a pat hard enough to make a sound, just gentle caresses from his firm hands.  She felt more frustrated than before she began, Jeff remained clueless as to her real desires.

A few weeks passed and Gina had come to the conclusion that perhaps it was her fault that he misunderstood her desires.  After all most guys don’t go to a strip club hoping to smack a dancers butt, they went to ogle them, perhaps a lap dance.  Convinced she had sent the wrong message it was time for a different approach.  Perhaps cooking together might give him a chance to tempt him into the spanking she wanted.

It was going to be an all day affair, making sauce should be done the old fashion way leaving ample time for other things.  So as Jeff assembled the pasta machine Gina bent over to get towels out of a bottom drawer looked up through her long hair and suggested that “why don’t you get the wooden spoon that by me and find something to do with it?”  Jeff walked over and she wiggled her still turned upward bottom at him.  Smiling he picked up the spoon, first holding it in his left hand and then his right.  Stepping back from her slightly, she tensed with excitement thinking he was finally picking up on the clues and was about to give her a good swat with the spoon.  As she readied herself floating in what she was sure was coming but before she knew it glancing back Jeff was stirring a pot of red bubbling tomato sauce.  He proclaimed proudly to her “I think we caught it before it started to burn.”

The only thing burning was Gina in frustration at having two wooden spoons cover with tomato sauce and her bottom without the slightest hint of red.  The pair spent and entire afternoon cooking together. In truth it was great fun, talking and listening all the while Gina did her best to tempt him into what she desired.  Despite all the bending and potential things to be spanked with the day ended with her sitting comfortably during a nice long dinner.  Sipping her wine she was already calculating how to tempt Jeff next.

A few nights later showed she showed up in the media room while he was watching TV.  She was dressed in a tight baby doll T, boys shorts with the lower part of her bottom fully exposed and a hair brush.  “Can I see that” he asked as Gina approached him.  She wanted to hand it to him and just lay herself across his lap.  “Would that be too obvious?”  She thought to herself.  He brushed her hair for an hour, while nice Jeff was still not getting the hint.  As she seduced him later that evening in the height of passion her long hair dangling down beside her face asked “ is there anything you would like to do?”  As she filled his ear with suggestions one of which was “do you want smack my bottom?”  He did once on one side and then on the other.  Not hard but just enough to make a little sound. Gina murmured in delight, trying to encourage him but that was the extent of the activity.

She finally came to the conclusion that he was not going to take the hint, a more direct approach would be needed.

An LA Escape – An Erotic Tale

This is based on one of my new favorite places, while the events are fictional, the setting however is worth checking out for a little mid day or evening diversion, a great view, cheap valet, free parking if you want to save 3 bucks and don’t mind walking 50 yards, and perhaps something a little spicy that’s not on the menu if so inclined.  Oh yeah if you are looking for something spicy that is on the menu they have that too!

 

 

High above the noise of the freeway and on the edge of east LA but not all that far from Pasadena her big black Benz rolled up the impossibly steep incline cresting the hill to the Valet stand on a sunny clear day.  So sunny and clear that it was all the talk every where, no haze, no smog, nothing that often obscures the sunshine and beauty of the place.

Her heart races as she took careful steps up the long garden lined walk way to the large wooden doors.   A stride that couldn’t help but be noticed by the half dozen valets lingering and waiting other guests as she walked away from the comfort of  the obscenely sized black German thing she had arrived in, a car that only accentuated her diminutive size.  In a few decades she would be a little old lady straining to see over the steering wheel but today she was a sensuous beautiful woman straining to do the same thing.

Her body language didn’t indicate that she was anything but composed.  Her skirt flowing in the gentle California breeze, her blouse accentuated one of the rarest commodities in the area, not wealth, fame, or stardom but genuinely large, full, firm natural breasts.  Her heels clicked in rhythm against the concrete and past the yet un lit luminaries that lines the sidewalk before coming to rest momentarily at the foreboding weather worn wooden doors.  Doors so old and heavy that looked like they should have led to an ancient venue that had been almost forgotten by time in the Basque countryside that intended to keep intruders out and not a structure that at best would be considered new there.

Gathering or desperately attempting to gather her thoughts   She and her small frame heaved the heavy door open wide to reveal the filled nearly to capacity entryway and despite the serene and picturesque exterior the place bustled and buzzed with the frenetic energy of the region and people filled with a purpose, a story, and over abundant self importance.  Like every where it was filled with some of the beautiful people and every stereo type there is about life here. The building was literally alive, a growing microcosm of everything that was right and wrong with life in LA.

  Her mind raced at how in the world she had ever gotten to this point breaking the thresh hold resembled a mental point of no return so with a heavy breath and tentative step that was so unsure that anyone who had been watching would have noticed, not that anyone even did.  After all she was far too old for the foolish behavior that had been planned, pushing past the line of people waiting for a table, past the glaring looks and aloof posturing evading the dozens of truly unimportant conversations occurring at a million miles per hour, an aging man in an over priced ill fitting suit screaming into his phone about something that he was so certain would bring the world to its end if it was not corrected immediately.  Finally with a shuffle and a scoot she made her way past the hostess stand which was manned by young dreamers who found their way from the flat lands in the middle of the country to pursue fame and fortune because of their excessive beauty which was all but lost in the shuffle here.

They were just another kind of pretty face with a smallish ass and tits paid for and otherwise not the lauded ravishing beauties they had been back home as the corn princess and county fair beauty pageant queen.  They were no longer the biggest fish in the smallest of ponds but they were guppies and bait fish here for the bigger predators.

Still these nameless young ladies had adopted the all to common trait in Southern California.  They had become women a complete disregard for the man’s soul, his honesty and admiration of her.  Instead to even have coffee with a gent he had to be rich enough with the right house in the right part of town. After all if they themselves couldn’t achieve all of their dreams there was absolutely no reason why they could land a rich man to prove their ambition was not a failure.  These young ladies had come so far from where they were blowing members of the football team in the darkness of a deserted country lane in those early awkward and desperate encounters.  All of that had given way to blatantly yet selectively fucking men for possession that they could make their own. They saw the difference even if no one else ever did.

She smirked as she passed having been a bait fish once herself but like most things in life all the talent and desire in the world won’t replace hard work and good timing.

Speaking of time she was nearly 5 minutes early and not her customary 10 minutes late,  miracles may never cease but all morning her lunch plans loomed over her, causing more trepidation than anticipation.  A normally cool demeanor gave way, unable to focus, her typically laser sharp mind wondered away from the present to the not too distant future.  The one that was down the Terracotta tiled hallway, as she descended the last 3 steps and turned right to the enter the room he was sitting there in the booth against the back wall just as promised seemingly with out a care in the world..

Sliding into the circular booth the benches covered in a cliché emerald green vinyl that shared it’s cool temperature with her warm flesh as she sat. The oddly shaped table with corners and rounded edges both looked to be the darker bastard tree off spring the magnificent doors that guarded the entrance.  The waitress arrived with drinks in hand and reassuring her the orders would be out in a bit. He just set there smiling, not a word, or even a sound escaped from his lips. Rather he just sat looking out over the bustling mid day dining room filled with dozens of people and an amazing view.

His hand touched her thigh.  Her heart began pounding again.  Breaking the silence “We’re not really going through with this” she inquired, her voice filled with doubt edging on protest.   His touch never wavered eventually she readjusted herself to get more comfortable. His hand then went from tracing the from outside of her leg, long lines, fingers filled with a soft caress, or resting the broad warmth of his palm temptingly before continuing down her leg to the tip on the knee and back to the lowest point on her hip finally moving to the inner thigh her thigh and back to the center and out again. Eventually his relentless onslaught of tactile sensations worked itself perfectly between her legs the caress moving her long flowing skirt along with it as it draped itself conspicuously off his hand and forearm under the table. He brushed her damping pussy ever so slightly, a touch that felt like more of a whisper, something that while there might fade for ever with out indication or warning, it was reminiscent of a gentle tropical breeze.

He toyed with her, that nonexistent touch gained her attention more and more as the desire it alluded to began to build upon itself.  The appetizers arrived.  She placed her hands on the table and sweetened her tea but he still sat silent and seemingly motionless next to her working that magic he had always possessed.

“Seriously stop it”  she added reaching for the chips and Salsa., eating might be just what she needed to take her mind of his touch that was beginning heighten her arousal.  Instead he slid his and between her thighs, keeping it there, tracing her lips from front to back across her soft legs and back. Brushing her panties aside his hand met her smooth soft flesh in earnest for the first time, small delicate circles, teasing, taunting and tempting her. She wanted to protest again but each slow soft ,friction filled motion, each painstakingly slow and well choreographed advance lessened her desire to stop, eventually it led to her wanting to give in. She knew these hands too well as he stopped and changed direction toying with her yet again and then slowly entering just a little more, rubbing the entire time with the precision of the fine Swiss time piece on her wrist.

Was anyone watching?  Did anyone know?  The thoughts flooded over her dancing with the sensation and the thrill began to take hold as she wiggled in just such a way and spread her legs a little more inviting him to continue.  She could feel herself getting wetter with each passing second as his hands entered deeper but the heel of his hand continued to press and stimulate her swelling clit all the while..  The room buzzed and buzzed people came and went with in a few feet of them as they sat in silence looking into the abyss of the valley from the top of the hill.

She bit her lip, he pressed into and against her more firmly,  she grabbed his arm holding it completely motionless.

His fingers persisted rubbing up and down to the very edge of being out and then back in again never losing their insane rhythm circling inside of her filling her nearly perfectly.

Instead his hand pressed against her more.  Her body tensed.   A group of 8 were walking by, holding it in the sensations over whelmed her, more and more, until her legs quivered as she fought to hold them still, her hips began to rock and she came so intensely that a slight murmur escaped her lips, giving way too a stifled moan that bordered on the most repressed of screams in delight and ecstasy she had ever emitted.

The waitress upon hearing inquired if everything was all right.  “Oh yes” she replied.  He was still touching her toying with her, bringing her almost instantly to the edge again.  This time she let it escape,  First as a slight “AH”   which gave way to an audible UMMM” that he pushed directly into a  “My god” and briefly after that to a legitimate but quiet little scream. The kind of scream someone in a place like this might create in a show of over exaggerated delight, hers however was completely genuine as she closed her legs on his hand with the force of a vice.  Her eyes met his and were silently pleading for him to stop if not there would be no lunch the only thing that  would be devoured was him.

A passer by commented that they must try the empanadas since the sounded so good.  Finally his touch subsided and then instantly disappeared.  He sat smiling and she sat glowing.

Their meals were placed on the table a few seconds later, the timing had been absolutely perfect.    As she cut into her meal he looked over, kissing her hello and added “it’s nice to know I can still make you scream.”

She thought if he only knew!

 

I Always Did Like Pig Tails

This is an older piece written about 3 years ago, that said I’ve cleaned up some of the grammar but left the piece otherwise intact.  An all too typical insight into my life and friends.

So I’m at a dance club, more of a techno club really the other night.  We got there early and by early I mean around 10.  The early crowd was interesting in the fact that there were two polyester kings who looked like they fell out of the midwest’s remake of a night at the Roxbury.  A bachlorette party had arrived just ahead of us and I unlike my one of my two friends was there exclusively for the music and the dancing.  Early on at the bar we were closest to there was a larger blonde woman in brightly colored striped dress and heels so high that her size only became more obvious.  She spent most of her time draping herself over the two cliché club boys and a very petite woman.  Oh yeah and one old guy who had to have been 25 years her senior. Dirty old man or Daddy Complex?  Who fucking cares.

The small woman had excessively long blonde hair and a tight little body.  As the club filled up she disappeared only to return in a tight black shirt and with her waist length hair pulled into two pig tails and obviously her already good mood became more intensified with each passing song and new dance partner.

The bachlorette party went on a scavenger hunt inside the club and I was asked for a condom by at least 20 different women as part of this but my other now slightly inebriated friend who to say the very least is selective in his choice of women was doing his Joan Rivers red carpet routine each time a woman approached about how the parade of women were all classless sluts and he much preferred European women.  His growing disdain for anyone apparently over the age of 26 and lacking the body of a goddess became more evident with each passing drink.  Not normally a surly guy he truly had issues with the women who were older than him.

As for me. I could have cared less watching the drink girls a brunette caught my eye,  high black heels, long thin legs, and a very short skirt.  After that I noticed a voluptuous black woman dancing on one of the risers, the DJ did his best not to suck as the crowd filtered in.  I’ve been to clubs in great cities like DC, New York, and Miami this was not one of those cities but should have been large enough to be decent.   The polyester kings kept annoying me and the little one in her pig tails was feeling something that I couldn’t.  Why you might ask,  because she was young and pretty?  No.  Because she was a woman?  No.  I could never feel what she was feeling because even if I wanted to do some X (or what ever she was on) I have a feeling that there would have been a shortage based on her usage that night alone.  So where the fuck is Sammy the bull when you need him?  Not in the Midwest giving me X.  She pounded and throbbed, she danced in a world all her own that was shared intermittently with the large blonde and the two polyester jerks.

My friend began insulting an attractive woman in her 50’s for daring to ask him for a condom.  Regaling her with phrases like “even if I had one it wouldn’t have enough lube to get your old pussy wet” and “have you heard of menopause?  You can’t get pregnant when you’re as old as the fucking earth”  Fortunately she just heard no and wondered over to me to ask for one.  I politely explained that I didn’t since the drug store was out of over sized prophylactics tonight.  A blatant lie of course but she smiled playfully and I suggested she ask the sharp looking kid in the suit by the bar.  I’m sure he had a condom since he looked like the type who would be leaving with someone.

The feature DJ took the stage and began to suck only marginally less than the last guy but found her groove two songs in as the club filled, pulsating with dancers, bouncing to the rhythm though the smoke and fog filled room as the green and blue lights flashed providing a silhouette here and a glimpse there of the patrons.  The bride approached and asked if I would like a piece of candy off her necklace and a kiss. I paused and politely declined.  Was it because I felt there was something morally reprehensible about kissing a woman soon to be wed to another man?  Of course not, I might be in the mid west but I don’t subscribe to that school of thought.  Was it because I myself am in a committed relationship and considered such behavior to be adulterous?  No, I didn’t want to eat off her necklace and kiss her because god knows how many drunk and diseased slobs had eaten candy off of the same necklace and kissed those same lips.  Germs and diseases I did not need anymore exposure to than I had gained from her leaning into me.  I watched her for a while, grinding one anonymous stranger after another.  I give the marriage two years tops.  A shame perhaps but more of a shame should the life of a child conceived during that time be affected.

As I float back in from my own small world of watching I notice my small pig tailed blond dancing front to back with the large blond in the brightly colored striped dress in a seemingly sexual manner.  I look away and upon looking back to see pig tails raising the skirt of the large blonde who had bent over a bar stool. Drawing her fingers across the other’s thighs, between her legs and then landing a few firm smacks on her ass.  Before she stood up again and began dancing again more intensified by what I assumed to be a mystery substance.

It brought to mind the words a rope slut friend had spoken to me earlier that day…”Chicks on X don’t like S&M”.  Could she have been wrong?  Was it based on her own experience or preferences, didn’t matter it was irrelevant to the situation.  My friend was no doubt was dancing barely clothed and feverishly in a city half a nation away looking for an anonymous stranger of her own to share her own particular sexual proclivities with.  Most of those proclivities include Japanese words and boy scout like skills.

The night wore on, the insults intensified and the crowd began to bore so we left those who live in that world to their own devices as we drifted back to ours.  I can still see pig tails dancing in my mind moving indiscriminately from one partner to another,  feeling nothing but lust and joy and music perhaps she is the one who had it right. 
I always did  like pigtails.