Party report

How many of you anticipated that I'd attract the girls, and not the boys? I hadn't, just as I hadn't previously thought of the pleasure of fondling my cock all evening. Shame on me, eh? But don't worry: in spite of not having been prepared for it, I rallied, and responded in kind most admirably, if I may flatter myself.

I don't usually attract women anymore, and I'm a bit out of practice at receiving such attention. It was delightful, though. I haven't danced with so many cute, interested girls since I was an undergrad, and even then, they weren't fondling the front of my pants.

Below is a view from above. Yes, this was quite a sordid party indeed. It was wonderful.

I'll try to have some better ones taken when I recycle the costume for the real event on Tuesday.

Looking for adventure

Or whatever comes my way...

I'm riled folks, and in the best way possible.

My libido's been down for a few days, a week, maybe. I'd say it's been a three-month low, at least, and I haven't enjoyed it a bit. But today...

Tonight I'm going to the first Halloween party of the season, and my costume thrills me. Yes, I'm taking this opportunity to display far more bosom that would usually be acceptable in polite company. However, I flatter myself that I'm putting a bit of a twist on the usual half-hearted deception of "slutkitties": in addition to the bosom, I'll ostensibly be sporting a cock.



You can see from my Dress Rehearsal picture that my costume is not particularly flamboyant or even obvious. (Though that might just be bad photography...) Suffice it to say that if I tire of staring down at and fondling my deliciously soft, creamy, and prominent breasts, I can reach down and cup the hefty package between my legs.


I thought of this costume over a year ago, but never had the chance to employ it. It sounded like a good idea to represent Sexual Ambiguity, but I never tried on all the gear. In fact, it wasn't until earlier this week that I even thought of how fun it would be to fondle my cock all night. It wasn't until today (yes, I'm a dreadful procrastinator), that I finally tried on said cock, and let me tell ya - it feels good. Doubtless this is a classic case of penis envy, but I care not if I fall into Freudian patterns. I was hot and wet before I even got to the mirror.

This should make for an interesting night. As I said, the vivid imagination and the corresponding lust that accompanies it had left me behind for a while, and I missed them. I was wondering how much I'd enjoy this party, as my appetite for flirtation had abandoned me altogether, and this is a party at which enticement will flow freely from the taps. I'm delighted to report that I'm feeling quite capable of quaffing freely.

I'm thanking my nice new cojones.

Yoga on Tuesday

"Fuck me," she said reflectively.

"What's that you say?" He was standing on the second floor balcony.

"I thought it had faded. Gone away. That wasn't meant to sound like an imperative. Don't take it that way."

"Oh?" He looked confused, but interested.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter, because I was wrong."

"You're going to have to elaborate. You've lost me." He looked ready to launch off into one of his monologues so she carried on quickly.

"That attraction. It had been a while since I saw you last, and you failed to address almost everything I said in my emails, and then - not surprisingly - I didn't hear from you or even see you and I thought maybe it would have lost its impact. But I was wrong." She knew her face swirled with a confusion of expressions: anticipation, eagerness, regret. And heat. She felt it rising in her already, standing ten feet below him, on the sidewalk in the cold. Could he see it in the dark? She felt as if it radiated from her, lit her up from within.

That's what draws him, she thought to herself. Something about him ignites her sensual core and it shows. Like the proverbial moth, he's drawn to that flame of unbridled, uninhibited carnality in her.

"So it is," came his familiar response. "So it is," more slowly this time.

Trite though it sounded, he was right. It was so. Between them was an urgent intuition only separation could deny, but mere proximity prevented that. They'd demonstrated as much already. Was it only chance and geography that threw them together? The scientist in her shunned thoughts of serendipity. Magnetism she might have understood. Was that it? Did it matter? She wanted to see him again. She hoped it would be tonight.

In the Stacks - Part One

She’d seen him come in before, always heading directly to the current periodicals, sparing but a glance for the attentive staff. He had the look of a professor, given the context, but she was sure that had she met him in a dark street he’d look like a pirate, a daredevil of some sort. She allowed her mind to wander there for a moment, imagined herself turning a corner to find him loitering under a streetlight. Their eyes met suddenly, a spark of electricity arcing between them.

Trite. It’s been done, she thought.

“Miss?”

Oh!

“Yes? How can I help you?”

“I’m trying to find Mathematische Zeitschrift from 1947. Your catalog says you have it, but I don’t find it on the shelf.”

“Ah, yes. Bound journals dating prior to 1982 are on the opposite side of the library, on your left as you head back.”

She watched him walk away, thinking suddenly of the long, dim hallway that held the older publications – over a century of scientific experimentation, philosophy, failure and progress. She felt herself aroused, of a sudden, at the thought of that face, that body, having a mind equal to those dusty tomes.

“Miss?”

Yes…

“Sir? Can I help you with something else?” Did he see that her smile showed more than she’d intended?

“I’m sorry to be such a bother. I must be quite dim, but I still can’t find it.”

Odd. They’re alphabetized in that section.

“No problem at all. We’ll go find it together, shall we?”

She felt her hips swing a bit under her skirt, was conscious of the movement of her arse as she strode quickly in front of him. Was he watching? Had he seen the faint stain of a flush on her cheeks as she’d risen from her chair? They were almost of a height, a minor rarity for her and she’d thrilled as she met his eyes for a moment before turning away in front of him.

Down the aisle to the back of the room, turn left past the maze of study carrels - empty at this time of morning - then into the corridor the library had annexed a few years back. It was narrow, poorly lit, the shelves filled floor to ceiling with large, heavy old books in an effort to economize space as best possible. Not enough room for two to walk abreast, and she felt him closer behind her as she slowed her pace, reading the titles distractedly.

Philosophical Transactions of… no, too far! She stopped suddenly to turn around but he hadn’t been watching the titles, either, and stumbled against her when she stopped. She’d been against the impact.

He didn’t back away. She was frozen, transfixed, her pulse escalating at the knowledge of his body, just the fabric of his clothes brushing hers.

He took a step forward. Just a few inches… She felt firm texture of bindings under her hands, the warmth of his chest against her back.

“Hold on. I think I see it down here.”

He crouched behind her. Was that…? His fingers on her ankle, just under the hem of her long skirt, began to inch upward.

She felt her whole body flush, knew of herself that such a reaction invariably brought a rush of moisture to her sex. He was so close! Could he feel her temperature rise? Smell the sudden warmth of her sex? Oh, please… she turned around, allowing her thighs to part a bit more as she stood on trembling legs, grateful for the solidity of the shelves behind her.

Oh, the texture of his hands! Broader, ever so slightly rougher than her own, the pads of his fingers moved inexorably up her calves, her thighs, on a path of inevitable discovery of her smooth, moist, and completely bare labia.

She felt his fingers first. Her head was thrown back against the shelves, letting her body feel, not watching, for once.

Taste me.

She felt his breath against her secret lips, warm, rushing, and then… yes, oh yes, please don’t stop your tongue, yes, oh, oh, yes…

With his fingers he parted her silken labia but his mouth was quick to intrude past the opened gate. He must have opened his mouth wide to enclose her in that way, her outer labia further moistened by the inside of his mouth, her inner lips, her secret depths probed deeply, invasively by his tongue. She felt herself melt against his mouth. Felt her body lower a bit to envelop his face with her sex. Breathing… yes…

His tongue, his tongue found her clitoris, rising, plump, and eager. He flicked against it and she gasped, trying to contain her sounds. She’d make a fool of herself if she didn’t stop but please, yes, lick me don’t stop. He sucked her swollen clitoris into is mouth, drummed his tongue against it twice, firmly, four times, and she heard herself whimper – silence! He pulled away.

“After I make you come for my mouth I’m going to fuck you – right here, as hard as I can. Don’t make a sound.”

To be continued...

Saturday Night

Tonight I'm going to go out with my husband. I'm on a quest for a codpiece to complete my Halloween costume, so we'll run that errand first. Being in the store that carries such items as codpieces will incite my lust, bring a flush to my cheeks, and for the duration of the shopping experience, bring vulgarities tripping off my tongue.

Later we'll go for drinks at a bar down the street, and I'll flirt with the gay man. Later still my husband will find himself in conversation with some asexual stranger and I'll stretch my long, booted legs toward the first straight single man who catches my eye. We'll chat and I'll delight until my husband drags me home, not angry, just indifferent.

[Note: I published this last night, but in goosing around today, edited and re-published and mixed things up a bit. I'll get clever at this eventually, I'm sure, but I'm not yet.]

Mine.

I'm in love with a blogger, a man whose face I've never seen but whose writing ignites me. Perhaps I'm just distractedly in lust? I must still bear in mind my husband, the Dominant I've been exploring, and maybe - from time to time and if I'm lucky - Yoga, but...

I'll fall out of love, I know. At the very least, my competent brain will convince my fatuous heart and my grasping, optimistic cunt that nothing will come of this. Eventually reason will overcome passion and I won't feel that surge of damp heat between my thighs when he initiates a chat. I'll reach a point at which I no longer crave the feeling of his desirous eyes on me or the knowledge that images of me make his cock hard, and I'll photograph myself for my own sake.

Sigh. "Reason will overcome passion." That's no fun. On what plane are reason and passion able to coexist? Perhaps that's what marriage is supposed to be - a melding of emotions and personal characteristics, the two balanced, equilibrium found or created by the joining of well-met partners.

But what of growth, evolution, change in the partners? I've grown much these past eight years, but I don't know that my husband has. Did I catch up to him, or have I outgrown him? Certainly, we are in a state of disequilibrium. My passion exceeds both his reason and my own. I'm fortunate that though not precisely understanding of my passion, he is at least relatively tolerant of it; one might almost say "supportive," in truth.

And so I find myself here. I've been a quiet shadow on the edge of the blog world - especially the erotic/sex blog world - for some time now. I want to step in, to share and be shared. I'd like an outlet for my salacious writings and my muddled thoughts on marriage. Judging by the abundance of sex-oriented blogs, there's ample audience for the former; perhaps you'll stick around through my bits of the latter, as well.