Am I a sexual addict? I suppose that depends on who's the judge of that question. Between my husband and myself, we both agree that masturbation, frequent sex, fantasy play, sexual experimentation (bdsm, etc.), and attending swinger's orgies are all well within the realm of healthy sexual behavior. No harm caused. However, there are individuals out there who feel that any sexual behavior that strays from the kind between a man and a woman who love each other and are married to one another is problematic. It just so happens that the creators of the idea that there is such a condition as sexual addiction falls heavily to the side of those who find these things as atypical, abnormal, and morally troublesome.
Am I an addict for involving myself in a marathon sex act last night? Seven fucking hours, with a quick nap in between. Fucking for seven hours! At a tender age of 23, he's the youngest man I've been with in a long time, and wow does it show. All of the men I've had affairs with, since being married, have been at a minimum of 33 years, ranging upwards to about 40+. (It should come as no surprise that he was yet another coworker who I've now seduced. That brings the count up to 4 fellow workers. This really should stop, as I'm relatively concerned about my reputation. However, I'm probably a bit too trusting that these men will stay silent on the issue.) This one actually feels like a boy-toy. Not sure how I feel about that. He seems to be fine and dandy about it -- and why not? He now has had the opportunity to be involved in an affair with an older, married, exotic, hot chick, whom it seems everyone at work drools over. As for me, I'm not really sure how I feel about having a boy-toy. Not so much that I'm older than he, but I think I'm growing a conscience about using these people as sexual objects. But herein lies the irony: when a subject readily chooses to partake in an objectification of his/her being, then can it still be considered objectification? Much like the master-slave predicament, the power is with the slave, who chooses to relinquish that power for the satisfaction of the master. And if both master and slave are satisfied with the established relationship, then is it not a shared burden on the two? Are they not both responsible for the interbeingness at hand? A master can not exist without her slave, for the very nature of her role. She is wholly dependent upon this other being for her own being. Isn't that truly what treating others as subjects is about?
Whatever the case is, I now have the issue of seeing this man at work. On the one hand, I am pretty delighted with the situation because I get to infuse a bit of excitement to my job where it was beginning to lack. On the other hand, there is so much left to Uncertainty. I barely know the kid, and have no clue as to what his temperament is. Will he cause me trouble? Will he respect my views? Will he understand my marriage issues? Will he even care about this crap? My guess, from what little I do know about him, is that he'll be pretty good at playing it cool, keeping this little secret between us, and continue making me wet my panties while at work. I've found there are generally two distinct personalities that I'm attracted to: one being the cocky, arrogant, fuck-the-world kind of guy, and the other being the quiet, mysterious, introverted and silently rebellious type. (Is that the male version of the ma dona/whore complex?) Is it coincidental that my husband resembles a bit of both, or am I just damned lucky? That's all beside the point. This young man... what shall I call him... he's got an incredibly hot body, smooth features, strong musculature, is tall and thin, and has an enormous cock. Fat, long, straight and hard. Perhaps a tad too large for my petite frame. He reminds me of a boy I had a college affair with long, long ago. I shall call him YoungMan. That will work. YoungMan happens to fall into the category of quiet, mysterious and introverted. So far, I've been able to read my interests well enough to gauge their social intelligence pretty accurately, and from what I've witnessed, YoungMan will do just fine with our little situation. I suppose I'll soon see.
Showing posts with label Flirting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flirting. Show all posts
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Strange Allure
I have a weakness... it's the fact that Time often plays tricks on me, pulling me in, leading me on, lulling me into a quiet repose, until I am fooled by my own tenderness. I believe truly deeply that something calm has finally enveloped me, and I should be able to breathe in unadultered air. I exist in a natural bubble of honest innocence, and it's then, in that moment of absolute vulnerability, when suddenly everything goes awry and Swoosh! I'm picked up again by the storm that blew in, from the distant, churning waters of the sea. I remember things I am supposed to forget. I feel things I am supposed to supress. I act in ways from which I am supposed abstain.
The difficulty lies in the awareness of it all. I sense when the winds approach; I feel the hairs raise along my arms; I can smell the iron, mold and salt in the air as it hangs in dead stillness all around me. The charge that flows along my skin and causes a surge in my pulse is unlike any other. It signals a threshold between action and non-action that threatens to change the very course of my life -- all dependent upon what I choose to do. What I choose to say, what jokes I choose to make, how I send a look across the room, or knowingly drop my view to the floor. It's here that I balance... and can fall to either direction.
During periods of calm, I "behave", don't break the rules, accept responsibility, manage the turbulence of life, and through it all, still remain true to myself and to my loved ones. I feel civilized, proper, and quiet. I don't tell lies, but I also choose not to speak when faced with a challenging situation. When given the choice to reveal a hidden aspect of me, or remain silent, I choose the latter, for the safety of it all. I am socially conservative.
It's when I'm in the midst of an explosive episode that I yearn to be in diametric opposition to where I stand in safety. Yes, I want to be loyal to my husband, and I still feel all the desire for responsibility and civility, but the choice is that much more difficult. I don't know the reasons behind my swings in personality; they just exist. I have a feeling that my entire life will constantly be challenged by these very aspects of who I am. If I can stay clear and present with the change as it is occurring, then perhaps at least I can live a full life of awareness, and at most, with compassion.
Currently, I can sense a storm approaching. The tides are acting out, unruly, and unpredictable. The sea is coming for me, and from the way I've been thinking all day, I'm not so sure I can continue gazing at the floor anymore.
The difficulty lies in the awareness of it all. I sense when the winds approach; I feel the hairs raise along my arms; I can smell the iron, mold and salt in the air as it hangs in dead stillness all around me. The charge that flows along my skin and causes a surge in my pulse is unlike any other. It signals a threshold between action and non-action that threatens to change the very course of my life -- all dependent upon what I choose to do. What I choose to say, what jokes I choose to make, how I send a look across the room, or knowingly drop my view to the floor. It's here that I balance... and can fall to either direction.
During periods of calm, I "behave", don't break the rules, accept responsibility, manage the turbulence of life, and through it all, still remain true to myself and to my loved ones. I feel civilized, proper, and quiet. I don't tell lies, but I also choose not to speak when faced with a challenging situation. When given the choice to reveal a hidden aspect of me, or remain silent, I choose the latter, for the safety of it all. I am socially conservative.
It's when I'm in the midst of an explosive episode that I yearn to be in diametric opposition to where I stand in safety. Yes, I want to be loyal to my husband, and I still feel all the desire for responsibility and civility, but the choice is that much more difficult. I don't know the reasons behind my swings in personality; they just exist. I have a feeling that my entire life will constantly be challenged by these very aspects of who I am. If I can stay clear and present with the change as it is occurring, then perhaps at least I can live a full life of awareness, and at most, with compassion.
Currently, I can sense a storm approaching. The tides are acting out, unruly, and unpredictable. The sea is coming for me, and from the way I've been thinking all day, I'm not so sure I can continue gazing at the floor anymore.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Adultery for me...
is like having a drink, taking some drugs or engaging in a risky adrenaline-pumping sport. It's recreational. It's fun. The flirting is fun. The newness of it all is exhilarating. The sexual attraction is a great reminder that the girl I used to be is still the same as the woman I am now. Like most exciting recreational activities, there's an immediate *boost* that uplifts your spirits and just makes you feel good. Yes, that may very well be the adrenaline talking, but it exists in sports, in exercise, in anything that deals with the physical form. And, as with any of the aforementioned activities, extra-marital sex can toe the line of obsession and addiction. If pushed to the limit, all of that boosted energy can become a whirlwind of chaos, sap your spirit of any reserves you might have had and toss you into a pit of exhaustion. Widely known as The Crash, (aka the hangover) so too does adultery have its minor (and major) pitfalls.
The most dangerous pitfall of all is the emotional bond. In a comment on my previous post, Thomas Paine mentioned the danger of getting caught. I mulled on this for a while, and have decided that getting caught by my husband is not the immediate danger where I find my thrill. Simply because I seriously don't want or need him to ever find out, and I don't really think he wants to know either. I know that he has his suspicions, and it comes out in his speech. At the same time, we've talked about our limits briefly, and I know that he simply doesn't want to know. I think so long as my behavior changes only on normal, regular terms, that is -- our daily relationship maintains its stability -- and our emotional state of affairs is in good standing, he really has no need to question my commitment to our marriage. I also feel the same way, which is why the danger that provokes a prolonged adrenaline rush is that which comes with the possibility of falling in love with someone other than my H.
Which brings me to BeautyEyes. He has been the only man I have ever come close to having these sorts of feelings for. I think because of our history together, there was an immediate bond aside from the sexual attraction. That intimacy that we experienced exists in a realm of its own -- the friendship intimacy that's laced with sexual attraction that seems to cross lines, however arbitrary they may be, and in doing so creates this fuzzy space that's amorphic, mutable and at times, downright scary.
After having processed this odd connection I have with BeautyEyes, and having slept with another co-worker, I couldn't help but feel somewhat... dirty. And it's not a dirty feeling like "oh my, I've slept with too many men, so I'm a slut" kind of dirty, but it's more of a muddled feeling as though I didn't know who I was anymore. The kind of dirty that sticks to your skin and doesn't wash off in the shower. That feeling when you first wake up with morning stickiness clinging in the air, oppressive humidity that consumes all the space, pushing out any room for circulation of a fresh breath. That kind of dirty.
So my solution lately has been to avoid the situation entirely. That means avoiding all people aside from my H. It's been working temporarily, but I know that it's not a permanent solution. I'm just not callous enough to fuck and run. I know I have to talk to the last guy I slept with and process what happened between us. Why did I say it would surely happen again? Why didn't I just leave? This man, my friend, an ex-coworker, was a person I spent a lot of time with. We were close. We had a real relationship at work. That night that we hung out, I said to him in jest "it's not like I'm going to sleep with you or anything" (perhaps my fatal mistake). And after we had sex later on that evening, he opened up to me even more than before. That scared me. He reminded me of me. I didn't want him to get too close. Now I realize he was my rebound from BeautyEyes. I just wanted to fuck. I wanted to be reassured that I could participate in this recreational activity, and just have fun, with seriously NSA (no strings attached). And when he hit me with that whammy of emotion, caused in the wake of really great sex with someone you've known and been in close proximity for almost a year who you've barely even touched -- well, it was too much for me. And so my Anonyma self crawled back into her hole in order that my everyday person could scrub down her dirty little emotional welfare to at least a resuscitated state.
And here is where I am today. Freshly showered. I have a few new perspectives, and maybe they'll sneak out here soon enough. All in all, I feel good.
Food for thought: when you have a sex dream with someone totally unexpected, it often has nothing to do with sexual attraction, though sometimes it might. Usually however, it reveals a newly formed intimacy with that particular person. Twice now I've had this sort of sex dream with my immediate supervisor (two different men). In both instances I knew exactly what my subconscious was getting at. The first time, my dream was relatively innocent. We only kissed, but there was an energy there that struck me enough to remember it during my waking hours. And sure enough, my boss and I had developed a friendly rapport just about the same time. This time, today I had a dream about my new boss -- The Brit. The problem is, I do find him rather sexy, and I was attracted to him from day one. Now I have a sex dream about him and it's clear that we're getting closer at work. To boot, it was a damned good sex dream where he basically forced his face onto the crotch of my jeans, surprising me with the most incredible through-the-pants face fuck I've ever experienced in a dream. The thing that's quite okay with this unrequited sexual attraction is that I know for a fact that he's nowhere near dangerous for me. He's devoted to his wife and kids, lives out of state and has zero opportunity to get me into any kinds of trouble. Plus, I respect him, on multiple fronts which means I would never endanger that situation for him. I think I've got a check on this one.
The most dangerous pitfall of all is the emotional bond. In a comment on my previous post, Thomas Paine mentioned the danger of getting caught. I mulled on this for a while, and have decided that getting caught by my husband is not the immediate danger where I find my thrill. Simply because I seriously don't want or need him to ever find out, and I don't really think he wants to know either. I know that he has his suspicions, and it comes out in his speech. At the same time, we've talked about our limits briefly, and I know that he simply doesn't want to know. I think so long as my behavior changes only on normal, regular terms, that is -- our daily relationship maintains its stability -- and our emotional state of affairs is in good standing, he really has no need to question my commitment to our marriage. I also feel the same way, which is why the danger that provokes a prolonged adrenaline rush is that which comes with the possibility of falling in love with someone other than my H.
Which brings me to BeautyEyes. He has been the only man I have ever come close to having these sorts of feelings for. I think because of our history together, there was an immediate bond aside from the sexual attraction. That intimacy that we experienced exists in a realm of its own -- the friendship intimacy that's laced with sexual attraction that seems to cross lines, however arbitrary they may be, and in doing so creates this fuzzy space that's amorphic, mutable and at times, downright scary.
After having processed this odd connection I have with BeautyEyes, and having slept with another co-worker, I couldn't help but feel somewhat... dirty. And it's not a dirty feeling like "oh my, I've slept with too many men, so I'm a slut" kind of dirty, but it's more of a muddled feeling as though I didn't know who I was anymore. The kind of dirty that sticks to your skin and doesn't wash off in the shower. That feeling when you first wake up with morning stickiness clinging in the air, oppressive humidity that consumes all the space, pushing out any room for circulation of a fresh breath. That kind of dirty.
So my solution lately has been to avoid the situation entirely. That means avoiding all people aside from my H. It's been working temporarily, but I know that it's not a permanent solution. I'm just not callous enough to fuck and run. I know I have to talk to the last guy I slept with and process what happened between us. Why did I say it would surely happen again? Why didn't I just leave? This man, my friend, an ex-coworker, was a person I spent a lot of time with. We were close. We had a real relationship at work. That night that we hung out, I said to him in jest "it's not like I'm going to sleep with you or anything" (perhaps my fatal mistake). And after we had sex later on that evening, he opened up to me even more than before. That scared me. He reminded me of me. I didn't want him to get too close. Now I realize he was my rebound from BeautyEyes. I just wanted to fuck. I wanted to be reassured that I could participate in this recreational activity, and just have fun, with seriously NSA (no strings attached). And when he hit me with that whammy of emotion, caused in the wake of really great sex with someone you've known and been in close proximity for almost a year who you've barely even touched -- well, it was too much for me. And so my Anonyma self crawled back into her hole in order that my everyday person could scrub down her dirty little emotional welfare to at least a resuscitated state.
And here is where I am today. Freshly showered. I have a few new perspectives, and maybe they'll sneak out here soon enough. All in all, I feel good.
Food for thought: when you have a sex dream with someone totally unexpected, it often has nothing to do with sexual attraction, though sometimes it might. Usually however, it reveals a newly formed intimacy with that particular person. Twice now I've had this sort of sex dream with my immediate supervisor (two different men). In both instances I knew exactly what my subconscious was getting at. The first time, my dream was relatively innocent. We only kissed, but there was an energy there that struck me enough to remember it during my waking hours. And sure enough, my boss and I had developed a friendly rapport just about the same time. This time, today I had a dream about my new boss -- The Brit. The problem is, I do find him rather sexy, and I was attracted to him from day one. Now I have a sex dream about him and it's clear that we're getting closer at work. To boot, it was a damned good sex dream where he basically forced his face onto the crotch of my jeans, surprising me with the most incredible through-the-pants face fuck I've ever experienced in a dream. The thing that's quite okay with this unrequited sexual attraction is that I know for a fact that he's nowhere near dangerous for me. He's devoted to his wife and kids, lives out of state and has zero opportunity to get me into any kinds of trouble. Plus, I respect him, on multiple fronts which means I would never endanger that situation for him. I think I've got a check on this one.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
an update
Fascinating how things work... I catch myself from falling into a pit of desperate, unrequited, impossible love (or infatuation, whatever label you want), I rip myself from the agony of longing, pine poetically from a distance, and snap myself back to reality. Only, what new reality awaits? Another retinue of men making my life so very interesting. Translation: somehow I've managed to give BeautyEyes some room, giving my own distraught self some comfort space, and as I take in a deep breath of purifying distance, I slowly look around and realize that I'm once again surrounded by fun-loving, handsome men and boy-toys. Everyday I'm greeted at work by one of these super-fun guys who happens to have a tight little body that I so enjoy ogling, and bright bright bright blue eyes that are great at making direct eye-contact with. I mentioned him briefly here, and now that I've mentioned him again, I may as well give him a nickname too. Let's call him The Brit. Not only is he stunningly arrogant (a real turn-on, when done just right), but I swear his eyes say one thing when his lips speak another. On certain individuals this type of behavior can be quite foolish and ostensibly plastic. However, some know how to communicate on multiple levels, and in fact it becomes rather endearing. I like working with The Brit, and I often fantasize about various positions with him. Usually it's me pinned up against the wall and he's madly sucking at my tits, or fucking me with a major sense of pent-up sexual aggression. This is why I love work these days...
My fun Buddy recently called, and it's been nice thinking about him again. I really like him as a friend, and I was thinking back on those days way back before I even was married. My friendship history with B goes so far back and we've always been such comfortable friends, that the sex between us is simply natural. There's no complication of falling in love, since our friendship has already determined what type of emotional connection we enjoy. It's been many many months since I've seen him, but I'd like to get together with him again, really to just hang out. Since it's been so long, I also wonder if the spark is still there... we'll find out about that whenever we see each other again. For us, time is really on our side.
After a long bout of silence between me and BeautyEyes, probably due to both of us sensing a bit of trepidation due to the strong chance of falling for one another, we are text messaging again. I'd be very happy to establish a comfortable type of friendship with him that I have with B, with the benefit of sexual tension of course, but I'm really not sure if that's even possible. With some people, you just can't restrain that intense passion and so it may have to be one of those hot hot hot or cold cold cold types of relationships. And the cold might hurt when it's happening, but the hot just might be totally worth it.
Also, in a couple of weeks, I shall be enjoying the presence of a very good friend -- a gentleman I haven't seen in about five years, but has remained an email buddy since college. He also happens to be a kindred spirit, who I feel I will know for the entirety of my lifetime. That fills me with a deep, deep joy.
Bonus: after two years now, employed in a highly male-dominated field, I've finally managed to make coworker-friends with whom I enjoy hanging out and with whom there is absolutely zero danger of having a fling with. I finally learned something -- if I want to maintain any kind of lasting friendship, I simply can not be sexually attracted to him. Then I don't have to worry about making googly-eyes or unwittingly (or wittingly) entrapping the poor bastard into kissing me and touching me, all in the process of cheating on his wife. Result: I actually have friends who are guys again. It's been a very long time since that has happened. Ever since I got married, all men-friends ceased contact with me like I'm a leper. Does that prove that all my guy friends just really hung around because they thought there was some remote possibility of getting involved with me? Or is it something more territorial? It's all a huge mystery to me.
My fun Buddy recently called, and it's been nice thinking about him again. I really like him as a friend, and I was thinking back on those days way back before I even was married. My friendship history with B goes so far back and we've always been such comfortable friends, that the sex between us is simply natural. There's no complication of falling in love, since our friendship has already determined what type of emotional connection we enjoy. It's been many many months since I've seen him, but I'd like to get together with him again, really to just hang out. Since it's been so long, I also wonder if the spark is still there... we'll find out about that whenever we see each other again. For us, time is really on our side.
After a long bout of silence between me and BeautyEyes, probably due to both of us sensing a bit of trepidation due to the strong chance of falling for one another, we are text messaging again. I'd be very happy to establish a comfortable type of friendship with him that I have with B, with the benefit of sexual tension of course, but I'm really not sure if that's even possible. With some people, you just can't restrain that intense passion and so it may have to be one of those hot hot hot or cold cold cold types of relationships. And the cold might hurt when it's happening, but the hot just might be totally worth it.
Also, in a couple of weeks, I shall be enjoying the presence of a very good friend -- a gentleman I haven't seen in about five years, but has remained an email buddy since college. He also happens to be a kindred spirit, who I feel I will know for the entirety of my lifetime. That fills me with a deep, deep joy.
Bonus: after two years now, employed in a highly male-dominated field, I've finally managed to make coworker-friends with whom I enjoy hanging out and with whom there is absolutely zero danger of having a fling with. I finally learned something -- if I want to maintain any kind of lasting friendship, I simply can not be sexually attracted to him. Then I don't have to worry about making googly-eyes or unwittingly (or wittingly) entrapping the poor bastard into kissing me and touching me, all in the process of cheating on his wife. Result: I actually have friends who are guys again. It's been a very long time since that has happened. Ever since I got married, all men-friends ceased contact with me like I'm a leper. Does that prove that all my guy friends just really hung around because they thought there was some remote possibility of getting involved with me? Or is it something more territorial? It's all a huge mystery to me.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
insecurity and impropriety
When I was in the high school, I wore pantyhose to school every now and again. One day when I was in the 10th grade, I wore a pair that were hand-me-downs and happened to be a couple sizes too large. No problem, nylons are stretchy, so most of it fit just fine; the only problem was that the length was meant for someone between the sizes of 5'6" to 5'10" or so and as a result, they kept inching their way down my legs, seeing as I was a whopping 5'3" at the time. Of course as they began to sag, I would have to hike them up, bit by bit so that the sagginess was up high enough that the circumference of my thigh would be thick enough to at least hold them for a good half-hour before they began to sag again. I remember I was in social studies class, and in order to do this ritual, I was forced to stick my leg out into the isle between my desk and the wall so that I could pull them up high and tight, in the meanwhile, pulling up my skirt as well. I didn't realize anyone was looking as I was doing this, but apparently, my teacher had! He called me out into the hallway and gave me a stern talking-to. He said "what were you trying to do in there?" and I replied, "I was pulling up my pantyhose because they were slipping down." Mind you, I wasn't attracted to him whatsoever, and I didn't have a clue that it could possibly turn anyone on, let alone be an inappropriate action on my part. He then said to me, "well, you shouldn't be doing that in class, because you really don't know who it could be affecting." I probably went beet red when he said that, proceeded to apologize, and then slinked back into my seat in horror that I could have been "affecting" my teacher. That was my first lesson in sexual impropriety.
Again, when I was in high school, my mother took me bathing suit shopping. I wanted my first bikini... after I had boobs. (Those first sets of two pieces when you're flat as a board really don't count.) After I tried it on, loving the way my barely-there boobies looked in this new suit that looked exactly like a matching bra & panty set, my mom checked it out on me. The first thing she said to me was "don't you feel naked in that?" Quizzically, I looked at her and said "No way! It's a bikini!" All throughout high school, I wore short, short cutoff shorts, tiny shirts, tight tank tops, short mini-skirts, and never did I feel naked. I felt cute, and sexy. But I didn't realize how the sexy part affected others. Perhaps I was a bit oblivious. Really, I was very oblivious. I just wanted to look pretty, never really thinking that my body was at all sexy, given all of my girl friends were over-developed, curvaceous and already looking like real women at the age of 13. I never thought the boys that I wanted even looked at me "like that" anyway, and I was so inexperienced in that arena, why would I possibly be self-conscious about the way I dressed? Those days are now long gone... Now, even though I love the way my legs and ass look in short shorts, I can't bring myself to wear them. Forget mini-skirts! And when I wear a bikini that makes me look hot, I still want to wear a cover up. Let me tell you why: I do hear my mother saying "don't you feel naked?" And then I hear my social studies teacher saying "you don't know who it could be affecting." I went to the beach with my friends a few weeks ago, and wore a bikini. I was self-conscious because I didn't want the wife to feel uncomfortable that I was looking sexy while her husband was right there. And I didn't want her to feel bad that she's overweight and I'm stick-thin. I never "dress up" when I go out with my husband because he says he hates it when I look good. I know he's joking, but on one level, he actually is insecure of having a babe as a wife. That's why I always wear jeans. And pants. I can still look good in them, yet I'm not pushing that button of impropriety. I'm always asking him "is this too much?"
Thank you world for somehow making me dislike my own comfort in this sexy body.
Again, when I was in high school, my mother took me bathing suit shopping. I wanted my first bikini... after I had boobs. (Those first sets of two pieces when you're flat as a board really don't count.) After I tried it on, loving the way my barely-there boobies looked in this new suit that looked exactly like a matching bra & panty set, my mom checked it out on me. The first thing she said to me was "don't you feel naked in that?" Quizzically, I looked at her and said "No way! It's a bikini!" All throughout high school, I wore short, short cutoff shorts, tiny shirts, tight tank tops, short mini-skirts, and never did I feel naked. I felt cute, and sexy. But I didn't realize how the sexy part affected others. Perhaps I was a bit oblivious. Really, I was very oblivious. I just wanted to look pretty, never really thinking that my body was at all sexy, given all of my girl friends were over-developed, curvaceous and already looking like real women at the age of 13. I never thought the boys that I wanted even looked at me "like that" anyway, and I was so inexperienced in that arena, why would I possibly be self-conscious about the way I dressed? Those days are now long gone... Now, even though I love the way my legs and ass look in short shorts, I can't bring myself to wear them. Forget mini-skirts! And when I wear a bikini that makes me look hot, I still want to wear a cover up. Let me tell you why: I do hear my mother saying "don't you feel naked?" And then I hear my social studies teacher saying "you don't know who it could be affecting." I went to the beach with my friends a few weeks ago, and wore a bikini. I was self-conscious because I didn't want the wife to feel uncomfortable that I was looking sexy while her husband was right there. And I didn't want her to feel bad that she's overweight and I'm stick-thin. I never "dress up" when I go out with my husband because he says he hates it when I look good. I know he's joking, but on one level, he actually is insecure of having a babe as a wife. That's why I always wear jeans. And pants. I can still look good in them, yet I'm not pushing that button of impropriety. I'm always asking him "is this too much?"
Thank you world for somehow making me dislike my own comfort in this sexy body.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Scrubs
-- the tv show that I've begun watching. The main character, JD, (played by Zach Braff) keeps reminding me of BeautyEyes. I'm totally addicted to the show these days, and I'm now quite enamored with this guy, if only because he so reminds me of BeautyEyes. It's not necessarily that they look alike, (though in a way, they really do -- just imagine brown skin and grey eyes, though just as striking) but there's some hint of personality similarity, maybe it's the nerdiness? which I absolutely adore, by the way. This might very well be the first time that I've actually had a celebrity crush... the first time I've ever had any genuine curiosity about getting to know an actor, on a personal level. I'm finding it rather strange, really. I've felt that way about authors, but I think the nature of acting and celebritizing forces automatic walls between us and them, versus a pulling force of mental attraction that comes along with writers.
Anyway, I should probably stop watching the show because it's just pulling me down deeper into my depraved cyclone of obsession. I'm really trying to stop thinking about BeautyEyes because I know our situation is absolutely impossible, and I most likely will never get another weekend with him ever. After I sent him a drunken email, I realized how close to the edge I am with this guy, and the teetering is doing no good whatsoever.
On another front completely: I started a new job today and I'm surrounded for the first time by men who are happily involved with their wives/fiancees. No divorced sense of alienation, no sex-hungry single boys, just men who are (at least outwardly) satisfied with their women. THAT is strange in my profession. How ironic then, that one of these men I find absolutely stunning. Once again, the eyes! This guy brings back memories for me of my girlhood fantasies of who I would want to marry. Dark brown hair, chiseled features, BRIGHT blue eyes, and he's a brit to boot! Witty, and sarcastic as hell with a bite on the end of every statement. Dare I say, hot? I don't work with him directly, so I can't really stare at him for long periods of time given we don't hold very long conversations. But when I can steal the time when he's not looking, I'm amazed at how fucking handsome he is. Nothing like a workplace crush to make the hours go by pleasantly...
Anyway, I should probably stop watching the show because it's just pulling me down deeper into my depraved cyclone of obsession. I'm really trying to stop thinking about BeautyEyes because I know our situation is absolutely impossible, and I most likely will never get another weekend with him ever. After I sent him a drunken email, I realized how close to the edge I am with this guy, and the teetering is doing no good whatsoever.
On another front completely: I started a new job today and I'm surrounded for the first time by men who are happily involved with their wives/fiancees. No divorced sense of alienation, no sex-hungry single boys, just men who are (at least outwardly) satisfied with their women. THAT is strange in my profession. How ironic then, that one of these men I find absolutely stunning. Once again, the eyes! This guy brings back memories for me of my girlhood fantasies of who I would want to marry. Dark brown hair, chiseled features, BRIGHT blue eyes, and he's a brit to boot! Witty, and sarcastic as hell with a bite on the end of every statement. Dare I say, hot? I don't work with him directly, so I can't really stare at him for long periods of time given we don't hold very long conversations. But when I can steal the time when he's not looking, I'm amazed at how fucking handsome he is. Nothing like a workplace crush to make the hours go by pleasantly...
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
More playing, more fun
Life has been treating me quite well lately. I've been taking some time to catch up with friends I've been neglecting, and basically getting out of the house some more. This past weekend I had an absolute blast. Met up with an old friend (like from childhood times) whom I've always considered the brother I never had. We've since drifted and done our own thing, but the Fates brought our paths together one more time. It was a last hurrah before his taking flight to a faraway paradise, and boy was it some kinds of fun!
I haven't been clubbing in quite some time; H has been decidedly self-conscious about his age and so I never really pressed the issue. The few times I've asked to go out he's declined, so I stopped asking. This past weekend though, I went without him. He was completely fine with it because it was a childhood-friend thing, and so on and so forth. After a couple of drinks, I was loosey-goosey and all over the dance floor. It didn't help matters that my childhood Friend (F) was super touchy-feely. He was delighted that I made it out to chill with him and his boys. Little did he know that because I haven't been dancing in a long time, I was bursting to let it all out.
From the minute that I arrived at the club, I saw F standing there at the bar. I tapped him on the shoulder and as soon as he saw me, gave me a great big hug that was very nice to receive. Throughout the meet & greet with his group, he kept slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. I couldn't help but feel excitement and quite a bit of attraction toward him. (Mind you, he attended my wedding, and he's involved in a pretty serious, long term love affair of his own.)
On the dance floor, it was a whole other world. It's been many many years since I've been clubbing without my husband, or without a significant other for that matter. Normally, my super-sexy moves get focused solely on my H, and nobody else on the floor even comes close to us. Something about that loud beat and the feel of the sounds deep in my chest, down my spine and through the soles of my feet just really gets me going. Well, out there, I couldn't believe what was happening. I'm sure the girls who were out with us must have thought I was the biggest slut in the world, but I didn't care. I really couldn't give a shit.
My Friend, his friends, as well as random clubbers on the floor worked their way toward me throughout the night so they could get some grinding action, and with that music, that hot, sweaty environment gave me exactly what I needed. I must have danced with seven to ten different guys throughout the evening, hardcore dancing. Two in particular though stand out in my mind. One guy, very good looking, I just met that night as a friend of a friend of my Friend. We didn't really talk at all, but damn, out of nowhere I found him slipped up behind me, grinding against my ass. Whew! He was hot. The way his hips moved... mmm, mmm! He never used his hands, and kicking it up a notch, he would nuzzle against my neck without actually touching me. I expected at any moment that he would either kiss my neck deeply or full-on bite me. But neither of those things happened. Instead, he just kept on revving me up getting me hotter and hotter. Boy, that was fun.
The other was surprisingly, my Friend. He seemed somewhat shy through most of the dancing. I think he was trying to "be good", seeing as how his girlfriend was in another country and all. But eventually, he broke out of that shell. It first started with the playful type of dancing -- the kind you can just turn around and dance away from without giving or taking offense. All smiles and giggles. Good, decent fun. But by the third and fourth time around, you just can't take the sexiness anymore, and you just have to give in. That's when I felt his hands rest on my hips, and that's when my arm reached around the back of his thigh. That's when I felt that he was hard, and when we were grinding, I could feel his dick pressing up against me. That's when I turned around, our legs straddling each other's, and the rhythms took over. Enslaved to our bodies, we became passive as the legs, the hips, the groins just worked their magic together. We crossed a line. That line that flirts between sexy dancing and real dry grinding. Sex without fluids. Lengthy orgasm pumped through the body with ambient house beats enveloping. These are the telltale moments of what real sex would be like with that person. Fucking hot. That's what.
Whew. Damn did I have a good weekend.
I haven't been clubbing in quite some time; H has been decidedly self-conscious about his age and so I never really pressed the issue. The few times I've asked to go out he's declined, so I stopped asking. This past weekend though, I went without him. He was completely fine with it because it was a childhood-friend thing, and so on and so forth. After a couple of drinks, I was loosey-goosey and all over the dance floor. It didn't help matters that my childhood Friend (F) was super touchy-feely. He was delighted that I made it out to chill with him and his boys. Little did he know that because I haven't been dancing in a long time, I was bursting to let it all out.
From the minute that I arrived at the club, I saw F standing there at the bar. I tapped him on the shoulder and as soon as he saw me, gave me a great big hug that was very nice to receive. Throughout the meet & greet with his group, he kept slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. I couldn't help but feel excitement and quite a bit of attraction toward him. (Mind you, he attended my wedding, and he's involved in a pretty serious, long term love affair of his own.)
On the dance floor, it was a whole other world. It's been many many years since I've been clubbing without my husband, or without a significant other for that matter. Normally, my super-sexy moves get focused solely on my H, and nobody else on the floor even comes close to us. Something about that loud beat and the feel of the sounds deep in my chest, down my spine and through the soles of my feet just really gets me going. Well, out there, I couldn't believe what was happening. I'm sure the girls who were out with us must have thought I was the biggest slut in the world, but I didn't care. I really couldn't give a shit.
My Friend, his friends, as well as random clubbers on the floor worked their way toward me throughout the night so they could get some grinding action, and with that music, that hot, sweaty environment gave me exactly what I needed. I must have danced with seven to ten different guys throughout the evening, hardcore dancing. Two in particular though stand out in my mind. One guy, very good looking, I just met that night as a friend of a friend of my Friend. We didn't really talk at all, but damn, out of nowhere I found him slipped up behind me, grinding against my ass. Whew! He was hot. The way his hips moved... mmm, mmm! He never used his hands, and kicking it up a notch, he would nuzzle against my neck without actually touching me. I expected at any moment that he would either kiss my neck deeply or full-on bite me. But neither of those things happened. Instead, he just kept on revving me up getting me hotter and hotter. Boy, that was fun.
The other was surprisingly, my Friend. He seemed somewhat shy through most of the dancing. I think he was trying to "be good", seeing as how his girlfriend was in another country and all. But eventually, he broke out of that shell. It first started with the playful type of dancing -- the kind you can just turn around and dance away from without giving or taking offense. All smiles and giggles. Good, decent fun. But by the third and fourth time around, you just can't take the sexiness anymore, and you just have to give in. That's when I felt his hands rest on my hips, and that's when my arm reached around the back of his thigh. That's when I felt that he was hard, and when we were grinding, I could feel his dick pressing up against me. That's when I turned around, our legs straddling each other's, and the rhythms took over. Enslaved to our bodies, we became passive as the legs, the hips, the groins just worked their magic together. We crossed a line. That line that flirts between sexy dancing and real dry grinding. Sex without fluids. Lengthy orgasm pumped through the body with ambient house beats enveloping. These are the telltale moments of what real sex would be like with that person. Fucking hot. That's what.
Whew. Damn did I have a good weekend.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Coming Home Celebration
I was surrounded by a few familiar faces, and some new ones I didn't quite recognize. Shuffling around, a bit unsure of how the evening would go, I walked away from the bar with my favorite comfort brew, ready to dive into socializing and what conversation comes with it. I was just about to sit down, and then I saw him -- those absolutely beautiful eyes, full and sensuous lips and curly black hair in all his glory. We locked eyes and immediately I was reminded of years ago, when I would pine as a young lady for even a glimmer of attention from this boy. Now, the boy has grown into a gorgeous man with a rock-hard dick and enough guts to approach me, hold me, kiss me. Me, a now-married woman.
Throughout the evening, we mingled, in the proper fashion. That is, rotations were made through the crowds of people who had gathered together from numerous geographic locales, back home for the holidays. Catching up on news of family, spouses, children... chit chat. It was great. Wonderful conversation was had. Delicious food and drink made everyone merry.
Toward the end of the night before closing time, the group of gentlemen who were entertaining me (friends from highschool, mind you) decided they were ready to leave -- to hit the local stripclub. Naturally, I vocalized my own desire to go with them, on the condition that Beauty Eyes accompany us. He agreed, and so we went. In the back seat, I squeezed into the middle seat between him and another friend, and off we went. The club itself was just I had imagined strip clubs should be. Red velvet rockers, a center stage with poles going all the way up to the 2nd story ceiling, tables surrounding the raised dance floor. Oh and of course, naked chicks shaking their tits.
There I was, at a strip club, attended by five men. I saw all sorts of pussy. Surreal was part of the feeling, drunk was another. These men, three of whom were old friends, two others -- complete strangers. And I was having the time of my life. They paid for me to enjoy a lap-dance. Amazing fun. An innocent lap-dance, but fun nonetheless. And she groped my tits. Yeah, that was nice.
------------------------------------------------
"So, you're married?" Snippets in chronology come to me in scattered sounds, images, the smell of his skin and hair, the taste of his lips, the pressure of his tongue. At one point, we were sitting next to each other and I can not recall a single thing we talked about -- just one glorious extended moment in time, swimming in his beautiful eyes. His face balanced inches away from mine; our breath dancing those intimate steps of suspension-between-inhalations.
I'm not sure how it began exactly... the playfulness of our fingertips were aware of their games long before either of us became cognizant of what was happening. "Do you feel guilty?" How can I find room for such an emotion when my body is overflowing with desire and passion? The passion is real and every cell that comprises my being is thrilled to be awakened.
I could see that he was seeing demons as he leaned his head against the backrest of my car. What is wrong, what is right, I challenge my own sense of morality and bring it to the fore in others. Our bodies fit snug against one another. He says he seems to always somehow get himself into impossible situations.
Earlier during dinner, there was a brief pause when all dinner conversation seemed to ebb out of my consciousness, receding to the background and what came into focus was him -- his face, his lips, his eyes. He didn't look away, nor was he one bit agitated. We stared like that for a good bit of time, and suddenly that smile of mine -- the one that creeps up from the center of my sexual being -- radiated, like a moonbeam, from me to him. His reception was unambiguous. I knew at that moment that something larger than a shared history of kinsmanship was dancing between us.
----------------------------------------------------------------
waves overtaking me. I see your mouth adorning my body, electric shocks emanating throughout my limbs. lingering touch, your ghost kisses repeatedly taunting me as I quietly receive these physical manifestations of these precious memories. your slender fingers rasp against my skin, and that tight grip on my hair guides me to do your bidding. the force of your kiss, your tongue between my ever-awaiting lips, drives me into a passionate fury that rushes the hours past. our bodies moving synchronously and your hand moves near my mouth. a finger finds its way to my lips, and there is nothing I want more than to take you into my mouth. teasing with every lick, you watch as I slowly allow another tiny bit of skin slip past my lips, entering into that warm darkness. your flesh is sweet to me.
flash. your tongue is teasing my nipple. watching you give me pleasure sends me over the brink of fantasy and here you are. and here we are. undeniably, the forceful nature of our passions create an incredible field of sensuality that surrounds our bodies infinitely. yours are whispered words that flow gently past me, the sound of your voice incredibly humble and generous. your lips are magnificent. our kisses, a prolonged exploration of the topography of our bodies. I hear my voice warning an echo that bounces around in my head, "be careful with this one. you're making love right now, even without penetration. this is a dangerous place to be."
I can not stop. our hunger for each other is massive. our bodies move without conscious critique. we are in a place of beauty, and I can not stop. I must go. I do not want to stop, but I must go.
I have the feeling I have overwhelmed him. I fear he will force himself to forget any connection that we made. I fear that the treacherous waters of my adulterous reality present too much conflict for his harmonious, dedicated and honest life. But the beauty we create together is absolutely undeniable.
Throughout the evening, we mingled, in the proper fashion. That is, rotations were made through the crowds of people who had gathered together from numerous geographic locales, back home for the holidays. Catching up on news of family, spouses, children... chit chat. It was great. Wonderful conversation was had. Delicious food and drink made everyone merry.
Toward the end of the night before closing time, the group of gentlemen who were entertaining me (friends from highschool, mind you) decided they were ready to leave -- to hit the local stripclub. Naturally, I vocalized my own desire to go with them, on the condition that Beauty Eyes accompany us. He agreed, and so we went. In the back seat, I squeezed into the middle seat between him and another friend, and off we went. The club itself was just I had imagined strip clubs should be. Red velvet rockers, a center stage with poles going all the way up to the 2nd story ceiling, tables surrounding the raised dance floor. Oh and of course, naked chicks shaking their tits.
There I was, at a strip club, attended by five men. I saw all sorts of pussy. Surreal was part of the feeling, drunk was another. These men, three of whom were old friends, two others -- complete strangers. And I was having the time of my life. They paid for me to enjoy a lap-dance. Amazing fun. An innocent lap-dance, but fun nonetheless. And she groped my tits. Yeah, that was nice.
------------------------------------------------
"So, you're married?" Snippets in chronology come to me in scattered sounds, images, the smell of his skin and hair, the taste of his lips, the pressure of his tongue. At one point, we were sitting next to each other and I can not recall a single thing we talked about -- just one glorious extended moment in time, swimming in his beautiful eyes. His face balanced inches away from mine; our breath dancing those intimate steps of suspension-between-inhalations.
I'm not sure how it began exactly... the playfulness of our fingertips were aware of their games long before either of us became cognizant of what was happening. "Do you feel guilty?" How can I find room for such an emotion when my body is overflowing with desire and passion? The passion is real and every cell that comprises my being is thrilled to be awakened.
I could see that he was seeing demons as he leaned his head against the backrest of my car. What is wrong, what is right, I challenge my own sense of morality and bring it to the fore in others. Our bodies fit snug against one another. He says he seems to always somehow get himself into impossible situations.
Earlier during dinner, there was a brief pause when all dinner conversation seemed to ebb out of my consciousness, receding to the background and what came into focus was him -- his face, his lips, his eyes. He didn't look away, nor was he one bit agitated. We stared like that for a good bit of time, and suddenly that smile of mine -- the one that creeps up from the center of my sexual being -- radiated, like a moonbeam, from me to him. His reception was unambiguous. I knew at that moment that something larger than a shared history of kinsmanship was dancing between us.
----------------------------------------------------------------
waves overtaking me. I see your mouth adorning my body, electric shocks emanating throughout my limbs. lingering touch, your ghost kisses repeatedly taunting me as I quietly receive these physical manifestations of these precious memories. your slender fingers rasp against my skin, and that tight grip on my hair guides me to do your bidding. the force of your kiss, your tongue between my ever-awaiting lips, drives me into a passionate fury that rushes the hours past. our bodies moving synchronously and your hand moves near my mouth. a finger finds its way to my lips, and there is nothing I want more than to take you into my mouth. teasing with every lick, you watch as I slowly allow another tiny bit of skin slip past my lips, entering into that warm darkness. your flesh is sweet to me.
flash. your tongue is teasing my nipple. watching you give me pleasure sends me over the brink of fantasy and here you are. and here we are. undeniably, the forceful nature of our passions create an incredible field of sensuality that surrounds our bodies infinitely. yours are whispered words that flow gently past me, the sound of your voice incredibly humble and generous. your lips are magnificent. our kisses, a prolonged exploration of the topography of our bodies. I hear my voice warning an echo that bounces around in my head, "be careful with this one. you're making love right now, even without penetration. this is a dangerous place to be."
I can not stop. our hunger for each other is massive. our bodies move without conscious critique. we are in a place of beauty, and I can not stop. I must go. I do not want to stop, but I must go.
I have the feeling I have overwhelmed him. I fear he will force himself to forget any connection that we made. I fear that the treacherous waters of my adulterous reality present too much conflict for his harmonious, dedicated and honest life. But the beauty we create together is absolutely undeniable.
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