So, been off sick for a couple of days and while nothing has really happened...well, things happen.

I have to share here, becuase I have to vent to someone and it isn't anyone who can't hear other things anyway and most people I know would have all kinds of ethical conflicts and I just want to purge my 'fuckin' get overyourself already'ness somewhere. And not to hurt my friend.

She has no women friends, except me. And I'm hardly womanly with her. If we were partners, I'd be the bossy domineering one: oh, wait! I already am! Anyway, shortly after we 'did it' she 'did it' with the tattoo guy she's been all wet for 'he's soooo talented and sooo big and tough and soo rugged with is Angel tats and his Angel connections and membership --but he' s totally legit and works at his own businesses at arms length to the club and the 'crime' elements.

Ya rite; whatever. And since I was feeling a little bit I need someone to talk to and you're clearly going to have sex with this man soon so if I suggest it at least I'll be able to be frank with her when I'm feeling a bit, you know, guilty or conflicted or whatever. So, I do and they do and ever since...

I know her mother has done crazy things to her self esteem and she's in a crazy way super needy for men to 'take care of everything' and 'whisk her away' and stuff...so, deep background is that her hub (completely gorgeous, if selfabsorbed man) pulled her out of a life of drug and self abuse as a 3rd string fuck for some oversexed club owner in the district in TO (Larry, for god's sake).So now, the kids are a little bigger and she's feeling a bit neglected (selfabsorbed, remember) so she gets a couple of tats from the big, scary biker guy and all of a sudden she's in freakin' grade 10 all over again. 'do you think he likes me'
Vomiting yet?

The worst are the pouty ones:'he hasn't texted me obscene texts in almost a whole week; do you think he's forgotten me?' 'oh, most of the pictures he sends me are not shareable *giggle*'. I wish I was kidding. Or even worse: he was supposed to text me about when we could meet this week and he hasn't yet. Do you think he likes me still?

And I'm happy if you ask after my health. Is there a problem with us? There is no us, I guess, which is the point. She seems to be having more fun than me, though. All I can see is bad: bad feeling from a bad scene that will end badly.

The biker will move on or ...maintain this affair for years, perhaps. Worst case is that the boys are almost grown, she leaves hub for this nutjob and he get's thrown into the slammer for something really bad, like human trafficking (which I sincerely doubt, but tax evasion is possible). Then where are ya? I wish her hub were as attentive to her needs as mine.

The corrollory is that, of course, we find ourselves each in the best situation. I'm neither lonely nor frustrated, and you aren't either. I would assume. And I have the 'access to the equipment that I do so enjoy. Again, I wish I had a better handle on what I could do to...get you a bit ruffled. You're always so composed.

Seconds, please

Quarterly, it seems, I may be able to see you.

The second time was more weird, if possible. The overhead light was on, which meant that I could see how beautiful your body is. That was so nice. And it was fun to be with you and talk with you and yet, still I'm not sure what you need me to do. Is it enough? Is it too much? Am I too; or not enough? The breasts. They're small. Sorry 'bout that.

And of course the timing is not optimal. It was nearly 'all clear' but not quite, exactly. I barely notice, but I spend my days cleaning up less yukky stuff than ever now, so really: that is Nothing in my larger experience. You are not used to that, despite having a dog and cats and a partner. I sense your sensibilities are considerably affected. Don't deny it; I'm hardly a delicate woman.

Don't get me wrong. I wish so much that I was. I wish I was delicate and fresh faced and dewy skin'd and bare and soft. Rather, I'm a squishy, scruffy and silly old girl. Ah well. I'm so happy to spend time with you. It's odd, the format you've chosen. I don't think I would have thought of naked and playing. It's oddly comfortable, though.

And, I have to say that I appreciate the access to the equipment. It's new and fun; not unlike the regular format but a differet shape. I like to feel the difference inside me; the different ways we intersect. And it's fun to taste the differences too. I want to experience a lot of things with you but at 2 hours a quarter, it's going to be a while before that's really exhausted.

Which brings me to the next point. That, considering everything, should I ever expect to see you again? Or maybe once more...but then...I feel I need to really do ...something...to prove to you I'm worth the time. Another blowjob? Awesome: fun and more fun. But, that's kinda...I mean, once a day is great. More often is less fun. I want some too. And I didn't really know what to do, how to get or even what I wanted to do. I want to get close to you, but I'm not used to doing that without words. I wanted you to take me. To do with what you wanted with me. To hold me and take advantage of me. But then, you seem quite shy (really? you have an other woman; that must take some kind of steel) and not really sure about what you're doing. I feel a bit new myself, with you. It's unknown. Uncharted. I enjoy the exploration, but I fear your patience is wearing thin.

And what if I came to your town: would you visit? If you were in TO and I had a room...would you visit me instead? I would totally do that so you wouldn't have 'me' in your 'space.' But, I would want you to stay longer, maybe. And to take a shower with you. I was a bit sad that you weren't more into that idea. It didn't seem such a stretch after everything else, really. It was a small shower.

I guess cougars are more tolerant of the young since they're used to cleaning up after them. And the cubs are tolerant because they're used to having everything done for them, including washing thier backs :) I don't like the young, because I am tired of boys. Boys are for girls and I'm a woman, now. I like you. And I really like your body. And I hope to have the opportunity to enjoy it again. And, hopefully, again. And again.

I'm going to passe le capoterie for some delicious flavour for next time. I hate the taste of those things.

So, I think I've over stepped and over taxed and undone.
You did write. You missed my emails.
And ...back and forth; and then I said I missed your voice and your sense of humour.

S'awrite. I'll wait until you miss my emails again, I guess.
I'm not sure if this is enough with you. Back in the old days, when you wrote more than 2 words, or 2 sentances (oohhh, don't tax yourself) I really enjoyed the word play.

Since things have been done and discovered and won't likely be happening ever again (sigh) I think I need to shake you off.
I sure want to, today.
Just...when I asked you what you did and you copy/pasted your job description, I just felt like slapping your arrogant face. What the hell spin shit is that? I do, actually, want to know what it is you do. Maybe I'd like to do it too?

I wish something would happen to justify my emailing you, but it would have to be big. It's your turn.
I want to call you before you go to Colombia, just to hear your voice before you go...Not that a manager in a large utlility from North America would be remotely attractive for kidnapping, or anything. I think Nov. 15 ...before, but not just before; that might be inconvenient.
~sigh~
It would be nice to know you are interested in communicating with me. Nice.

Unpacking

I wish there was an etiquette structure around feeling ones way, post act, to that yeah, whatever: I really like your take on things and I want to keep that piece, even if the boobs are too small and the body too flabby...

I've tried to unpack that night: from the get go, from before he walked into the lobby, even. The jacket was a plaid with a blue stripe to match his eyes and the shirt he wore. The hair was short (just cut, as I'm later to discover); the casual 'I should have asked you to take up my bag, too--it really was heavy with that bottle of olive oil in it.' You were so cool, calm and collected. I had so much fun at dinner; I enjoy hearing your voice. It's been almost a year since I've seen you and you look as beautiful as ever.

One thing, speaking about unpacking, was that he/you had done so: the clothes were in the drawers, not in the locked case. The toiletries laid out neatly. Only for me to come in and mess up everything. Not on purpose. I just wish I was more...composed. You never lose that cool--very Mad Men, actually.

I really want to write about the vignette--the hour or so after dinner. I can't find the words to make it sexy, or exciting though. Unpacking the steps might help but, I just...can't. I've heard it's a process. I need to do some more reading, clearly.

Unpacking; like asking you to take off your undershirt. I asked about it at dinner. "I can take it off for you, if you'd like." "I would like that, actually."

Back at the room, I looked up at you and you kissed me. It was so nice and so tingly and that feeling of having a current running through me . And your tongue, different and curious ('curious'?). It all seemed really natural.

And then you unpacked you. I watched your hands on the shirt buttons and then the shirt was gone and the white cotton was pulled off like a gift...yummmm. Fuzzy and thick and, sigh....that's where I lose my words. And when things roll together into a jumble of gentle words from you and nonesense from me; your body is so lovely to touch. When you rolled on me and found your way inside I was so full of you; it felt so different and soo good.

And if 'things' hadn't happenend with me, I would have ridden you again; but instead I took your long cock in my mouth and played until you came again. So fun.

For the record, I did and still do have a condom in my bag...because you are right: you never know.

Why is the First Time Always the Worst Time

It's been a long time and there's news: that benchmarking project is underway...ish. There were some setbacks. First, there was email: I sent the Side of the Road link to the dead email...but not so dead.
Perhaps that's why he suggested we meet up when he was in town for a visit. So nice. We met up at his hotel and dined (lightly) at the Queen Mum; then back to the hotel and...then a pouncing and too fast...and there we were. Done. And to top it all off my hateful body pulled a 'let's bleed all over the hotel linens' for...what turns out, two days later, to be no apparent reason. I think there was some sort of 'piston-like' effect; maybe more like a syringe plunger...either way. Wah! Hardly the impression one wants to make. And of course I was overcompensating for being increadibly insecure and shy by being pushy and bossy-girl. Why does anyone sleep with me?
And then he was also 'new' and 'fast' and, in between all those good things that I've been dreaming of for two years, exhausted from the wine and the travel...The best bit was the chance to nuzzle that chest and suck his cock and feel him respond to me.

So, yes: he has a chest that is wonderfully furry and soft and nuzzle worthy to an exponential degree. Lean and muscular and well endowed (piston) and beautiful and surprisingly gentle and patient. And he came quickly and I felt so flattered because I made him that horny (too).

And now, will we ever Ever get a chance to see how good we could be together? Clearly, there is a lot of good experience between the two of us. I'm just frustrated that things were so brief and silly that he won't want to ever go there again. I hope this isn't the case.

One thing I'd love to do is to actually start that erotic novel; the images aren't imaginary anymore but now they aren't...can I actually do it? Not in the short term: too much work, and then there's a reno on the horizon...I will share the link, though.
Not yet, but I do want you to read this someday.

The post event communication has been very limited; 'nice' night was mentioned. Apologies were offered. (Nice? for a word-guy, I was hoping for something a bit less generic)
"No strings" sex for sure; but not 'meaningless'. I'm very interested in what it means to have something (because it isn't Quite the man himself) special, just for me only.

I am also concerned that he's not actually so cool with it all as he seemed; I want him again and I want to show him what I can do, and give him an opportunity to show me what he could do for me...but: My breasts are small (I think a strike, but hardly news) and, of course, the tummy (sigh: working on it).

They are off to Colombia in 2 months for 3 weeks. I'll try to call (yes, the phone) just to hear his voice before he goes...in case that is it forever. I know that this can't go on, really. A trip to Ed. might be possible; I could make it up then. I could at least choose the time.

Gung Hey Fat Choi

It's been so long since I 'heard' from you that you've probably forgotten all about me. Or you're avoiding me. Any way you slice it, I'm not someone you want to be connected with right now. And I'm having a hard time staying focussed. On my crush on you, that is.

It's straying around the board; not necessarily a bad thing, really.

First of all, I didn't necessarily decide to blog just to lay, painfully bare, my more naughty, unspeakable thoughts. Not that I haven't expressed many of the ideas in this journal, in some way or another, to other people. I think it might have more impact in this context, rather than as a casual observation 'blurted out' for humourous effect.

But also, aside from you, tall dark and handsome, my mind is a bit of a cesspool these days. It's encouraged by the wonderfully horny husband. A whole weekend of sex (well, once the kiddies went to grandparents for a sleepover). Really the most fun two people can have.

Two.

Now that's the next level of naughty, I figure. And the most delicate of situations to find ones self in...as we commented to each other while taking a bit of a time out: how do you get to that?

But somehow: even now...I want to go there, and can't. Someday.