Musings, Mixings, Meaning

I’m so glad he trusts me with this. As he tells me the new story of finally caressing his first love, and as I take in his written description of it, I feel so much. A deep joy that has grown in me each time I find it again. A confusion that dwindles each time. Fears. What if she’s better than me at this, or that? What if it feels better to him when they’re together? I’m thrilled when he has a meaningful experience, and I also wonder with nervousness and awe how it will change the meanings that live and breathe between us.

When I have questions, I ask. “What does Us feel like now with new Kylah gloriousness in you?” He says we’re still us, and he describes the us that endures. And it makes sense. The And. That’s what I’m beginning to know, bit by bit. His love for me, And his love for others. The And isn’t in me. I don’t love that way… but if I look in him, and pay attention, it becomes clearer and clearer.

Later in the evening, a sultry song comes from his computer speakers. He collects me in his arms and dances with me. I am in heaven. I move my hips with his, and run my hand across his hair and cheek. Something clicks into place in me, and fears fall away. This is who we are, this is our uniqueness. My hand on his skin, the way my hips move against his. The me I bring when we touch, when we dance or fuck… nobody else is my body. This is the substance of me and him and us. The dance of our four arms, or of their two tongues… it’s all welcome here, welcome to slosh and mix together. Unique. Bound by care we have for each other. Bound by the reaches of his heart.

My tentative certainty in trusting him when he reaches out for others… it’s the same determined nervousness that he brings into trusting me to be here, to take all this in, to speak up when I need him and love all these treasures he pours in my lap.

She Was My First Love

A few of you might remember the olden days when to keep in touch with someone who lived far away you had to actually write letters and send them through the postal service. Those were the days when I met my first love, who we’ll call Kylah here. We’d both made it to the state rally for the Future Business Leaders of America (test taking competitions were something I rather enjoyed back them) and we met at the dance that was held the night before the award ceremony. She asked me to dance, and we danced, and not long after that we slipped outside and leaned up against a wall out of sight of everyone else and we spent the next who knows how long talking. Yeah, that’s it. Just talking. I wanted to kiss her, but I was a nerdy, awkward 15 year old and had no idea how to make that happen. The next day we met up long enough to exchange addresses and phone numbers and that was it.

For the next couple of years we wrote letters to each other regularly and talked on the phone rarely. I fell in love with her. She took these letters into which I poured so much of my unadulterated self, and she loved them. And loved me. Eventually I moved off to Arkansas, putting much, much more distance between us, and we lost touch.

We were in contact then on and off over the next few years, and then the second time I saw Kylah in person was at my wedding. I had sent her an invitation with a letter and she wrote back that she’d imagined herself at my wedding before, but hadn’t thought about me marrying someone else there. She was thrilled to come, though. She showed up the morning of the ceremony at my hotel with her boyfriend. Kylah was stunningly beautiful. Before she left the reception I gave her a hug, kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her so much.

We went back to our usual patterns of periodic letters and even more periodic phone calls. Contact was sporadic at best, but we never really let go completely. Then came MySpace, then Facebook. The last couple of years we’ve kept up with one another more closely thanks to those sites. It’s been a blessing.

After Gustav hit Elizabeth and I headed off to Texas. Kylah had recently moved to Fort Worth, and knowing we’d be near there I sent her a text to see if I could come by and see her. Despite spending that whole trip flying by the seat of our pants, that bit of planning paid off. In one day we went from Houston to Carthage to buy my new (to me at least) VW, then to the Dallas area to see Elizabeth’s family. After a bit of supper I told them I had things to do, I hopped in the bug and drove to Forth Worth to see Kylah for the third time in some 16 years.

I arrived at her apartment road weary and brain dead, but when she came down to the parking lot to show me the way up, I grabbed her and picked her up in a bear hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. I met her roommate, a three legged dog and a friend of theirs. We sat around a table just talking for a while. I felt like rather horrible company, feeling rather tongue tied even when I could think of something intelligent to say. Finally I said I had to go. I needed sleep and was going to have an equally long day the next day. Kylah (and the three legged dog) walked me down to my car. I asked her if I could give her that kiss I wanted to the first night we met. When I did two things happened. The first was that I was very conscious of holding back. I did not spin her around and pin her back to the car. I did not send my hands under her shirt to feel the smooth skin of her back. I did hold her tight and give her a soft kiss. There may have been 16 years building up to this kiss, but it was still a first kiss. The second thing to happen was feeling my heart flutter and my legs get weak. One kiss and I had to remind myself to breathe.

We smiled and held onto each other a little longer, then some small talk. I kissed her once more and said “I love you” before getting in my car and driving back to Elizabeth’s brother’s house. I was positively giddy on the ride home. I had to let out several loud exclamations as the miles rolled by. I remembered what it felt like to be a smitten teenage nerd boy. It’s a bit different from being a smitten adult nerd boy.

Kylah sent me a message last week asking if I could handle seeing her more than once in 10 years. She’s in the state visiting her folks and wants to come see me on Friday. I was very happy about this plan.

Friday evening she came over when I got off work. After a big hug and a little kiss we came inside and I got to introduce her and Elizabeth. We just sat around chatting for a while, waiting on the chili to finish cooking. Kylah and I lounged and cuddled on the couch and Elizabeth just kept smiling at us. It was very cute. After supper and after conversation had died down I asked Kylah if she wanted to go for a ride in my new car. Now, who can turn that down, really? She doesn’t know her way around much of Baton Rouge, so she had no idea where we were going until we pulled into the parking lot.

The Bellemont!” she exclaimed.

That was where we met. It’s now mostly abandoned and being reclaimed by nature, as you can see. It wasn’t far off then.

I drove around to the back, and pointed my headlights at the wall where we stood talking to each other that night. Kylah just grinned and leaned over and gave me a kiss. I pulled the car over to the side, took off my seatbelt and kissed her back properly. That made right a great missed opportunity.

Leaving the decrepit hotel we headed over to the bookstore for some tea and browsing. We went through the rack of Little Golden Books, pointing out to each other which titles were our favorites as a kid. We both really liked There’s a Monster At The End Of This Book. We held hands and snuggled and looked at books and magazines and generally had a nice time. She still had to make the drive back to her parents’ place, down near the coast, so we headed back to my place so she could get her car. She came in to say goodbye to Elizabeth and I walked her back outside so she could follow me back out to the interstate.

One more kiss for the road turned into two, then four, then they all just sort of melted together. I grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the side of the house, out of the headlights and the view of whoever was walking by. I spun her around and pinned her back to the wall in the dark, pressed myself against her and we returned to making out. Everything just kept getting hotter and heavier. My right hand hand went up her shirt, pressing my fingers into the smooth skin of her back. With the left I caressed her face, ran a finger up the side of her neck, twisted my fingers in her short hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” I asked, right hand slipping past the waist of her jeans and I grabbed her firm ass.

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” she breathed.

“We can make sure you get up early enough to get where you’re going.”

“If I stay the night I’m not getting any sleep.”

“See, then getting up won’t be a problem.”

She just grabbed my head and pulled me back into a deep kiss. I ran my right hand back under her shirt, sliding softly across her belly until my fingertips grazed the bottom of her breast. My fingers trailed across her breast and I drank her in. She felt so much different from the other women I’ve been with. None of them have been the same, of course, but I took note of how different she felt to me. She is so small, smaller than anyone I’ve as much as kissed. Her skin had the same softness that I’ve experienced with other lovers, but her body is firm. Tight. I relished her, enjoyed that she was so uniquely her. That will never fail to amaze me, the way each of the women I’ve loved (or lusted for) have been nothing less than themselves.

Kylah was pushing back against me and I rested a hand on the button of her jeans. I pulled my head back and whispered “May I?”

She was breathing hard and nodded. If a whisper can be forceful then hers was when she said “Yes.”

This time my hand slid down across her belly. My fingers drifted through soft hair before parting her lips and slipping across and around her clit.

“Oh god,” she breathed in my ear. “Oh god.”

She was so wet. My fingers slid up and down and I pulled her closer to me. She breathed into my neck.

A few minutes of this and she said “Backyard. Let’s go in the backyard.”

The gate had to be forced open. There are still limbs that Gustav left behind it. Once it was closed behind us and we were out of sight we jumped right back on each other and picked up where we’d left off. The feeling of her leaning on me, barely able to stand, pressed between me and the wall of the house was simply astounding.

For 16 years we’d carried a torch for one another. While my heart felt like the same smitten kid, the rest of me was responding like an adult, confident, wanting her, feeling so strong as her legs buckled under her and she clung to me for support. My fingers flew in circles around her clit, dipping further down once in a while to slip inside her, bringing more wetness with them when they came back. She was resting her head on my shoulder and chanting (or was it panting?) “Oh god.”

I had lost track of time completely, but I remember her touching my wrist to stop me. She said she wasn’t quite ready for this, and I pulled my hand back. She apologized, and I told her that was unnecessary. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in tight. She buried her head in my neck and we just stood like that for a while. I pulled back and took her face in my hands.

“I love you, Kylah.”

I kissed her softly. I held on to her. Sixteen years of waiting, and I wasn’t ready to let go. Luckily she wasn’t ready to let go either. Eventually we walked back out to the front and after another small, soft kiss or two she got in her car and I got in mine. We got near the interstate and I called her to make sure she knew where she was going, then I turned around to head back home.

It’s hard to let go, but it’s easier than I thought it would be. After all, one of the things she whispered to me was that she thought this was probably just the start of things for us. It was a slow start. It was many years later than I think we’d have liked. But it’s a start I think we’re both happy with.

So maybe my friends were right in the comments they made when I told the first part of this story. Maybe I am romantic after all. Then again I am leaving out the part of the story where I just sat around in a daze going “Holy fuck! That really happened! THAT REALLY HAPPENED!”

Have I Mentioned I Luuurrve Me Some Burlesque?

Ahhh, the sequins and shiny fabric I would never wear in any other circumstance. The old school high heels. The yummy curves of a boob with the nipple hidden away in plain sight. The smiles, the humor, the fun. I heart burlesque. A lot.

That’s why this calendar looks positively delicious.

The New York City Sexbloggers 2009 Calendar will benefit Audacia Ray’s Sex Work Awareness Project, and will provide you with much gorgeous eye candy. If you’d like to buy a day, head to the calendar link and take a look. You could name your blog! Or give a personal message to commemorate the day! Lots of possibilities. And don’t forget to buy yourself a copy of the calendar. This promises to be a fabulous set of photos.


Big Momma by Altered Aperture (http://alteredaperture.com)

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Bitch Magazine needs your help. We donated. You should too.

Library porn!

Torture of a Collared Librarian? Librarian BDSM porn? I think I’m going to have to get this! (Found via Spank the Librarian)

That reminds me, I told my boss I’m a sex blogger. It was actually relevant to the discussion, and she was unphased. So now I’m out as poly, out as a sex blogger, and probably out as kinky since I said my objection to The Secretary was “But they’re doing it wrong!” And somehow they still like me. Awesome.
 

 

Shelter After The Storm

He moved toward the bed and asked what I was in the mood for. As I spread my legs to make room for him, he laughed and said, “That’s a clear signal.”

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure yet what I really wanted. The first thing I knew was, “I want to touch you.”

He smiled, and sat with my legs wrapped around him. He moved his hands slowly up my legs, then took one thigh in both hands, stroking up and down. He pressed my leg straight in the air (or as close as I can get) and ran the tips of his fingers up and down my hamstrings. I smiled and sighed. He kissed and nibbled the back of my knee, because he knew it would make me giggle.

As he moved his hands back my thighs, I sighed again.

“Wow, I’m really not in my body.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because it feels really good when you do that, and I think, ‘Oh, my thighs feel good. I should be in them.’ I can tell because it’s taking me a while to get there to where you are.”

We sat there kissing, and I started stroking him. It didn’t take long until I was at his cock… I just find it so amazing and delicious, at every texture it’s possible for it to make.

After a few minutes of playing with it with my palm, and then my fingertips, I whispered in his ear. “It’s so wonderful. It’s like velvet on top of rock. Your body is so freaking awesome.” He smiled, and laid back and enjoyed. I remembered a previous conversation — friction on a partially sticky cock is not cool, but a bunch of fluid or bone dry are both nice. So I enjoyed the feel against my dry hand for a while.

“Oops. You’re not entirely dry anymore.”

“No, no I’m not.”

So I took him in my mouth. Oh, the yumminess. I took him in and out, keeping my lips on his shaft. My mouth was watering, and his head slipped past my tongue just a few times before he leapt up and pressed himself down on top of me, pushing me flat on my back.

His kiss took my breath away.

He reached between my legs. I assumed I’d be slow to respond tonight, with the levels of stress we’ve had. “Am I wet yet?”

“Not much. Let’s change that.”

He hopped down to put his face between my legs.

The next few minutes are a shimmering, swimming blur. I know he blew his warm breath against my exposed clit, and I know he pressed his whole mouth against me as he looked up and met my gaze. I know I told him once that I had to press my legs against something; he left his head right where it was, and said to go for it. I bucked and pressed, and shivered.

After a while, he asked me where I wanted to be licked, sucked, or anything else I could think of. I had him lick at the entrance to my vagina, to press his tongue against those folds. Then I asked him to lick just above my clit, a place that gets a lot of action when I’m jacking myself off. Then, he leaned in and sucked, hard, moving his tongue all across my clit as he did so. I assented by way of inarticulate moan, and he kept doing that until I came, deep waves pressing taut all the muscles in my thighs and arms. I reached for the wall above my head, and shook.

He pressed his cheek against my thigh and ran his hands along my skin while I rested for a moment. Eventually I sat up, hungry, and groped for him. “Fuck me.”

He sat up on his knees while I slid my hips down to him. He grabbed for my ankles to make sure they were on his shoulders, and I gazed at him through the familiar frame of my legs.

He slid his cock inside my pussy, and I delighted at feeling right again.

He soon lay down on me, kissing and nibbling my neck. I kissed his ear, and watched as my arm fell across his shoulder differently than before. He pressed in hard and stayed there. I relaxed, deeply. I marveled at all the familiar curves of his back and ass. I squeezed his cock as hard as I could, and he would thrust in deeper. I ran my nails down his back, and he’d grunt more fervently in my ear.

Somehow, his hair began to fall on me in new ways, shaped the space between us differently. My breathing slowed. His face softened, and he looked at me. Something fluttered in him, and I told him so. “I can see God behind your eyes.” He smiled, and gazed at me as he kept fucking me.

He took the longest time for each thrust. Slowly, deliberately, he caressed my inner walls with his cock, pulling out more slowly than I could imagine being capable of, and pushing back in at the same tempo.

There were so much, so many places, so many worlds between each thrust. On one long one pull, as he nearly left me, I whimpered, “No… come back, come back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured me, and he pushed fully inside me again.

I lost all sense of space, and felt us transforming, unfolding and refolding with each stroke. Each deep kiss of his cock brought so much with it, I felt myself close to coming. My stoned mystical self was briefly joined by a curious, practical voice, that wondered what this orgasm would feel like… whether to ask him to keep moving slowly or to quicken our fucking. The next time he entered me, he brought a huge wave with him that cascaded up to the top of my head. By the time it passed my eyes and I could see again, his hair fell across my face as he groaned into my neck, bucking quickly into me. I held on for dear life and thanked God for the chance.

The Butt Bandit of Valentine

Always remember which body parts are ok to build a town around, and which ones aren’t!

<3,
Elizabeth

Only a Partial Shaving Fetish

Gabe trims his beard, and I must. watch. teh. sexeh. Gabe trims his pubes, and I must leave the room. It’s a great end result, but it makes me so nervous to watch tonight. Sharp things should not go THERE!

 

 

 

 

Live Nude Girls - The Show Palace

So last week was rough. The hurricane passed right over us, leaving us without power for who knew how long. Not being fans of an un-air-conditioned late summer in Louisiana, we figured out how to just get out of town until things were cleaned up and the power was back. After a week of driving 1.5 cars over 1000 miles, staying with family and visiting friends we were exhausted and stressed about the now dead car, the drive home, what we’d find when we got back and how we’d pay bills after evacuation costs, car repairs and lost wages. We needed spiritual nourishment, and we needed it fast. First we visited our favorite sex shop in Houston, TX (Eros 1207) just so we’d feel back in our own environment for a while. That was quite a help, and there were plenty of toys and accessories to lust after (including a 2009 calendar featuring the gorgeous Belladonna). More importantly however were the free guides to the adult nightlife in the Houston area. After perusing them we decided we’d hit up our first fully nude strip club that evening. The Show Palace was nearby, and had no cover before 9pm. That sounded perfect for us, and it turned out to be just a block or two from Eros.

The Show Palace was a new kind of experience for me. The only other strip club I’d been to before was the local topless bar, The Gold Club, I wrote about a while back and I was struck and delighted by the contrasts of that place with the Show Palace. While this new club is no dive, it’s not as shiny and new looking as our local club. The lighting was much lower (both on stage and in the crowd). The Show Palace doesn’t serve any alcohol at all, though you’re welcome to bring your own. Instead you get to buy a $7 soda for the privilege of being in their club. The biggest difference, of course, is that the dancers at the Gold Club are topless, while those at the Show Palace are topless and bottomless. The most pleasing thing about the Show Palace was the variety of the dancers. The body types ranged from skinny and lithe to chubby and round. There were so many shades of skin and hair. Their outfits went from clingy black dresses to g-strings and barely there tops. And each one of them was gorgeous!

My biggest problem with the place was the lack of lighting on the stage. Even standing at the edge of the stage it was very dim. Talking with one of the dancers we learned that the DJ only worked there sporadically and didn’t really know the lighting controls all that well. Of course she also said that having the lights on was good for some of the performers but not for others. That part was a bit sad to hear, as I thought every woman in the place looked amazing.

I do wish I had more recall of the details of the place, but I have to admit that my brain is fried from the week. I know I tipped at least three performers, and I remember two of them. I also remember one who I wished would have danced while we were there. I think I’m just going to write about one, though.

Sophia is tall, a bit chubby and delightfully curved. I had seen her walking around the club and pointed her out to Elizabeth, who squealed “She’s my size!” Sophia is the very definition of voluptuous. She has full lips that seem constantly curved into a smile. Her breasts didn’t so much peek over the top of her dress as they did explode out of it. Her waist narrows and flows into a soft belly. Her thighs are thick and move delightfully as she walks. Her ass is big, round and I just wanted to take a bite out of her. When she went up on stage we both headed on up during her first song. I felt like I lost track of how many ones I was dropping on stage around her. Her dress was pulled up around her waist and down under her tits and she leaned back and spread her legs for me. Her hand ran over her pussy a few times. The labia were just slightly parted and the small tuft of hair above them was so pretty. She turned through several poses, laying on her side with a leg in the air above her, on her hands and knees rolling her ass in circles in front of me. She was especially good at the boobs in the face move. The other times I’ve had that done I’ve either had to take off my glasses or get them covered in makeup. Sophia worked her way up me and kept her breasts under my glasses, rubbing my cheeks with them. It was an excellent move. I can’t remember everything she did with Elizabeth, I just remember Sophia nibbling on her ear and the smile on Elizabeth.

She came by our table after her set to introduce herself and let us know we should look for her if we wanted a dance. If I just had the money…

Though the club advertises as “fully nude” how that’s implemented seems to be up to the dancers themselves. As I said, some come out in a g-string and a barely there bikini top, and they tended to discard the bottoms and pull the triangles of fabric on their tops to the side. A few actually tossed away everything they were wearing except for their garters and shoes. Those in dresses, however seemed to take a different approach, just doing what Sophia did and lowering the top and raising the bottom of the dress so we could see tits and ass (and, in this club, pussy). I can’t keep from remarking that these women were also the bigger ones. Perhaps the curse of chubby girl porn where the women keep their bellies covered is also prevalent in the chubby (or more likely, the merely not-skinny) stripper crowd. It’s no secret that I dig fat chicks. Hell, it’s no secret that I just adore women of all kinds of shapes and sizes. That includes bellies. So when I saw that fully nude translated to “you can see pussy!” and not fully nude women in all the shapes and sizes that this club had, I felt a little sad. I hope that the scrunched up dress was just a matter of convenience for the dancers, and not a sign of shame. Bodies need to be more celebrated. That means bellies, scars, stretchmarks, birthmarks and all.

I’m sure I’ll be visiting the Show Palace again next time I’m in the Houston area. I’ll also be asking if Sophia’s working. That’ll determine if we buy the VIP wristbands. I just think $60 for a private dance from her for the two of us is so very worth it.

The Show Palace has no cover with a one $7 drink minimum before 9pm, but is $25 per person after. Lapdances are $20. VIP wristbands are $10 at the door, $20 after entry with VIP dances being $40. There’s no alcohol, though you can bring your own. Because of the lack of a full bar the club is 18+.

Show Palace at StripHouston.com
Show Palace at StripClubList.com

Sex, Life, and Big Fucking Storms

Through a combination of desire and need, Gabe and I have unexpectedly traveled over 1200 miles in the last week. We vacated our intact but electricity-free home (and scary, shutdown town) the day after Hurricane Gustav hit, and fled to friends, family, and a vintage car purchase to be picked up.

My emotional center has been spinning in the clouds, floating through friends’ love and warm nourishing moments and waves of gripping fears about money and property and personal safety. I’m so intensely grateful to have a partner that’s so wonderful in every way I can imagine. I felt some roots when he was nearby, and we increased our skills at supporting one another in this relatively new relationship.

When we first left home and made it safely to my dad’s house in Houston, that was the first sex that stands out strongly in my memory. A comfortable, dry, cool, lighted bedroom was so very erotic. Needing to keep our usual loud selves quiet was a fabulous turn-on. I didn’t find anything erotic about the idea of my dad walking in though — I distinctly remember locking the bedroom door.

Next, I figured my brother’s expensive home near Dallas would afford us some sexy moments. It did, though not in the way I expected. The bed was weird; it was a king split down the middle like it’s the fifties or something. The weird adjustable mattresses were uncomfortable to me… and we were growing tired, I think. We slept and talked in the bed. The shower stall, however, was awesome. As Gabe showered, I played with my boobs, caressing them and pressing my nipples against the clear glass. He jacked off while I thoroughly enjoyed the view.

The evacuation vacation took an exhausting turn from there. The car had some trouble, Gabe was tired from relearning a stickshift, and I know I ran out of steam. We stumbled wearily through the next couple of days. Then we returned home yesterday — to electricity and a semi-functioning town. We rested. We caught up a bit on our internet communities, neglected for a week. Last night, we worried about money this month, and further details about the car muddled up by this storm and the next one coming. We made efforts to unwind, first deciding on porn, then not starting it, then not watching it long. We had a hard time concentrating on anything, and had differing experiences of how we were using our bodies to connect, or disconnect, numb out or return to a grounded state. We were tired, but we began touching each other in gentle, loving ways. Step by step, we caressed, and stimulated, pushed and relaxed, hugged and straddled and kissed.

Eventually, we had both come twice. As we lay in each others’ arms, something was much, much better.