The husband is very athletic but he can't stand on his hands. I can, so maybe we'll do a reverse variation of this sometime.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
acrobatic erotica
I love the photo below. I found it on a lovely, eclectic blog called "Fire Down Below."
The husband is very athletic but he can't stand on his hands. I can, so maybe we'll do a reverse variation of this sometime.
The husband is very athletic but he can't stand on his hands. I can, so maybe we'll do a reverse variation of this sometime.
Friday, January 30, 2009
virgin no more
Some two months ago, I posted about a girl I called Ashley, a 20-year-old university student who wrote to tell me she wanted to lose her virginity. In a nutshell, she met two men online who were possible candidates for her deflowering.
When I last wrote, Ashley had yet to meet the two guys in person but had spoken to them by phone. At the time, she had a lot of school commitments so was not able to see either of the two men right away.
The first one, whom I'll call Matt, she described as somewhat avuncular on the phone because he was pressuring her gently not to do what she wanted to do, even though he offered to be the one if she so desired. Ashley wrote to me after their meeting that she just did not really click with him in person even though he was very nice looking and sweet.
The whole focus of their coffee date became, as she described it, about him telling her she should wait until she met the right guy. That's not what she wanted, and she realized if he didn't think she should do it, he probably wouldn't be that into it even though he offered his services. I think that was smart of her.
She was not able to meet the second one, who we'll call Ryan, until right after New Year's. Unlike with Matt, Ashley said she immediately felt comfortable with Ryan. He never mentioned why they were meeting nor what she really wanted. He was simply a man, and she was a woman. At the end of their coffee hour, he asked if he could call her in a few days about maybe seeing a movie together. She said yes.
They went to the movie and out to dinner afterwards. He took her home and kissed her goodnight, nothing more. He invited her out again to dinner and another movie a few days later. They went and had a good time, but again nothing more happened than a goodnight kiss. The big subject still didn't come up.
As she described in an email, she did not feel her virginity was an elephant in the room with him. Ryan seemed so relaxed and gentle that she felt comfortable around him. Even though losing her virginity had become her quest, she said she no longer felt like she was in such a rush.
After their second movie/dinner date, Ryan called and invited her for a few days skiing over the weekend. She accepted. He asked her if she wanted him to book one or two rooms at the lodge hotel. She said one. He said nothing more about what might happen in that single room.
The weekend arrived, they drove to the skiing resort a few hours away, and had a great time on the slopes. They checked into the room. She went into the bathroom to change, then he did. They had fun at dinner then returned to the room. He built a fire, and they relaxed in front of the fireplace. He kissed her, she kissed him, and things soon got a lot more passionate.
The time felt right, so she said she wanted him to take her virginity now. "He just nodded and handled things from there," she wrote to me. "I got a little scared for a bit but he was very tender so it ended up being fantastic."
As they drove back to the city Sunday night, Ashley realized she was starting to have feelings for Ryan. She says he certainly seemed taken by her. They had another dinner date a few days later, and she spent the night with him again.
Over the past several weeks, they've found themselves easing into a relationship. She now has a drawer at his place. They spend every second or third night together. They already have various shorthands of coupledom. The sex is great.
So in a curious way, Matt's advice turned out to be right, although he did not end up being the one.
I wonder if Ryan realized this, too, but was just more sophisticated about the whole thing. She sent me a picture of them on their ski weekend together. While I couldn't help first noticing he's quite the looker, he also does have a sort of wise intensity about him.
Wisdom is almost always sexy. Looks are nice, but looks alone don't win the game.
When I last wrote, Ashley had yet to meet the two guys in person but had spoken to them by phone. At the time, she had a lot of school commitments so was not able to see either of the two men right away.
The first one, whom I'll call Matt, she described as somewhat avuncular on the phone because he was pressuring her gently not to do what she wanted to do, even though he offered to be the one if she so desired. Ashley wrote to me after their meeting that she just did not really click with him in person even though he was very nice looking and sweet.
The whole focus of their coffee date became, as she described it, about him telling her she should wait until she met the right guy. That's not what she wanted, and she realized if he didn't think she should do it, he probably wouldn't be that into it even though he offered his services. I think that was smart of her.
She was not able to meet the second one, who we'll call Ryan, until right after New Year's. Unlike with Matt, Ashley said she immediately felt comfortable with Ryan. He never mentioned why they were meeting nor what she really wanted. He was simply a man, and she was a woman. At the end of their coffee hour, he asked if he could call her in a few days about maybe seeing a movie together. She said yes.
They went to the movie and out to dinner afterwards. He took her home and kissed her goodnight, nothing more. He invited her out again to dinner and another movie a few days later. They went and had a good time, but again nothing more happened than a goodnight kiss. The big subject still didn't come up.
As she described in an email, she did not feel her virginity was an elephant in the room with him. Ryan seemed so relaxed and gentle that she felt comfortable around him. Even though losing her virginity had become her quest, she said she no longer felt like she was in such a rush.
After their second movie/dinner date, Ryan called and invited her for a few days skiing over the weekend. She accepted. He asked her if she wanted him to book one or two rooms at the lodge hotel. She said one. He said nothing more about what might happen in that single room.
The weekend arrived, they drove to the skiing resort a few hours away, and had a great time on the slopes. They checked into the room. She went into the bathroom to change, then he did. They had fun at dinner then returned to the room. He built a fire, and they relaxed in front of the fireplace. He kissed her, she kissed him, and things soon got a lot more passionate.
The time felt right, so she said she wanted him to take her virginity now. "He just nodded and handled things from there," she wrote to me. "I got a little scared for a bit but he was very tender so it ended up being fantastic."
As they drove back to the city Sunday night, Ashley realized she was starting to have feelings for Ryan. She says he certainly seemed taken by her. They had another dinner date a few days later, and she spent the night with him again.
Over the past several weeks, they've found themselves easing into a relationship. She now has a drawer at his place. They spend every second or third night together. They already have various shorthands of coupledom. The sex is great.
So in a curious way, Matt's advice turned out to be right, although he did not end up being the one.
I wonder if Ryan realized this, too, but was just more sophisticated about the whole thing. She sent me a picture of them on their ski weekend together. While I couldn't help first noticing he's quite the looker, he also does have a sort of wise intensity about him.
Wisdom is almost always sexy. Looks are nice, but looks alone don't win the game.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
unladylike thursday
My grandmother was forever telling me that I wasn't sitting like a lady. I didn't cross my legs correctly, my dress was too short, I stood up the wrong way. All reckless actions which might allow a man, God forbid, to glimpse my slip or panties or too much thigh.
"That's not at all a ladylike way to sit," she would remark officiously. Or "a proper lady certainly doesn't sit that way."
I can only imagine my grandmother's horror if she ever learned I worked as a stripper and nude dancer. Men certainly got more than a glimpse of my panties, that's for sure, particularly since I wasn't wearing any.
So in celebration of Half-Nekkid Thursday, I present a most unladylike pose.
As usual, you may click on the shot to see a larger version of the same image.
"That's not at all a ladylike way to sit," she would remark officiously. Or "a proper lady certainly doesn't sit that way."
I can only imagine my grandmother's horror if she ever learned I worked as a stripper and nude dancer. Men certainly got more than a glimpse of my panties, that's for sure, particularly since I wasn't wearing any.
So in celebration of Half-Nekkid Thursday, I present a most unladylike pose.
As usual, you may click on the shot to see a larger version of the same image.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
John Updike RIP
Like many reader fans, I was very sorry to hear of acclaimed writer John Updike's death yesterday. He had such a long and prolific career it seemed he would live forever. He wrote in beautiful, elaborate prose with such variety and flourish. Each piece of his was a compelling literary tapestry.
He would never be called a looker even in his youth, but he certainly knew his way around the bedroom, or at least his writing suggested as much. He did seem somewhat misogynistic at times in his work, but he never had that sort of subtle desperation and contempt seen in the fiction of men like Norman Mailer. You always had a sense Updike really loved women and hoped to please them in bed.
My grandfather went to high school with Updike in Pennsylvania and was some kind of remote cousin. In later years, when Updike's mother was near death, my grandfather was one of her physicians and met the famous author several times to discuss her condition.
Grandfather was not impressed by Updike because he never read fiction. I come from a family were fiction and novelists are considered frivolous. I spent much of my youth devouring novels I was too young to understand entirely at the time, but I have always had a great appreciation for the craft of fiction. This is one of many reasons I sometimes wonder if my parents found me on the doorstep one providential morning. I was such a terrible student in school because I usually had a novel tucked inside the textbook we were supposed to be studying in class.
The great thing about Updike is he had such a massive body of work, you can re-read him and continually discover him all over again. I recently re-read The Witches of Eastwick and soon will be starting his The Widows of Eastwick, now his final novel.
Updike arguably will be remembered best for Rabbit, Run which so defined the American restless male psyche of the twentieth century. His prose is so precise and sapient, even more than fifty years after he wrote it, that I find myself falling in love with it all over again as I re-read the opening pages now. Updike is no longer with us, but Rabbit will forever be young, always running, always searching, always fleeing, a man like so many who sacrificed his future on the altar of youth.
Similar to many male Updike characters, Rabbit was something of a pig when it came to women. At his heart, however, I think Updike was not like his fictional characters. After all, this is the man who wrote: "How lovely she is, naked in the dark. How little men deserve the beauty and mercy of women."
He would never be called a looker even in his youth, but he certainly knew his way around the bedroom, or at least his writing suggested as much. He did seem somewhat misogynistic at times in his work, but he never had that sort of subtle desperation and contempt seen in the fiction of men like Norman Mailer. You always had a sense Updike really loved women and hoped to please them in bed.
My grandfather went to high school with Updike in Pennsylvania and was some kind of remote cousin. In later years, when Updike's mother was near death, my grandfather was one of her physicians and met the famous author several times to discuss her condition.
Grandfather was not impressed by Updike because he never read fiction. I come from a family were fiction and novelists are considered frivolous. I spent much of my youth devouring novels I was too young to understand entirely at the time, but I have always had a great appreciation for the craft of fiction. This is one of many reasons I sometimes wonder if my parents found me on the doorstep one providential morning. I was such a terrible student in school because I usually had a novel tucked inside the textbook we were supposed to be studying in class.
The great thing about Updike is he had such a massive body of work, you can re-read him and continually discover him all over again. I recently re-read The Witches of Eastwick and soon will be starting his The Widows of Eastwick, now his final novel.
Updike arguably will be remembered best for Rabbit, Run which so defined the American restless male psyche of the twentieth century. His prose is so precise and sapient, even more than fifty years after he wrote it, that I find myself falling in love with it all over again as I re-read the opening pages now. Updike is no longer with us, but Rabbit will forever be young, always running, always searching, always fleeing, a man like so many who sacrificed his future on the altar of youth.
Similar to many male Updike characters, Rabbit was something of a pig when it came to women. At his heart, however, I think Updike was not like his fictional characters. After all, this is the man who wrote: "How lovely she is, naked in the dark. How little men deserve the beauty and mercy of women."
Monday, January 26, 2009
did she shag the chauffeur?
The woman in the vintage photo below, photographed in 1911 at the age of twenty-one, was socialite Henrietta Louise Cromwell Brooks MacArthur Atwill Heiberg, known simply as Louise to her friends.
You might think she was some prude from the sepia-tinted days of yesteryear. Think again.
She was married and divorced four times. One of her husbands was actor Lionel Atwill. Another was the young Douglas MacArthur. Both men were notorious lovers and rakes. She caused media scandals in the 1920s. Her family was richer than God. Her brother married Doris Duke.
Women like her never worked a day in their lives. They did a little volunteering for the right causes, mostly organizing charity fetes that were nothing but parties for themselves, but they didn't spend the rest of their time knitting. They enjoyed themselves.
Look at her face. That woman just oozes attitude. I would not be at all surprised if, when biding time between her various marriages, and probably during her marriages as well, she wasn't shagging the chauffeur and probably the gardener, too.
She probably went out of her way to hire broad-shouldered, strapping lads as dumb as a bag of rocks. She had them wrapped around her little finger. They never called her anything but "miss" or "ma'am," even when her bare legs were wrapped around their sweaty, muscular buttocks in her bed.
I could see her fucking the chauffeur to wile away the afternoon, then a few hours later she'd be in the back of her big black Packard on the way to a benefit while some rich snot ran his hands up her skirt into the nether lands beyond. The poor lunkhead in the front seat would see all this in the mirror but have to keep quiet and try to keep his eyes on the road.
Of course, he saw a lot of that before she summoned him to her bedroom for the first time one stormy night when she was home alone. They ended up doing it half-dressed on the divan because she had him so worked up by that point.
Louise lived through exciting times: the Edwardian Era, World War I, the Roaring Twenties, the Depression, World War II, the Fifties, and died during the Swinging Sixties. She dropped dead of a heart attack at 75. Women who keel over suddenly like that usually go out fast and hard. You have to wonder if some weeping himbo half her age was desperately trying to bring her back to life as she lay sprawled lifeless on the sweat-stained satin sheets.
Some people see old photographs like this and feel sorry for the sitters, having lived in a more repressed, enlightened time.
But I look at pictures like this and imagine what it was really like when the shades came down and the lights went out.
You go, Louise.
You might think she was some prude from the sepia-tinted days of yesteryear. Think again.
She was married and divorced four times. One of her husbands was actor Lionel Atwill. Another was the young Douglas MacArthur. Both men were notorious lovers and rakes. She caused media scandals in the 1920s. Her family was richer than God. Her brother married Doris Duke.
Women like her never worked a day in their lives. They did a little volunteering for the right causes, mostly organizing charity fetes that were nothing but parties for themselves, but they didn't spend the rest of their time knitting. They enjoyed themselves.
Look at her face. That woman just oozes attitude. I would not be at all surprised if, when biding time between her various marriages, and probably during her marriages as well, she wasn't shagging the chauffeur and probably the gardener, too.
She probably went out of her way to hire broad-shouldered, strapping lads as dumb as a bag of rocks. She had them wrapped around her little finger. They never called her anything but "miss" or "ma'am," even when her bare legs were wrapped around their sweaty, muscular buttocks in her bed.
I could see her fucking the chauffeur to wile away the afternoon, then a few hours later she'd be in the back of her big black Packard on the way to a benefit while some rich snot ran his hands up her skirt into the nether lands beyond. The poor lunkhead in the front seat would see all this in the mirror but have to keep quiet and try to keep his eyes on the road.
Of course, he saw a lot of that before she summoned him to her bedroom for the first time one stormy night when she was home alone. They ended up doing it half-dressed on the divan because she had him so worked up by that point.
Louise lived through exciting times: the Edwardian Era, World War I, the Roaring Twenties, the Depression, World War II, the Fifties, and died during the Swinging Sixties. She dropped dead of a heart attack at 75. Women who keel over suddenly like that usually go out fast and hard. You have to wonder if some weeping himbo half her age was desperately trying to bring her back to life as she lay sprawled lifeless on the sweat-stained satin sheets.
Some people see old photographs like this and feel sorry for the sitters, having lived in a more repressed, enlightened time.
But I look at pictures like this and imagine what it was really like when the shades came down and the lights went out.
You go, Louise.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
whore no more
I used to love when a guy would pull my hair a little during sex. When he would spank me. When he fucked me hard while calling me his dirty little whore or his nasty bitch.
Nothing too rough, mind you, but just a bit naughty.
Darling husband never does this with me. He says this kind of behavior bothers him. If he's making love to a woman, he respects her too much to treat her in a way he sees as hurtful. Even if she wants it. Love is love, not contempt, even if play-acting.
I tried to nudge him off this dime, but he wouldn't budge.
Now that's not to say he's a wimp in bed. He loves grabbing me suddenly, throwing me over his shoulder barbarian style, and carrying me in the bedroom to be ravaged. Good lord do I love that. He can get very physical during sex, hoisting me here, flipping me over there, as he uses me as his personal love toy. And he's always been a real filthy talker, but always in a sexy way and never mean or nasty or hurtful.
So even when he's really going to town, I know he's always restraining himself too. He never loses complete control.
The other day, James was handling a little woodworking project in the main room while I was sitting nearby mending a pair of jeans. Suddenly he hissed, "Fucking bitch."
I flinched. My skin contracted. It was the sort of tone a guy would've used while talking filthy to me in the sack, but it seemed so strange and alien coming out of his mouth. But the comment wasn't directed at me; he had just jammed a rather nasty-looking splinter into his thumb.
I realized in a flash that I didn't want him now calling me a bitch or a whore. I don't want him to slap me or pull my hair. I like that he's a big bruiser, my strapping sexy beast, but also that he's able to control himself at all times in the bedroom. I love that trust. I love being his precious, his kitten, his angel, his beloved. I love being worshiped while he's fucking me silly.
I'm changing and growing. And I like that I am. And I like who I'm becoming.
Nothing too rough, mind you, but just a bit naughty.
Darling husband never does this with me. He says this kind of behavior bothers him. If he's making love to a woman, he respects her too much to treat her in a way he sees as hurtful. Even if she wants it. Love is love, not contempt, even if play-acting.
I tried to nudge him off this dime, but he wouldn't budge.
Now that's not to say he's a wimp in bed. He loves grabbing me suddenly, throwing me over his shoulder barbarian style, and carrying me in the bedroom to be ravaged. Good lord do I love that. He can get very physical during sex, hoisting me here, flipping me over there, as he uses me as his personal love toy. And he's always been a real filthy talker, but always in a sexy way and never mean or nasty or hurtful.
So even when he's really going to town, I know he's always restraining himself too. He never loses complete control.
The other day, James was handling a little woodworking project in the main room while I was sitting nearby mending a pair of jeans. Suddenly he hissed, "Fucking bitch."
I flinched. My skin contracted. It was the sort of tone a guy would've used while talking filthy to me in the sack, but it seemed so strange and alien coming out of his mouth. But the comment wasn't directed at me; he had just jammed a rather nasty-looking splinter into his thumb.
I realized in a flash that I didn't want him now calling me a bitch or a whore. I don't want him to slap me or pull my hair. I like that he's a big bruiser, my strapping sexy beast, but also that he's able to control himself at all times in the bedroom. I love that trust. I love being his precious, his kitten, his angel, his beloved. I love being worshiped while he's fucking me silly.
I'm changing and growing. And I like that I am. And I like who I'm becoming.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
imagine the mathematical possibilities
I have a feeling the photo appearing below was not targeted to a female audience.
But how can this not catch a girl's attention? One word immediately popped into my head: airtight.
This also brought to mind some dialog from one of my favorite movies, Annie Hall...
Rob: Imagine my surprise when I got your call, Max.
Alvy: Yeah. I had the feeling that I got you at a bad moment. You know, I heard high-pitched squealing.
Rob: Twins, Max. Sixteen years old. Can you imagine the mathematical possibilities?
But how can this not catch a girl's attention? One word immediately popped into my head: airtight.
This also brought to mind some dialog from one of my favorite movies, Annie Hall...
Rob: Imagine my surprise when I got your call, Max.
Alvy: Yeah. I had the feeling that I got you at a bad moment. You know, I heard high-pitched squealing.
Rob: Twins, Max. Sixteen years old. Can you imagine the mathematical possibilities?
Friday, January 23, 2009
the witches of Sydney
I've been rereading John Updike's The Witches of Eastwick because I want to read the new sequel The Widows of Eastwick.
There are several passages where the three female protagonists have a hottub orgy with the central male character, and sometimes a fourth woman joins them.
Now I've posted here before about how I want a threeway. That has not yet happened, for those keeping track.
I was devouring the book in bed with hubby reading beside me when I hit one of the orgy passages and murmured involuntarily.
"Good book?" he asked.
"They're having an orgy. One guy. Three women. Hottub. A fourth woman joins them."
"Uh oh," he laughed. "I know where this is going."
"Don't you think that would be incredibly hot?" I asked. "You've got me and three other women, crawling all over you."
"Kitten, I seriously don't think I could satisfy four women," he confessed. "And the three of them would be unhappy because I'd only be paying attention to you."
"I'd love to watch you try," I responded.
"The poor witches would go home frustrated."
There are several passages where the three female protagonists have a hottub orgy with the central male character, and sometimes a fourth woman joins them.
Now I've posted here before about how I want a threeway. That has not yet happened, for those keeping track.
I was devouring the book in bed with hubby reading beside me when I hit one of the orgy passages and murmured involuntarily.
"Good book?" he asked.
"They're having an orgy. One guy. Three women. Hottub. A fourth woman joins them."
"Uh oh," he laughed. "I know where this is going."
"Don't you think that would be incredibly hot?" I asked. "You've got me and three other women, crawling all over you."
"Kitten, I seriously don't think I could satisfy four women," he confessed. "And the three of them would be unhappy because I'd only be paying attention to you."
"I'd love to watch you try," I responded.
"The poor witches would go home frustrated."
"Maybe. Maybe not. You can't tell me you wouldn't respond to three women giving you a blowjob at once. That would be so incredibly hot."
"You haven't even found one girl yet to play with us," he countered. "Don't you think three is getting a little ahead of yourself?"
"It's called long-term planning."
"You're a funny one," he said, then kissed me. "You know I could never watch you with three other guys. But you..."
"It would be so hot," I insisted. "Scorching hot. Unbelievably hot."
"So when does the coven arrive?" he teased.
I turned to him. He was wearing only his gym shorts, his tanned skin rippling in the subdued light. I could no longer concentrate on the book. I could only think of one thing. He saw something in my face.
"Uh oh," he laughed. "Looks like I'll have to finish my chapter tomorrow."
My handsome warlock is a very good mind reader.
"You haven't even found one girl yet to play with us," he countered. "Don't you think three is getting a little ahead of yourself?"
"It's called long-term planning."
"You're a funny one," he said, then kissed me. "You know I could never watch you with three other guys. But you..."
"It would be so hot," I insisted. "Scorching hot. Unbelievably hot."
"So when does the coven arrive?" he teased.
I turned to him. He was wearing only his gym shorts, his tanned skin rippling in the subdued light. I could no longer concentrate on the book. I could only think of one thing. He saw something in my face.
"Uh oh," he laughed. "Looks like I'll have to finish my chapter tomorrow."
My handsome warlock is a very good mind reader.
"Come here, you."
Thursday, January 22, 2009
half-sandy thursday
Here's another nude beach shot in celebration of Half-Nekkid Thursday. My tush sort of looks like a sandy confection in this photo. And I see somebody accidentally scratched me on the butt with his fingernail.
Grit in your naughty bits can be quite uncomfortable, something to consider if you're rolling around in the dunes. If you're in the moment of a heated passion, you sometimes don't realize you're no longer protected by your towel. After it's all over, you start to feel itchy. Fortunately, you can run in the water and clean up quickly.
As usual, you may click on the shot to see a larger image.
As usual, you may click on the shot to see a larger image.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
sex or inauguration?
There's a sixteen-hour difference between Sydney and Washington, D.C. We're early risers, but hubby almost always wakes up first without any alarm clock. He has his own special wakeup service, as detailed here, what I sometimes call "oral reveille."
I wanted to see the presidential inauguration ceremony live because I wasn't sure the whole thing would be available online later. I asked him to wake me at about 3:45 a.m. so I could watch.
"Oh," he said with something of a crushed look. "How long does that take?"
"About an hour and a half I think."
"Oh, so I guess you'll just stay up after then, shower and everything, have breakfast?" The crushed look compounded into something of a punished puppy look. I knew what he's thinking. No oral reveille and assorted morning hijinks.
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing sweetie," I reply. "We can do that later, before I shower."
"But then we'll get snared in traffic if we get behind schedule."
"So we just skip it then?" I ask.
"I'm sure the traffic won't be that bad."
Inauguration trumps sex, but sex trumps traffic.
I wanted to see the presidential inauguration ceremony live because I wasn't sure the whole thing would be available online later. I asked him to wake me at about 3:45 a.m. so I could watch.
"Oh," he said with something of a crushed look. "How long does that take?"
"About an hour and a half I think."
"Oh, so I guess you'll just stay up after then, shower and everything, have breakfast?" The crushed look compounded into something of a punished puppy look. I knew what he's thinking. No oral reveille and assorted morning hijinks.
"This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing sweetie," I reply. "We can do that later, before I shower."
"But then we'll get snared in traffic if we get behind schedule."
"So we just skip it then?" I ask.
"I'm sure the traffic won't be that bad."
Inauguration trumps sex, but sex trumps traffic.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
extending the olive branch
The cavernous rift between most of my family and me is a topic I've not really mentioned here before. To explain that, some background is in order.
As I wrote in this post, I was expelled from a rather prestigious private school when I was thirteen and in the seventh grade. Because it was in the middle of the semester, I finished out the year at public school and then began another private school that fall.
When I was fifteen and in the ninth grade, I was expelled again, this time for sexual activity in the library after school. The boy involved was not expelled, which of course was a woefully abysmal double standard, but my parents at the time were not interested in pursuing any sort of equal rights complaint. I was sent back to public school, where I remained, because my parents were no longer willing to spend money on a private education for me.
I should say at this juncture that my parents were not at all pleased by these developments, and in hindsight I certainly don't blame them. They, however, did not punish me but, instead, sent me into therapy because of what they perceived as my unhealthy interest in sex. Given both of my parents are psychiatrists, their reaction was not unexpected. Problems in our household were dealt with in therapy, not by punishment. Although my therapist at the time wanted my parents and I to try family sessions, my parents declined.
As well, I should also note my behavior was a distinct departure from my three older siblings who had been honor students in high school and, at that time, either enrolled in an Ivy League university or soon to be. I was (and remain) the proverbial black sheep of the family. Two of my siblings went on to become medical doctors; the third is an attorney.
At the age of sixteen, I was expelled from public school for cheating. I was caught passing answers during a test to a cute, sweet, not-so-bright jock I adored (and, yes, I was sleeping with him also at the time). He was also expelled and subsequently sent to a military academy. He is, by the way, an Army officer today and currently serving in Iraq.
My parents sat me down that night and told me I had a choice: a) I could attend a boarding-only school for troubled youths like me or b) they would obtain the necessary emancipation documents to make me a legal adult and I would therefore be on my own, with $1,500 from them to get me started in my own place.
I chose the second option. It took a few weeks for the process to be completed and, during this time while I continued to live at home, my parents pretty much ignored me, particularly my mother. Once the process was finalized, my father gave me an envelope containing the cash he promised and asked me to leave the house by the end of the day. My things were already packed, and I was gone within the hour. There was no goodbye. I also had money I had saved from babysitting and a waitress job I had started after leaving school.
I was really happy to go and, although times were tough for a while, I pretty much always had a job and a place to live. At some future point I'll probably write about those years here.
Needless to say, I had almost no contact with my immediate family in the seven-plus years since I left, except for my brother and two grandparents. Both offered me a place to live anytime I wanted. One of the grandparents has since died, but I am still in regular contact with both my brother and the other grandparent.
I have only seen my parents and two sisters one other time, at my brother's wedding. My sisters said nothing more than "hello" during the reception while my mother added an admiring sentence about the color of my dress. My father at least asked me how I was managing in a conversation that lasted about three minutes.
Before I moved to Australia, I sent my father an email about James and my plans. The note also included an apology, about how I had made a lot of bad choices when I was younger that caused them a lot of heartache, for which I was sorry. I also detailed how I felt my life was really on track now and how I had changed so much as a person. My father sent a vague, one-word reply of "thanks." Thanks for what I am uncertain.
After I was married, I sent my parents and sisters an email with the news. I never heard from my sisters but did receive a one-word reply from my parents: "congratulations."
I have to assume from this that my family is not interested in reestablishing any kind of relationship with me. My brother tells me they never mention me. When he has brought up the topic in their presence, they're unresponsive, which is pretty much is the way they always responded to questions they didn't want to discuss.
How do I feel about this? I am somewhat conflicted. I did some bad things, but that was then, this is now. I wasn't a public disgrace. I didn't cause the family any public shame. But I didn't conform to their idea of what my future should be. Since I left home, I believe I have changed and matured considerably. I would like to reconnect with them, at least in some capacity, and their seeming indifference does hurt somewhat.
I've extended an olive branch, but they don't seem to be interested. Will a reconciliation ever be in the picture? I seriously don't know.
As I wrote in this post, I was expelled from a rather prestigious private school when I was thirteen and in the seventh grade. Because it was in the middle of the semester, I finished out the year at public school and then began another private school that fall.
When I was fifteen and in the ninth grade, I was expelled again, this time for sexual activity in the library after school. The boy involved was not expelled, which of course was a woefully abysmal double standard, but my parents at the time were not interested in pursuing any sort of equal rights complaint. I was sent back to public school, where I remained, because my parents were no longer willing to spend money on a private education for me.
I should say at this juncture that my parents were not at all pleased by these developments, and in hindsight I certainly don't blame them. They, however, did not punish me but, instead, sent me into therapy because of what they perceived as my unhealthy interest in sex. Given both of my parents are psychiatrists, their reaction was not unexpected. Problems in our household were dealt with in therapy, not by punishment. Although my therapist at the time wanted my parents and I to try family sessions, my parents declined.
As well, I should also note my behavior was a distinct departure from my three older siblings who had been honor students in high school and, at that time, either enrolled in an Ivy League university or soon to be. I was (and remain) the proverbial black sheep of the family. Two of my siblings went on to become medical doctors; the third is an attorney.
At the age of sixteen, I was expelled from public school for cheating. I was caught passing answers during a test to a cute, sweet, not-so-bright jock I adored (and, yes, I was sleeping with him also at the time). He was also expelled and subsequently sent to a military academy. He is, by the way, an Army officer today and currently serving in Iraq.
My parents sat me down that night and told me I had a choice: a) I could attend a boarding-only school for troubled youths like me or b) they would obtain the necessary emancipation documents to make me a legal adult and I would therefore be on my own, with $1,500 from them to get me started in my own place.
I chose the second option. It took a few weeks for the process to be completed and, during this time while I continued to live at home, my parents pretty much ignored me, particularly my mother. Once the process was finalized, my father gave me an envelope containing the cash he promised and asked me to leave the house by the end of the day. My things were already packed, and I was gone within the hour. There was no goodbye. I also had money I had saved from babysitting and a waitress job I had started after leaving school.
I was really happy to go and, although times were tough for a while, I pretty much always had a job and a place to live. At some future point I'll probably write about those years here.
Needless to say, I had almost no contact with my immediate family in the seven-plus years since I left, except for my brother and two grandparents. Both offered me a place to live anytime I wanted. One of the grandparents has since died, but I am still in regular contact with both my brother and the other grandparent.
I have only seen my parents and two sisters one other time, at my brother's wedding. My sisters said nothing more than "hello" during the reception while my mother added an admiring sentence about the color of my dress. My father at least asked me how I was managing in a conversation that lasted about three minutes.
Before I moved to Australia, I sent my father an email about James and my plans. The note also included an apology, about how I had made a lot of bad choices when I was younger that caused them a lot of heartache, for which I was sorry. I also detailed how I felt my life was really on track now and how I had changed so much as a person. My father sent a vague, one-word reply of "thanks." Thanks for what I am uncertain.
After I was married, I sent my parents and sisters an email with the news. I never heard from my sisters but did receive a one-word reply from my parents: "congratulations."
I have to assume from this that my family is not interested in reestablishing any kind of relationship with me. My brother tells me they never mention me. When he has brought up the topic in their presence, they're unresponsive, which is pretty much is the way they always responded to questions they didn't want to discuss.
How do I feel about this? I am somewhat conflicted. I did some bad things, but that was then, this is now. I wasn't a public disgrace. I didn't cause the family any public shame. But I didn't conform to their idea of what my future should be. Since I left home, I believe I have changed and matured considerably. I would like to reconnect with them, at least in some capacity, and their seeming indifference does hurt somewhat.
I've extended an olive branch, but they don't seem to be interested. Will a reconciliation ever be in the picture? I seriously don't know.
Monday, January 19, 2009
intimacy isn't a license to fart
I've learned by experience to divide men into two camps: those who think intimacy gives them a license to break wind indiscriminately in your presence and those who do not.
I mean, just because you've opened your legs to a guy doesn't mean you want him to rip a grand requim rumbler any time he feels like it.
Those inclined toward unfettered flattuence seem to evolve into this uninvited effluvial liberality relatively soon after consummation. I remember one guy in particular who let loose with a room-clearing toot as we lay cuddled together in bed just after we'd made love for the first time.
Spontaneous gas was never a deal killer for me, but added with a few other factors, it could be.
I am happy to say my husband never lets loose in my presence. He's a free spirit in many ways but thankfully not with his sphincter.
I mean, just because you've opened your legs to a guy doesn't mean you want him to rip a grand requim rumbler any time he feels like it.
Those inclined toward unfettered flattuence seem to evolve into this uninvited effluvial liberality relatively soon after consummation. I remember one guy in particular who let loose with a room-clearing toot as we lay cuddled together in bed just after we'd made love for the first time.
Spontaneous gas was never a deal killer for me, but added with a few other factors, it could be.
I am happy to say my husband never lets loose in my presence. He's a free spirit in many ways but thankfully not with his sphincter.
Seriously, guys, why isn't this a no-brainer for everybody?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
why is this blog anonymous?
I think I am a pretty frank, candid person. I used to make my living naked. I've posted X-rated pictures of myself on adult websites. I love sex and love to talk about it.
So I don't think I could be called a prude.
A reader emailed me recently and asked why I remain anonymous on this blog because, if you know me and stumbled in here, you probably could figure out I was the author.
That's true for some people who are close friends. At the same time, if you didn't know me well, if you just happened to meet me in passing, you probably wouldn't realize this was my work. I started this blog when I knew I would be traveling to Australia but didn't know what kind of work I would be doing here. I now have two semi-regular modeling gigs where I of course use my real name, so if any of the people in those spheres of my world Google me, I don't want them to end up here. It was in anticipation of these sorts of possiblities that I decided to make this blog anonymous, at least until there's no reason not to.
I also have some people in my past I'd rather leave at arm's length. I've written about some of them before. Yes, if they should happen to wander in here, they might figure out I was the author. But no sense leaving a trail of sugar for the ants to find.
So I don't think I could be called a prude.
A reader emailed me recently and asked why I remain anonymous on this blog because, if you know me and stumbled in here, you probably could figure out I was the author.
That's true for some people who are close friends. At the same time, if you didn't know me well, if you just happened to meet me in passing, you probably wouldn't realize this was my work. I started this blog when I knew I would be traveling to Australia but didn't know what kind of work I would be doing here. I now have two semi-regular modeling gigs where I of course use my real name, so if any of the people in those spheres of my world Google me, I don't want them to end up here. It was in anticipation of these sorts of possiblities that I decided to make this blog anonymous, at least until there's no reason not to.
I also have some people in my past I'd rather leave at arm's length. I've written about some of them before. Yes, if they should happen to wander in here, they might figure out I was the author. But no sense leaving a trail of sugar for the ants to find.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
the lure of the wolf
I freely admit I have made some bad choices when it comes to men.
But I must confess I'm entirely mystified as to why Christina Raines is drawn to Drew Peterson, the former cop suspected of killing both his third and fourth wives. The latest development in the complicated situation is the news this week that Raines has now moved in with fiance Peterson.
For the moment, let's set aside the fact that he might be a murderer.
He's had four wives already. The thought has not occurred to her he's not exactly ideal husband material, that his track record might suggest something? One prior marriage, okay. Two, well, iffy. Three? Danger, danger. And four? Hello, tap tap, is this thing on?
Now factor in the possibility that he's suspected in not one but two murders of former wives.
What the hell is she thinking?
But I must confess I'm entirely mystified as to why Christina Raines is drawn to Drew Peterson, the former cop suspected of killing both his third and fourth wives. The latest development in the complicated situation is the news this week that Raines has now moved in with fiance Peterson.
For the moment, let's set aside the fact that he might be a murderer.
He's had four wives already. The thought has not occurred to her he's not exactly ideal husband material, that his track record might suggest something? One prior marriage, okay. Two, well, iffy. Three? Danger, danger. And four? Hello, tap tap, is this thing on?
Now factor in the possibility that he's suspected in not one but two murders of former wives.
What the hell is she thinking?
I love my husband dearly, but if early in our dating history, he had mentioned four previous wives, two of whom were possibly murdered by him, somehow I think that would have taken the bloom off the proverbial rose.
Peterson must be some smooth talker and/or fantastic in bed. Because he's nothing much to look at.
Peterson must be some smooth talker and/or fantastic in bed. Because he's nothing much to look at.
Friday, January 16, 2009
sex interrogatories
Once again I'm doing the weekly TMI Tuesday thing on Friday due to the time-zone difference.
1. On a scale of 1-10, how satisfied are you with your sex life?
Ten. Easy question.
2. If someone shoves you up against a wall while kissing you, your reaction is?
Thank you! As long as he doesn't cause too much pain or bruising or draws blood, I have no problem with rough sex. I do like variety though. Rough play all the time gets boring. When he alternates between rough and tender, that's heaven.
3. What is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done or said to you?
His wedding vows. My fluttering heart leaps into my throat every time I think of them.
4. Where is the most unusual place you have ever had sex?
I guess it depends on what's meant by "unusual." I've done it in public a few times but discretely, those we-know-but-other-people-don't times. James and I have done it outdoors frequently but when we're out of public view.
5. How do you liked to be kissed?
Hungrily all over with lots of tongue -- mouth, body, nipples, clitoris, everywhere. I love it when he just sort of consumes me with kisses, when he completely controls and satiates me with his ravenous lips and mouth.
Bonus: Most embarrassing sexual moment?
Really loud rhythmic Sousa-like pussyfarts during anal sex.
1. On a scale of 1-10, how satisfied are you with your sex life?
Ten. Easy question.
2. If someone shoves you up against a wall while kissing you, your reaction is?
Thank you! As long as he doesn't cause too much pain or bruising or draws blood, I have no problem with rough sex. I do like variety though. Rough play all the time gets boring. When he alternates between rough and tender, that's heaven.
3. What is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done or said to you?
His wedding vows. My fluttering heart leaps into my throat every time I think of them.
4. Where is the most unusual place you have ever had sex?
I guess it depends on what's meant by "unusual." I've done it in public a few times but discretely, those we-know-but-other-people-don't times. James and I have done it outdoors frequently but when we're out of public view.
5. How do you liked to be kissed?
Hungrily all over with lots of tongue -- mouth, body, nipples, clitoris, everywhere. I love it when he just sort of consumes me with kisses, when he completely controls and satiates me with his ravenous lips and mouth.
Bonus: Most embarrassing sexual moment?
Really loud rhythmic Sousa-like pussyfarts during anal sex.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
half-nekkid thursday crotch
Extensive studies by Nielsen Media Research have established that panty shots seem to pull the highest audience numbers for my Half-Nekkid Thursday posts.
Highly trained researchers are standing by at this very moment to gauge your reaction to this crotch shot with the latest in audience surveying technology.
I'm worried those threads I didn't clip at the bottom might pull down the ratings numbers a bit.
As usual, you may click on the shot to see a larger image.
Highly trained researchers are standing by at this very moment to gauge your reaction to this crotch shot with the latest in audience surveying technology.
I'm worried those threads I didn't clip at the bottom might pull down the ratings numbers a bit.
As usual, you may click on the shot to see a larger image.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
a trend that passed me by
Everywhere you turn in the more sordid corners of cyberspace, you see amateur pictures of women urinating in public.
What is that all about? Are they all drunken sorority girls?
Not being a drinker nor having attended college, I'm guessing this is some trend that I've completely missed.
On rare occasion I've had to answer the call of nature when no restroom can be found, but I always do it discretely. I confess I've never had the urge to do it on a public sidewalk with an audience while someone photographed me.
What is that all about? Are they all drunken sorority girls?
Not being a drinker nor having attended college, I'm guessing this is some trend that I've completely missed.
On rare occasion I've had to answer the call of nature when no restroom can be found, but I always do it discretely. I confess I've never had the urge to do it on a public sidewalk with an audience while someone photographed me.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
revenge is not sweet
I recently read on Eastside Butterfly's blog about how she discovered a list of her ex-husband's lovers. She was wondering whether to expose them or not.
Revenge is tempting but, like many temptations, it's probably best avoided.
I knew a guy whom I'll call Hank when I lived in Vegas. I met him shortly after I moved to Sin City from Los Angeles. He didn't have a particularly demanding job but was often unavailable for unexplainable stretches. He also really liked sex -- what man doesnt? -- but never spent the night.
He was a fun guy, a good lover, but I grew suspicious about his vagueness. His left hand didn't show any tell-tale signs of temporary wedding band removal, but that only appears after several years of marriage.
Hank had a fairly uncommon name so I Googled it one day. My suspicions were quickly confirmed. I found pictures and all sorts of news on a bridal webpage about Hank and a woman I'll call Daisy to whom he was engaged. Daisy also happened to work the same place a girlfriend of mine did, so I discretely confirmed the engagement was still on.
The next time Hank came over, when he was kissing me passionately and exploring with his hand under my blouse, I asked him suddenly about Daisy. Talk about being on the spot. He pulled away, grew quite red, hemmed and hawed, but confessed the truth. Yes, they were getting married. So what was I all about? Well, at least Hank was truthful: Daisy wouldn't put out until after marriage, but he had unsatisfied needs. I was an easy and fun lay. Ouch.
I asked Hank to leave and never saw him again.
I was seriously tempted to call Daisy. "You know your boyfriend Hank? He's been fucking me once or twice a week. How do I know this? Ask him about the birthmark on his cock. You've never seen his cock? Well I have more than once."
But then I decided why ruin Daisy's life? Yes, she may find out one day that Hank has a wandering eye. Maybe he settled down after they were married and didn't stray out for pussy. Maybe he's a serial philanderer.
I decided nothing good would come out of telling her. I would get my revenge, the engagement might be called off, but in the end what would I get out of it besides the fleeting satisfaction of vengeance?
I'm not a Hindu or Buddhist but I do sort of believe in karma. You do something nasty, and someday something nasty will be done to you. Count on it.
So why bother? Revenge may be sweet, but like many sugary things, the taste is fleeting and ultimately not good for you.
Revenge is tempting but, like many temptations, it's probably best avoided.
I knew a guy whom I'll call Hank when I lived in Vegas. I met him shortly after I moved to Sin City from Los Angeles. He didn't have a particularly demanding job but was often unavailable for unexplainable stretches. He also really liked sex -- what man doesnt? -- but never spent the night.
He was a fun guy, a good lover, but I grew suspicious about his vagueness. His left hand didn't show any tell-tale signs of temporary wedding band removal, but that only appears after several years of marriage.
Hank had a fairly uncommon name so I Googled it one day. My suspicions were quickly confirmed. I found pictures and all sorts of news on a bridal webpage about Hank and a woman I'll call Daisy to whom he was engaged. Daisy also happened to work the same place a girlfriend of mine did, so I discretely confirmed the engagement was still on.
The next time Hank came over, when he was kissing me passionately and exploring with his hand under my blouse, I asked him suddenly about Daisy. Talk about being on the spot. He pulled away, grew quite red, hemmed and hawed, but confessed the truth. Yes, they were getting married. So what was I all about? Well, at least Hank was truthful: Daisy wouldn't put out until after marriage, but he had unsatisfied needs. I was an easy and fun lay. Ouch.
I asked Hank to leave and never saw him again.
I was seriously tempted to call Daisy. "You know your boyfriend Hank? He's been fucking me once or twice a week. How do I know this? Ask him about the birthmark on his cock. You've never seen his cock? Well I have more than once."
But then I decided why ruin Daisy's life? Yes, she may find out one day that Hank has a wandering eye. Maybe he settled down after they were married and didn't stray out for pussy. Maybe he's a serial philanderer.
I decided nothing good would come out of telling her. I would get my revenge, the engagement might be called off, but in the end what would I get out of it besides the fleeting satisfaction of vengeance?
I'm not a Hindu or Buddhist but I do sort of believe in karma. You do something nasty, and someday something nasty will be done to you. Count on it.
So why bother? Revenge may be sweet, but like many sugary things, the taste is fleeting and ultimately not good for you.
Monday, January 12, 2009
it could happen to you
I am always saying to single friends, "one day soon you'll meet someone special." I know this sometimes annoys the hell out of them, because they want soon to hurry up and get here.
My friend Daniella was one of these people. I've known her since my Los Angeles days when she was in my "yoga mob." She's in her mid-twenties, slim, adorable, with the biggest, most expressive eyes you'll ever see. She has a very successful career as a designer for a major international hotel chain. Her job requires extensive travel so, unfortunately, she's often not in one place long enough to develop any kind of decent relationship. No sooner does she meet a nice guy but she has to pack for another long trip.
Daniella was one of my friends who regularly got the "it could happen to you" pep talks about how Mr. Right, Mr. Wonderful, Mr. Perfect is waiting around the corner somewhere. She would get annoyed with me, remarking with comments like "well tell him to hurry up and get here!" (Men get this same lecture about Ms. Ideal.)
A few months back, thanks in part to the rapidly weakening economy in Los Angeles, Daniella took a long assignment in Dubai.
And there he was.
As she described their first meeting in an email, she entered the hotel where she's working one day, and their eyes instantly met in the lobby. Something clicked. He was waiting for someone else, but they just felt drawn to each other at once. Daniella is not shy, so she said "hello," and he responded something like "you're American?"
My friend Daniella was one of these people. I've known her since my Los Angeles days when she was in my "yoga mob." She's in her mid-twenties, slim, adorable, with the biggest, most expressive eyes you'll ever see. She has a very successful career as a designer for a major international hotel chain. Her job requires extensive travel so, unfortunately, she's often not in one place long enough to develop any kind of decent relationship. No sooner does she meet a nice guy but she has to pack for another long trip.
Daniella was one of my friends who regularly got the "it could happen to you" pep talks about how Mr. Right, Mr. Wonderful, Mr. Perfect is waiting around the corner somewhere. She would get annoyed with me, remarking with comments like "well tell him to hurry up and get here!" (Men get this same lecture about Ms. Ideal.)
A few months back, thanks in part to the rapidly weakening economy in Los Angeles, Daniella took a long assignment in Dubai.
And there he was.
As she described their first meeting in an email, she entered the hotel where she's working one day, and their eyes instantly met in the lobby. Something clicked. He was waiting for someone else, but they just felt drawn to each other at once. Daniella is not shy, so she said "hello," and he responded something like "you're American?"
Each not mindful of who they were actually meeting, they fell into immediate conversation after introducing themselves. His name is Nick from New York, and he works for a large security consulting company that does business in Dubai. She's from the West Coast, he's from the East Coast, but as coincidence would have it, his parents live about two miles from her grandparents. They talked about nothing much for a half-hour until the guy he was meeting turned up. So Nick and Daniella exchanged numbers and made plans to meet again.
He called her the next day, and they set up a dinner date for later that week. Dinner led to another dinner, which led to spending the night, which led to making more plans together, which led to weekend getaways together.
And now they're hopelessly, helplessly in love.
When Daniella gushes in her emails about wonderful Nick, she doesn't mind at all when I occasionally note in response, "see, I told you this would happen."
Because the economy in Dubai is now quickly collapsing, both suspect they'll soon be out of jobs. But they don't care. They've found each other. Nothing else matters.
Yes, it could happen to you, too.
He called her the next day, and they set up a dinner date for later that week. Dinner led to another dinner, which led to spending the night, which led to making more plans together, which led to weekend getaways together.
And now they're hopelessly, helplessly in love.
When Daniella gushes in her emails about wonderful Nick, she doesn't mind at all when I occasionally note in response, "see, I told you this would happen."
Because the economy in Dubai is now quickly collapsing, both suspect they'll soon be out of jobs. But they don't care. They've found each other. Nothing else matters.
Yes, it could happen to you, too.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
soon to be feckless
The health club my husband James has been managing is part of a small chain owned by his brother Bill, who is in the process of selling the business to a much larger corporation with hundreds of locations. We knew this would probably happen when hubby agreed to work for his brother, although the sale went down much faster than anyone expected, particularly in light of the dismal economy. However, the buyer was able to secure financing with the recent loosening of liquidity and started to fast-track everything.
James does not want to work for the new owners and has agreed to stay on only during a short transition period. Bill is being extremely generous with the proceeds of the sale and is giving a share to my sweetie and another brother working for him, too. So we're due to receive a payment equal to what James would have made at the club had he continued to work there three or four more years.
That means in about a month my sweetie will no longer be working and, since I was "volunteering" at the club also, I'll be unemployed too. With his RAN pension and the interest on my savings, we were already putting aside his entire salary from the gym plus a little more. Now with the partial proceeds of the sale, our savings will have a big boost, so there's no need for either of us to rush out and find a job. We can live on interest and pension alone pretty much indefinitely.
James's longer-term goal was to start an independent gym of his own in the next year or so; however, he cannot now do that until 2011 per a non-compete clause in the agreement of sale which bars Bill and his family from opening a gym anywhere in New South Wales. So that means right now we really have no idea what to do. We would like to do something where we could both be together most of the day; however, with the economy Down Under in a terrible state, like everywhere else, this does not seem to be a good time to start any kind of business.
We have a tidy sum saved, so we could travel for a lengthy period of time, but that would mean eating into principal, which neither of us wants to do. I had thought about starting college this spring but decided to put that on hold until we have more concrete plans. We've also been looking into buying the house we're renting, yet that may not be a wise decision at this point.
Neither James nor I particularly like to be idle, so the situation we're in is sort of an embarrassment of riches -- we have no need for money but we do need to do something. We've started a list on the kitchen bulletin board where we both put down ideas for what we could do, no matter how ridiculous and without concern for the economy. Some of these include:
--Open a scuba school.
--Make a low-budget documentary.
--Study advanced ballroom dancing with an eye toward competition.
--Become professional photographers.
James does not want to work for the new owners and has agreed to stay on only during a short transition period. Bill is being extremely generous with the proceeds of the sale and is giving a share to my sweetie and another brother working for him, too. So we're due to receive a payment equal to what James would have made at the club had he continued to work there three or four more years.
That means in about a month my sweetie will no longer be working and, since I was "volunteering" at the club also, I'll be unemployed too. With his RAN pension and the interest on my savings, we were already putting aside his entire salary from the gym plus a little more. Now with the partial proceeds of the sale, our savings will have a big boost, so there's no need for either of us to rush out and find a job. We can live on interest and pension alone pretty much indefinitely.
James's longer-term goal was to start an independent gym of his own in the next year or so; however, he cannot now do that until 2011 per a non-compete clause in the agreement of sale which bars Bill and his family from opening a gym anywhere in New South Wales. So that means right now we really have no idea what to do. We would like to do something where we could both be together most of the day; however, with the economy Down Under in a terrible state, like everywhere else, this does not seem to be a good time to start any kind of business.
We have a tidy sum saved, so we could travel for a lengthy period of time, but that would mean eating into principal, which neither of us wants to do. I had thought about starting college this spring but decided to put that on hold until we have more concrete plans. We've also been looking into buying the house we're renting, yet that may not be a wise decision at this point.
Neither James nor I particularly like to be idle, so the situation we're in is sort of an embarrassment of riches -- we have no need for money but we do need to do something. We've started a list on the kitchen bulletin board where we both put down ideas for what we could do, no matter how ridiculous and without concern for the economy. Some of these include:
--Open a scuba school.
--Make a low-budget documentary.
--Study advanced ballroom dancing with an eye toward competition.
--Become professional photographers.
--Start a wildlife sanctuary.
If any of my readers have any ideas, be sure to pass them on!
If any of my readers have any ideas, be sure to pass them on!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
too much sex information
I love the idea of TMI Tuesday but, unfortunately, the questions don't often appear until Wednesday here in Sydney. So I'm doing this "too much information" post a bit late. But it's not like your taxes where you must file by a certain deadline. I bet that would make tax filing much more fun if you were asked questions like these:
1. Would you rather be stranded on an island alone or with someone you dislike/don't get along with?
I would not want to be alone; I'd rather be with a jerk. As I learned with Jules, you can still have hot sex with an asshole. Plus, with time, maybe you could open lines of communication with the jerk and actually end up with a decent friendship. But, please, make the jerk a man. A hot man. A hot man with powerful shoulders and ripped abs. That's not asking too much.
2. Would you rather accidentally walk in on your parents having sex or have them walk in on you?
I wouldn't want to see my parents having sex, thank you. While my parents never walked in on me getting poked, they knew I had been caught in flagrante delicto in the school library -- that was the reason I was tossed out of high school the second time. Their reaction was to send me to a shrink, who took copious notes about my sex life but had very little insight.
3. Would you rather be snapped by paparazzi during a nipple slip or while exiting a car with out any underwear?
I'd go with the beaver flash. What fun is a minor wardrobe malfunction when you could have something much more exciting?
4. Would you rather not have sex for two years or not be able to use the Internet for two years?
Total no-brainer. Like d'oh. A week without sex and I start losing my sanity. Two years? Two years without sex? Hello, are you crazy? That's the one thing that would frighten me most about prison. If I ever turn to a life of crime, I will make sure to do it in a jurisdiction that allows conjugal visits. I absolutely insist my husband do the same.
5. Would you rather find true love or $1 million?
Another no-brainer: true love. What fun would the money be if you couldn't share it with someone wonderful? You can't cuddle up to a sack of money at night. Your bank balance can't cause a mind-blowing orgasm.
Bonus: If you had to choose *one* sexual position for the rest of your life, what would it be? Why?
The upright cowgirl or whatever you call the position illustrated below. Can be done seated in bed, too. Why? You can kiss while you fuck, you can gaze into each other's eyes, you can engage in all kind of filthy talk. I knew James was a keeper with our early mutual discovery that we each loved this position more than any other.
1. Would you rather be stranded on an island alone or with someone you dislike/don't get along with?
I would not want to be alone; I'd rather be with a jerk. As I learned with Jules, you can still have hot sex with an asshole. Plus, with time, maybe you could open lines of communication with the jerk and actually end up with a decent friendship. But, please, make the jerk a man. A hot man. A hot man with powerful shoulders and ripped abs. That's not asking too much.
2. Would you rather accidentally walk in on your parents having sex or have them walk in on you?
I wouldn't want to see my parents having sex, thank you. While my parents never walked in on me getting poked, they knew I had been caught in flagrante delicto in the school library -- that was the reason I was tossed out of high school the second time. Their reaction was to send me to a shrink, who took copious notes about my sex life but had very little insight.
3. Would you rather be snapped by paparazzi during a nipple slip or while exiting a car with out any underwear?
I'd go with the beaver flash. What fun is a minor wardrobe malfunction when you could have something much more exciting?
4. Would you rather not have sex for two years or not be able to use the Internet for two years?
Total no-brainer. Like d'oh. A week without sex and I start losing my sanity. Two years? Two years without sex? Hello, are you crazy? That's the one thing that would frighten me most about prison. If I ever turn to a life of crime, I will make sure to do it in a jurisdiction that allows conjugal visits. I absolutely insist my husband do the same.
5. Would you rather find true love or $1 million?
Another no-brainer: true love. What fun would the money be if you couldn't share it with someone wonderful? You can't cuddle up to a sack of money at night. Your bank balance can't cause a mind-blowing orgasm.
Bonus: If you had to choose *one* sexual position for the rest of your life, what would it be? Why?
The upright cowgirl or whatever you call the position illustrated below. Can be done seated in bed, too. Why? You can kiss while you fuck, you can gaze into each other's eyes, you can engage in all kind of filthy talk. I knew James was a keeper with our early mutual discovery that we each loved this position more than any other.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
happy nude year
I skipped Half-Nekkid Thursday the last several weeks for a variety of reasons, but it's a new year, so here's another shot from the nude beach.
In some ways Australians are more prudish about sex than Americans, like with internet porn, but they're far less squeamish about public nudity. I didn't go to nude beaches too many times in the United States, but I do think the people here are more photogenic overall. They have it so they flaunt it. But with some of the people at Black's Beach in California, well, let's just say they were more into nudity than physical fitness.
In some ways Australians are more prudish about sex than Americans, like with internet porn, but they're far less squeamish about public nudity. I didn't go to nude beaches too many times in the United States, but I do think the people here are more photogenic overall. They have it so they flaunt it. But with some of the people at Black's Beach in California, well, let's just say they were more into nudity than physical fitness.
I'm still freaked by the number of sharks here, however. I don't think I'll ever get used to that, but the Aussies take it all in stride.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
X-rated fan mail
One curious aspect of blogging, which I had no idea existed before starting this one, is that some guys out there in cyberspace like to send naked pictures of themselves, fully aroused, to female bloggers.
I've been blogging close to four months now and have received about a dozen unsolicited cyber-flashings like this. It doesn't bother me in the least, but I have to admit I find the practice somewhat curious.
What exactly do you online exhibitionists expect to happen? Do you think that I'll want to meet you? Or is it just fun to show a girl your stuff in all its rigid splendor, the online equivalent of dropping trou in the mall parking lot? I've written back to some of these fans but have not received any responses. Maybe guys who do this have a whole passive/aggressive shy/bold thing going on.
Not to sound unkind, but I think some of the fellows who sent me their naked pictures won't be expecting a knock on the door anytime soon from a Chippendale's scout. Some of them, however, are rather nice to look at, particularly the first one below who had an absolutely gorgeous face. I censored the images to protect my fans' privacy.
After I received a few of these, I did some searching online and found other female bloggers also regularly received X-rated picture missives. There are even a few websites where female bloggers contribute the naughty pictures their readers provide along with a snarky commentary. I'm not a cruel person so I won't be posting the ones I've received over there.
So, no, you won't shock me if you send me a picture in all your rigid glory. But, really, Wilford Brimley was never my type. Just something to keep in mind if you have an itch to go into the bathroom naked with your cellphone camera and show your stuff. If you look like any of these guys, however, you're encouraged to send in a naked photo or two. I may be monogamous, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a little eye candy.
I've been blogging close to four months now and have received about a dozen unsolicited cyber-flashings like this. It doesn't bother me in the least, but I have to admit I find the practice somewhat curious.
What exactly do you online exhibitionists expect to happen? Do you think that I'll want to meet you? Or is it just fun to show a girl your stuff in all its rigid splendor, the online equivalent of dropping trou in the mall parking lot? I've written back to some of these fans but have not received any responses. Maybe guys who do this have a whole passive/aggressive shy/bold thing going on.
Not to sound unkind, but I think some of the fellows who sent me their naked pictures won't be expecting a knock on the door anytime soon from a Chippendale's scout. Some of them, however, are rather nice to look at, particularly the first one below who had an absolutely gorgeous face. I censored the images to protect my fans' privacy.
After I received a few of these, I did some searching online and found other female bloggers also regularly received X-rated picture missives. There are even a few websites where female bloggers contribute the naughty pictures their readers provide along with a snarky commentary. I'm not a cruel person so I won't be posting the ones I've received over there.
So, no, you won't shock me if you send me a picture in all your rigid glory. But, really, Wilford Brimley was never my type. Just something to keep in mind if you have an itch to go into the bathroom naked with your cellphone camera and show your stuff. If you look like any of these guys, however, you're encouraged to send in a naked photo or two. I may be monogamous, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a little eye candy.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
sex guilt
When I'm working the front desk at the health club, because of some acoustical quirk, I can hear what people are saying when they're standing at a water fountain about 25 feet away, even if they're speaking quietly.
Recently two men were talking about sex and women so, of course, my interest was piqued. The gist of the conversation was that one guy was getting it any time he wanted from two different women, neither of whom knew about the other, while the second guy hadn't been laid since March 2008.
The guy who was getting it regularly went on to tell about how one of the women gave him a blowjob when she came to see him at his office while he was on a conference call. The other guy said something like "mate, you're killing me," and it's obvious he was envious.
I have friends who read this blog whom I know aren't "getting any," for one reason or another. I'm in regular email or IM contact with many of them, too, and I know what's not happening in their bedrooms.
I do feel guilty about this at times, hence the title of this post "sex guilt" (not to be confused with "guilt sex"). I don't want to sound like I'm gloating because my sex life is fantastic. When I lived in the States, I had several friends whom I knew who were involuntarily celibate, and I often felt badly when the subject of my usually active sex life came up.
So if it ever seems like I'm gloating, I apologize in advance. Those who know me well know sex is an important part of my life. I can be unpleasant to be around when I'm not getting any, and I have been known in the past to engage in easy, meaningless sex just to fill the void. Thankfully, now that I'm married, that's behind me.
At the same time, I do believe people sort of make their own destiny. If you're not getting any, and want some, there are ways to get it. Yes, hookup sex is not as wonderful as falling in love and having fantastic sex, but if you need a release, you can go out and find it. And you might just fall in love in the process.
I felt like saying this to the poor guy by the water fountain who was in his Gobi Desert phase. He's a good-looking, athletic guy with a sweet smile and always something pleasant to say. All he has to do is put himself out there; many women would be happy to find him. There's the old expression "do you want to fish or cut bait?" I think the guy was spending too much time cutting bait and not enough time fishing.
I also thought, amusingly, had I still been single and available, I would've helped out the water fountain guy. I wouldn't be so brazen as to come right out and say it, but I would have set to work on him and ended his unfortunate streak within a few days. He's certainly not the hottest guy I've ever seen and his ears are too big, but he's sexy nonetheless.
In addition to being a sex fiend, I have been known to dabble in matchmaking at times. I'm already scheming how to fix up the water fountain guy. Maybe all he needs is a little nudge, and I'm happy to help. I have a candidate in mind, so I just need to set things in motion without seeming too obvious about it.
Unfortunately, I don't always know the right person for a friend who's stranded in the Gobi Desert. I feel badly when that happens. I know it's always easier being a woman and finding a man than the other way around. And it always seems there are more men out there looking than women. Why that is I don't know.
But you can't always wait for some busybody like me to set you up. Sometimes in life you just have to take a chance. The worst he or she can say is "no." So go ahead, call her. Email him. Make it happen.
Carpe diem.
Recently two men were talking about sex and women so, of course, my interest was piqued. The gist of the conversation was that one guy was getting it any time he wanted from two different women, neither of whom knew about the other, while the second guy hadn't been laid since March 2008.
The guy who was getting it regularly went on to tell about how one of the women gave him a blowjob when she came to see him at his office while he was on a conference call. The other guy said something like "mate, you're killing me," and it's obvious he was envious.
I have friends who read this blog whom I know aren't "getting any," for one reason or another. I'm in regular email or IM contact with many of them, too, and I know what's not happening in their bedrooms.
I do feel guilty about this at times, hence the title of this post "sex guilt" (not to be confused with "guilt sex"). I don't want to sound like I'm gloating because my sex life is fantastic. When I lived in the States, I had several friends whom I knew who were involuntarily celibate, and I often felt badly when the subject of my usually active sex life came up.
So if it ever seems like I'm gloating, I apologize in advance. Those who know me well know sex is an important part of my life. I can be unpleasant to be around when I'm not getting any, and I have been known in the past to engage in easy, meaningless sex just to fill the void. Thankfully, now that I'm married, that's behind me.
At the same time, I do believe people sort of make their own destiny. If you're not getting any, and want some, there are ways to get it. Yes, hookup sex is not as wonderful as falling in love and having fantastic sex, but if you need a release, you can go out and find it. And you might just fall in love in the process.
I felt like saying this to the poor guy by the water fountain who was in his Gobi Desert phase. He's a good-looking, athletic guy with a sweet smile and always something pleasant to say. All he has to do is put himself out there; many women would be happy to find him. There's the old expression "do you want to fish or cut bait?" I think the guy was spending too much time cutting bait and not enough time fishing.
I also thought, amusingly, had I still been single and available, I would've helped out the water fountain guy. I wouldn't be so brazen as to come right out and say it, but I would have set to work on him and ended his unfortunate streak within a few days. He's certainly not the hottest guy I've ever seen and his ears are too big, but he's sexy nonetheless.
In addition to being a sex fiend, I have been known to dabble in matchmaking at times. I'm already scheming how to fix up the water fountain guy. Maybe all he needs is a little nudge, and I'm happy to help. I have a candidate in mind, so I just need to set things in motion without seeming too obvious about it.
Unfortunately, I don't always know the right person for a friend who's stranded in the Gobi Desert. I feel badly when that happens. I know it's always easier being a woman and finding a man than the other way around. And it always seems there are more men out there looking than women. Why that is I don't know.
But you can't always wait for some busybody like me to set you up. Sometimes in life you just have to take a chance. The worst he or she can say is "no." So go ahead, call her. Email him. Make it happen.
Carpe diem.
Monday, January 5, 2009
how may I serve you?
I discovered shortly after meeting my husband's family that they could never be confused with die-hard Monarchists.
They have some pretty specific ideas about how they see the future of the Royal Family.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
a trainwreck named amy winehouse
She's turning into a parody of herself.
Does she actually still take her look seriously? Does anyone?
I like her music, but I can't watch her anymore without bursting out in laughter.
Does she actually still take her look seriously? Does anyone?
I like her music, but I can't watch her anymore without bursting out in laughter.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
hot hotel sex
We're in Melbourne for a few days. We're not really on a honeymoon because we planned this trip before we were married for business purposes.
Nice hotels seem to be ridiculously cheap here in Australia, and they'll give you an even better rate if you pay directly in American dollars. We have a fantastic eighth-floor room with a gorgeous view of Albert Park Lake and Port Phillip Bay beyond. A room like this in New York would be $500 a night. Here it's costing us $60.
James and I love hotel rooms. There's just something cozy about making a little home away from home for a few days. A hotel room seems to add an additional level of intimacy; you're in a small island amidst strangers, so you're drawn closer together by necessity. Your little 200 square feet room provides an island of privacy in a public place.
We've had some of our best sex in hotels for whatever reason. Perhaps it's because a bed is such a central fixture of the room. We've stayed in hotel rooms during some important transitions in our relationship. We had sex for the first time in a shabby-chic roadside motel room on the way to Boulder Dam only a few days after we met. Our first shared spaces after we became a couple were hotel rooms when we traveled around for ten days in the Western United States.
Early in our relationship James and I got into sexual role playing. I've not written about this here before; it just sort of happened a few weeks after we met. Neither of us had done much of this sort of thing before with other lovers, but we now do it about once a week, and it's just so much fun. Needless to say, a hotel room lends itself nicely to hot role-playing sex. Sometimes he's the innocent room service guy who I seduce; sometimes I'm the innocent chambermaid he blackmails into sex.
I'll write more about some of these role-playing adventures in the future. But right now someone claiming to be the hotel masseuse is knocking at the door. Funny I don't remember calling for him. Something tells me I'm going to get more than just a massage.
Nice hotels seem to be ridiculously cheap here in Australia, and they'll give you an even better rate if you pay directly in American dollars. We have a fantastic eighth-floor room with a gorgeous view of Albert Park Lake and Port Phillip Bay beyond. A room like this in New York would be $500 a night. Here it's costing us $60.
James and I love hotel rooms. There's just something cozy about making a little home away from home for a few days. A hotel room seems to add an additional level of intimacy; you're in a small island amidst strangers, so you're drawn closer together by necessity. Your little 200 square feet room provides an island of privacy in a public place.
We've had some of our best sex in hotels for whatever reason. Perhaps it's because a bed is such a central fixture of the room. We've stayed in hotel rooms during some important transitions in our relationship. We had sex for the first time in a shabby-chic roadside motel room on the way to Boulder Dam only a few days after we met. Our first shared spaces after we became a couple were hotel rooms when we traveled around for ten days in the Western United States.
Early in our relationship James and I got into sexual role playing. I've not written about this here before; it just sort of happened a few weeks after we met. Neither of us had done much of this sort of thing before with other lovers, but we now do it about once a week, and it's just so much fun. Needless to say, a hotel room lends itself nicely to hot role-playing sex. Sometimes he's the innocent room service guy who I seduce; sometimes I'm the innocent chambermaid he blackmails into sex.
I'll write more about some of these role-playing adventures in the future. But right now someone claiming to be the hotel masseuse is knocking at the door. Funny I don't remember calling for him. Something tells me I'm going to get more than just a massage.
Friday, January 2, 2009
naked smiling man
I love this picture. I have no idea who this guy is, but I like him.
Why? That big gorgeous smile. To me, a man's smile is one of his sexiest features. A naked guy smiling is so much hotter than a naked guy looking pouty or pissed off or annoyed. So many male models are posed these days with glowering faces like they just had a barium enema and are on their way to a tax audit. Not sexy.
A man who smiles during sex is the hottest of all. He wears a big, wide, happy grin as he works his magic. Sex should be enjoyable and fun. So show her you're having a good time. Show her she makes you happy. Smile when you see her undress, smile as you love her, smile when it's all over.
The Buddhist monk and peace activist Nhat Hanh once said, "Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy." A great thought both in and out of the bedroom.
Go on now, smile. Go on. There you go. See, you're more gorgeous already.
Why? That big gorgeous smile. To me, a man's smile is one of his sexiest features. A naked guy smiling is so much hotter than a naked guy looking pouty or pissed off or annoyed. So many male models are posed these days with glowering faces like they just had a barium enema and are on their way to a tax audit. Not sexy.
A man who smiles during sex is the hottest of all. He wears a big, wide, happy grin as he works his magic. Sex should be enjoyable and fun. So show her you're having a good time. Show her she makes you happy. Smile when you see her undress, smile as you love her, smile when it's all over.
The Buddhist monk and peace activist Nhat Hanh once said, "Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy." A great thought both in and out of the bedroom.
Go on now, smile. Go on. There you go. See, you're more gorgeous already.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
sex sex sex sex sex sex sex
I admit many of my posts lately have been G-rated, or PG-rated at best. Traffic is way down due to the holiday season, so I have been saving some stuff for the new year.
I haven't posted any of my X-rated entries in a while, and several readers have emailed to comment about that. I will resume once the holiday period is over. I need a certain sort of focus when I write those pieces, and a lot has been happening over the last several weeks that has left me without the concentration time I need for more in-depth entries. I'll also resume "half-nekkid Thursday" too.
I'm happy to report that married sex is just as hot as premarital sex. So much for the old adage that a wedding makes sex dull. But then again we've only been married a week as of today. James is nearly 100 percent recovered from his surgery. We're refraining from chandelier sex but otherwise all is back to normal. We just can't keep our hands off each other.
I think in some way we have become even more open and expressive about sex since we've been married. That's not to say we're fucking in traffic islands or supermarket aisles or anything. But there's just something about being married that we've both found so liberating. We had sex in James's office the other day, the first time that's happened.
So please stay tuned for more and a happy, sexy 2009 to one and all!
I haven't posted any of my X-rated entries in a while, and several readers have emailed to comment about that. I will resume once the holiday period is over. I need a certain sort of focus when I write those pieces, and a lot has been happening over the last several weeks that has left me without the concentration time I need for more in-depth entries. I'll also resume "half-nekkid Thursday" too.
I'm happy to report that married sex is just as hot as premarital sex. So much for the old adage that a wedding makes sex dull. But then again we've only been married a week as of today. James is nearly 100 percent recovered from his surgery. We're refraining from chandelier sex but otherwise all is back to normal. We just can't keep our hands off each other.
I think in some way we have become even more open and expressive about sex since we've been married. That's not to say we're fucking in traffic islands or supermarket aisles or anything. But there's just something about being married that we've both found so liberating. We had sex in James's office the other day, the first time that's happened.
So please stay tuned for more and a happy, sexy 2009 to one and all!
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