A Walk in the Night

So far the fantasies all have been just words, and the hot-on-the-web posts have been a bit more shallow and visual. Here is my first attempt at merging the two, hopefully resulting in a more intense experience. Please feel free to comment if you have any suggestions or feedback. Am I on the right track?

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I love the dark outside at night. It somehow feels cosy to me. Walking along the streets and parks. The lights along the street. The lights inside the houses. It feels like I'm by myself but not alone.

I don't mind the rain as much as some. I prefer to avoid it but if I have somewhere to go the rain is not going to stop me. This night I had resolved to have a walk, and when the rain came on I almost told myself "another night". But I had made a promise to myself. A promise is a promise.

Image via sajith.org

The lights are actually kind of prettier in the rain. Maybe this will be better than I thought. The rain is not cosy, but now the night is actually touching everything around me. Touching me. Everywhere. It draws the outlines of the invisible world around.

I start off along the footpath by myself. Normally soft footfalls now sop and splash in the little puddles along the concrete. I can smell the green of the grass and the trees along the way. The night takes away, the rain gives back.

Image via Kiluka's Flickr stream

I love the way the lights shine off the wet. Shimmering stars on everything. On the road. On the signs. On the houses. The rain is actually not so bad; the trees along the footpath shelter me from the worst of it.

As I see the local sports fields approaching in the distance I become aware of a change in the sounds. The splashes aren't right. Too many. Another set of feet. Fainter. I take a peek over my shoulder and see a female silhouette across the street a little way behind me.

I walk a little slower to match her speed and time my next glance for the next streetlight. Brown hair. Light jacket. My eyes back in front, but my mind doesn't see. Did I catch a glimpse of her face? Did I see some of her legs? Blue skirt? I patiently wait until the next streetlight. Another glance. Not a skirt, jeans, tight. Her curly hair covers most of her face.

I try to plot for some excuse to cross the road. If I fall in behind her I'll look like a stalker. If I get ahead of her and then wait it'll seem like an ambush. Several more scenarios discarded I give up stumped. My disappointment is accompanied by a crack of lightning. The rain starts pouring harder.

I look around for cover, and spot the amenity building at the sports field. Shining like a fluoro beacon through the rain. I run across the street and into the field. Falling in behind the woman. Fate. Another crack of lightning just as I make it under cover and the rain starts streaming down.

"Just in time!"
She smiles, "Nice dash."
"I was hoping to enjoy my stroll a little longer."
"It isn't over yet", she reminds me.

I have a better look at her now. Her jacket looks soaked but her shirt underneath still seems dry. Two buttons open, the curve of her breasts lightly speckled with droplets. Slowly rolling down into her cleavage. I feel like I've been staring at them rolling in slow motion for hours.

"Yeah", great... I'm so articulate.
"I mean, an opportunity to enjoy how the rain looks"
She smiles again. I realise she thinks I was still talking about her breasts. I feel a slight blush in my cheeks.
"Where were you going?" I ask her to cover.
"Been busy all day, I needed some evening air, just around the block actually."

I find my eyes sliding over her wet denim. Hips. Legs. Skinny jeans. Sneakers underneath. Eyes back up to her face just as she finishes her sentence.

"Sorry, still recovering from the dash" I blatantly lie. If my breathing is heavy it has nothing to do with my run.
Her eyes twinkle, "That's alright; doesn't look like we're going anywhere".

The rain still pouring down.
We talk about the neighbourhood. My mind keeps wandering. Undressing her.

Image via Art-or-Porn

Between the droplets in her cleavage and the well fitting shirt, my mind extrapolates her body. The raindrops splattered all over her breasts. The fluoro light glistening off her nipples.

She grins; drawn back into reality. Did I say something funny?
I rewind my last line... no, just more chit-chat... what is she grinning at? After a while my mind starts wandering again.

In my mind my lips close around her erect nipples and gently suck. My tongue chases the droplets across her chest. No drier than before, but definitely heating up. My hands move to her glistening waist. I drown.

Enigmatic smile. Back to reality. Oh wait, I think I said something that didn't make sense.
"I mean, it takes a little practice, but after a while it just becomes second nature". That seems to satisfy her, she politely nods. The conversation moves on.

Image via Art-or-Porn

A bit of her belly peeks out from under the shirt. Has it been riding up? Why did I only notice just now. Smooth skin between white and blue. My imagination adds droplets and removes more clothes. My tongue runs down from her breasts to her bellybutton, a little slalom through the rain leaving an S-shaped trail and a swirl at the end. My teeth grab a little fold of skin at the edge of the bellybutton. She shivers so I rake my teeth over the skin as I slowly let it slip.

Little rivulets trail over her hips along her legs. My lips leave kisses down her belly. Down. Down. Hairline. Hands move to her ass, tongue trails around and down.

Silence.
Waiting.

Wait, what did she say. "Sorry?"
Heat in my face.

"I think it stopped raining. Well, enough to go back out."
"Ah, yes."
"I enjoyed talking, but I really need to get back home."
"Oh... yes... ah..." brilliant... quick, more...
"How about I give you my number and we can walk in the rain together some other time."

I gratefully get out my phone and we exchange numbers.
"Thanks."
"Hey, maybe we can swap what's in your head and on your tongue next time. It seemed to me that might be a lot more interesting, no offense..."
I can't stop grinning now, "Yeah, sorry."
"Don't be. I had fun watching you. You juggle well."
I grin again. "See you soon... I hope"

She flashes a quick final smile and dashes across the park on her way home. I turn around and double back the way I came. I don't feel like finishing my block. I want a shower. And my hand. And the rest of my mental images.

The Little Orgasm That Could

Yesterday I got a little drunk. I also got horny. First it was just a little horny, but as the day rolled on and we made it to the second party of the day I had to make a concious effort not to start rubbing up against inanimate objects.

After straddling the giggling birthday girl for cuddles and doing something that is apparently called "motorboating", Arthur thought it might be best to take me home before I did something I'd regret.

On the way home we chatted about all the sexy people we'd seen all day, and exactly how over-the-top I had been. Arthur was lovely and assured me that I hadn't embarrassed myself. He seemed to think I'd been amusing. This made me horny. It was the warm snuggly sort of horny, the kind where hands and mouths and bodies are required, where a cock just won't cut it. I wanted to get off, and I wanted it my way. When we were sitting in the loungeroom and Arthur was struggling with the remnants of his cold, I made a decision. I gave him a little kiss and a big smile and headed for the shower with my waterproof vibe in hand¹.

I've never tried using toys in the shower. I've tried the showerhead, I've tried my hands, and I've tried (OMG how-the-hell-do-people-do-this) Arthur, but never toys. After 15 minutes with the shower running cold, I discovered why. No go. It would have relieved more stress if I'd massaged my feet with the thing, but as it stood I was now horny, grouchy and soggy wet with a semi-numbed clit. But I was determined.

We do not negotiate with terrorists!

I dried off and marched into the bedroom, reefed open the bottom drawer and grabbed Mr Leopard. I don't think I've ever grabbed a toy with such ferocity and determination. I turned the dial and pressed it to my clit and felt the orgasm simmering under the surface. "Mmmm, a good start, this feels...hmmm, this bed is warm... I like warm. Ohhh, and my hair feels cold. Warm and cold, warm and co..." Dammit! Trying to masturbate while drunk was harder than I expected.

I was not going to be beaten.

I turned the dial up again and started grinding, imagining things that I'd wished Arthur had done to me earlier that night, imagining being bent over a garden chair with my arms pinned at my waist and Arthur bouncing his cock over my buttocks as the hottest of the partygoers watched from the kitchen window...

And there it was.

I'd love to tell you it was wonderful, like a pot of warm golden honey running down my spine and tingling all the way to the very tips of my fingers, but it wasn't. It was, much as I hate to describe such a hard fought orgasm this way, like some cold-fingered skeletal ghoul reached into my abdomen and started experimentally prodding at my internal organs. Wonderful sensation my foot. I was feeling stubborn though, and managed to keep it rolling along for a little while.

And roll it did! It just wouldn't stop! I walked out and curled up naked in front of the heater, marvelling at how the ratty old carpet felt against my skin, and how lovely and toasty my skin felt. The stealthy little aftershocks kept sneaking up on me, causing me to groan and writhe on the floor. For an hour or more I twitched and whimpered and sighed, feeling my body finally revel in the pleasure I had been itching for all day long.

It was totally worth it.

¹ Before you all go thinking I'm being cruel, I think poor Arthur would have coughed his way to broken ribs if I'd invited him along to help me out, and much as I would have liked to have him I do have to learn that it is OK to play with toys while Arthur is in the house. I'm tired of being a finger ninja, I want to play and be proud!

Wild Day and Night...

Today was a very interesting day. We attended two parties; one from lunch onward, and one surrounding dinner. Both in areas of Sydney where we do not normally dwell. The day contained a lot of hot people. It was good. And amusing.

First up was our party surrounding lunch. It involved a BBQ and salads, and just general merriment. Boy, does Annabelle's friend have some hot friends. Really... On the way driving back afterwards, the first thing Anna asked me was "So, who was the most doable"? I kinda assumed that was a trick question because the answer seemed quite obvious to me, so I dutifully started from the bottom up.

Well, the girl in the hosting committee was very pretty in a no-frills way (you know, the kind of pretty that just is... not because of some single obvious feature, but just a combination of everything being just right together). Unfortunately she is also very straight according to Facebook, and her profile pic there is phenomenally spectacular.

But by far the hottest was one of the quieter girls. Catholic background, but I'm not sure anymore whether that means they're wild under a calm exterior, or if they could just be prim and proper? No idea what she is, but... wow... she was the kind of pretty that doesn't come about due to flawlessness, but more due to a combination of bold details that draw the eye, and a very open smiling face that just invites you in to come and talk to her.

Annabelle dutifully agreed with me. As I suspected she was just asking me to say what she already knew for herself.

Second party was a bit different. Annabelle got very drunk and rowdy. But these were the kind of friends that don't really mind a rude or suggestive joke or two. I think she "inappropriately" accosted one of our friends to great merriment all 'round.

The woman that cooked us dinner there was the second visual treat for the night. A bit delicate looking, short-ish, yummy... a little Natalie Imbruglia-like, or something. Very friendly. Very not sure of her orientation either, but hope springs eternal.

After all the drinks Anna had she was getting very randy, so I decided it was best to get her home before she actually did something she might regret later, but when we got home she told me how much she wanted a girl between her legs right now... in that no-nonsense, sober-enough-to-be-serious voice. Any worries I might ever have had about her playing along with my fantasies for my sake are well and truly banished.

At the very minimal least she has the ability to ache to try a girl so much that I personally won't even do for a substitute. Right now she's finding lesbian porn and getting herself off with a vibrator. I hope she enjoys herself, because right now I can't get her the real thing on such short notice. Although had I known I could have discreetly enquired about our dinner chef, because you just never know...

I guess we better get a bit more serious about our efforts to find potential female partners so that next time this happens we at least have some options on hand.

I Should be Sleeping This Off

I have barely had a good nights' sleep this week. And not in the good way. This irks me on both counts.

Don't get me wrong, can't be in the mood all the time, but a whole week of having to rebuff Annabelle for fear of infecting her with what I have got is no fun.

The only upside is that it makes it so much easier to tease her. A quick toothy nip at her neck. A grope. A touch on that spot just between her shoulder blades. Oh wait. That's cruel, isn't it? She'll pay me back for it one way or another, so let me have some fun here.

Wait, the other upside is that once the cough and sniffles go there'll be a lot of pent-up energy waiting to be released... *mind wanders* ... I think ... I need to stop writing now.

Toy Story 2

Sometimes I like to be brave.

A few years ago I was very good friends with two people I'd met online. She was from overseas and he was from another state. He'd come to visit when he split from his wife and told me about his lack of faith in finding the perfect woman. He told me about things he'd always wanted to try but had never had the chance. She'd chatted to me for hours about religion and her lack of experience in all matters sexual. She'd inexpertly (or maybe intentionally obviously) tried to pick my brain about men and sex and all that jazz. They met online. They talked for hours every day. They fell in love.

When she finally flew over and when they both came to Sydney to visit us and explore the city, I decided it was worth throwing her in the deep end. I decided that even thought she was a little bottle of sexual energy just waiting to explode, she probably would appreciate being able to blame it on someone else. I checked with a few people to make sure I wasn't being pushy, but the thought seemed sound. After a bit of careful discussion and giving her plenty of opportunity to say uh-uh-no-way-never, we all packed into the car and drove to the same local sex shops where Arthur had bought me my very first toy.

This time I was braver. This time I bounded up the steps with the confidence of a pro. This time it was a completely different couple staring goggle-eyed at the rows and rows of colourful sparkly dildos and dolphinesque vibes.

I wandered around picking up various things that I thought might be handy for the new lovebirds. Things with pearls and ears featured regularly, as did vibrating knickers and edible massage gels. No nibbles. They were quite obviously fascinated but keeping their hands firmly off the faux cocks.

On one of my laps of the shop I spotted a section on the wall devoted to various clitoral stimulators. There were the standard silver bullets and oversized 'discreet' lipstick models, along with strap-on butterflies and a number of undersized hard plastic phalli. One caught my eye. It was about 4" long and about as fat as a taper candle, far smaller than my first toy, Mr Purple. The shape was appealing, the non-jelliness was appealing, and most of all the gaudy animal print pattern was just fantastic! It also came with a discreet hard plastic case and a little case sock - BOTH in the same cheetah print design. I had to have it.

I grabbed the little plastic hanging pack and scuttled over to Arthur to see what he thought. He thought it was good if I thought it was good, and he thought I should get it. The key thing there being "I". He seemed to think I needed to walk up to the disinterested-but-still-sleazy guy and buy the thing myself. I took it up and watched him crack the packet, jam in a single AA battery and twist the base. The amount of oomph in the thing took me by surprise. It could have powered a small dinghy. I nodded my approval and he packed it back into the plastic packing, slipped it into a paper bag, and handed it over without so much as a smile.

I didn't care, I had my toy.

Mr Leopard is still my absolute favourite toy. It is cheap, hard plastic. It has a dial that controls its one and only mode of vibration. It isn't waterproof. It gets lost in the vastness of my pussy. (I'm not vast... it is just slender!) It gets me off. All the other things seem to fade into the background.

For those who are interested, the lovebirds got married and I believe that they continue to explore the bounds of their sexuality. I'm not sure if they ever ended up buying sex toys, but I'm happy that I gave their long daily conversations a bit of a sexy twist.

Hot on the Web

This one is for Annabelle; I've scoured the internets for images I think she would enjoy, and now I shall have a stab at identifying why.

Image via Art-or-Porn

Okay, so this is an easy one to get warmed up. She likes blonde wavy hair (close enough) and the dusting of sand on the curves of her ass. I am not exactly sure what it is about the sand... too gritty to touch, but maybe it's just visual. I bet she would love to slowly pull the white string though.

Image via Art-or-Porn

She is similar enough to Annabelle that I think she'd like looking at her kinda-reflection. Same perfectly shaped breasts, similar facial proportions and hair colour. And I think the mystery in the face is inviting to her, and the tiny open top... well...

Image via Art-or-Porn

Anna loves Suicide Girls... would like to have a subscription... would like to be one. I bet it is the edgy looks, the tattoos. In this case the light skin and little fold in her waist. And I think she probably drools a little over the lingerie as well.

Image via Art-or-Porn

This one... because she'd like the other girl to take control of the situation so she doesn't have to. But also, in this case the face of the girl in the white top looks similar enough to a certain girl at the local coffee shop that Anna has this really big crush on. She lacks the various piercings though.

The remainder of this post has some slightly more explicit pictures. Feel free to read on if you aren't offended by naked.

The Unethical Slut - 2 - The Taxi Driver

Okay, so this does not qualify as a slut, ethical or otherwise... but I just had to say how pissed off I am with people that so callously disregard sexually transmitted diseases like this.

Now I realise that HIV is no longer a death sentence these days. But from what I understand the medication regime is pretty grueling both in frequency and intensity. I don't even want to think how it would feel falling into that from one day to the next... I would imagine it could easily be as emotionally shattering as the rape itself.

Also, a little sad that I did in fact get to a number 2 post so quickly, even if it doesn't really qualify.

Speaking of a Threesome - Redux

Arthur: So, Annabelle... we forgot a topic or two last night...

Annabelle: Well we were a bit distracted. What did we miss? 'When'?

Arthur: Yes... and apparently the bonus round 'why'

Annabelle: Ahh, the complete set!

Arthur: Indeed, so 'when' ... I'm not sure how to pin that down

Annabelle: Well, I think that has to be a bit flexible. There is no point setting a date and just grabbing the first available girl that happens to walk by.

Arthur: I think it's maybe better to say 'now', but as a good time to start looking. I think the actual 'when' will depend on when we find someone that ticks all the right boxes?

Annabelle: That sounds fair. I like boxes. I think. ;)

Arthur: I think that's as much as we can say on 'when' really... anything more specific would just be flippant...

Arthur: Although I really strongly object to significant dates on principle... even if the timing works out to a birthday or halloween or Christmas... can we shift it by a day just on principle?

Annabelle: Er, you can be in charge of telling our willing horny third that we can't fuck tonight on principle. :P I'm not for significant dates either, but if that is when it feels right then I'm willing to look the other way.

Arthur: Okay then, but no purposeful leading up to any of those dates either...

Annabelle: No, agreed.

Arthur: Any ideas for the bonus 'why'?

Annabelle: Because we want to? Is that too simplistic?

Arthur: No, that sounds right.

Arthur: Because women are hot?

Arthur: Because I don't have big breasts? ;)

Annabelle: Well, there are plenty of risks and the possibilities of negative outcomes, but there are a bunch of risks and negative outcomes if we don't too. It isn't exactly equal I suppose but, as you said, women are hot.

Arthur: I think as long as we are careful with outselves and eachother it can't hurt to find out.

Annabelle: Indeed, and there is no rule that says we have to keep progressing to more and more people and more extreme activities. If we find that what we really enjoy is just making out with girls, then that is what we do. If we like hanging from chandeliers, then we do that. It is all about exploring.

Arthur: Agreed. I think we've got this post covered; unless you have any final thoughts?

Annabelle: We've got it all this time I think.

Some Quick Thoughts

Doing that dialog last night was way more fun than I thought it was going to be, even while still recovering from a cold (stuffy head = very un-sexy).

As much as we had covered almost all of the ground before, there were still some revelations in there for me as well. For instance how much (at all) and how genuinely Annabelle wants to watch another girl get me off. I didn't think I was an exhibitionist, but for Anna it makes me hot and tingly. Maybe I'm selectively exhibitionist?

I was also a little bit surprised that when push comes to shove, neither of us is really extremely picky about the girl. Naturally we're not going to say no to a "Scarlett Johansen" if some such turns up at our doorstep, but it looks like we're not making it too hard on ourselves, which is good.

Final realisation is that by now talking about this, even in front of an audience like this, really barely registers a blip of awkward for me personally. It's strange how I would have stammered and not gotten to the point and just shut down in the past if we'd gone anywhere near this detail. It really isn't that difficult, and it took us less than 6 months to get here with continuous practice and effort granted, but still.

Oh, and I also want to shout out to the Light Switch blog, where a twenty-something female records her own journey through a similar change.

Speaking of a Threesome

The much-delayed follow-up threesome conversation is finally here. Talking with a partner is tough, and as subjects go this is probably one of the toughest ones to discuss.

In the spirit of full disclosure; this is a topic Annabelle and I have talked around before, but we haven't really gone through A-to-Z. Also, obviously, this is not something we have actually done at this point either. This is a fun little adventure trip for us all to go on together. *insert imagined cheer of the readership here*

So, some of the angles would be: what, who, where and when. I think that goes roughly from most to least important (and possibly from most to least difficult).

Arthur: Now, did I miss anything there in my intro?

Annabelle: No, I think you got it all.

Arthur: Starting with 'what'; there are many 'what's I'd like to try, but I also want to be careful about how we approach this. Anna, want to start with any specific things *you* would want to try for you?

Annabelle: I would like to know if kissing a girl feels different. What they do with their hands. If they taste different.

Arthur: That's kinda convenient, I would really like to watch you kissing a girl. Or a girl kissing you. That is the same, isn't it?

Annabelle: Depends on the girl.

Arthur: I think I understand what you mean. Is it okay if I touch her too?

Annabelle: Depends on what you are touching with...

Arthur: My hands?

Annabelle: Hands are fine. Would be nice if you touch me too... or both at once... I would like to see if smoke comes out of your ears ;)

Arthur: Touching everyone is more fun, so naturally... and I'm not a smoker... so, hands are fine. Lips? Tongue?

Annabelle: Well, there's something to the Pretty Woman rule... no kissing on the lips?

Arthur: But otherwise?

Annabelle: I think otherwise it should be okay.

Arthur: Her lips and tongue? Any off-limits on you or me?

Annabelle: I'd like to have her lick my pussy, but I still feel a little nervous and guilty about it.

Arthur: Guilty how?

Annabelle: I feel like I would be contractually obliged to get off on it, but I'm not sure whether that would actually happen.

Arthur: Fair enough... but I don't think that is an implied expectation. And part of the fun is trying. Besides, if it might relax you, you can always suck on me at the same time.

Annabelle: *squirm*

Arthur: So, anywhere else off-limits for her mouth?

Annabelle: No, but I'd really like to watch her suck you off, especially if you were standing.

Arthur: I'd really like it if you joined in at some point. I think I may have commented on one of the pictures recently along those lines...

Annabelle: I'd like to see what she does... how she does it... how you react...

Arthur: I'm getting turned on just imagining watching what she does to you... fair is fair, I get to watch too. I think sticking with mouths and hands would probably be a sensible compromise to start with?

Annabelle: I'd like to start with slightly more clothes though. Mouths and hands are good, but that would be good to build up to rather than licking and poking everywhere straight away.

Arthur: Well, let's move on to 'who' ... although that'll have to be a bit in the abstract for now.

Annabelle: Unless you want to kidnap the girl from the bakery...

Arthur: I'd love to... and it'd be great if we could be certain she is into girls... but let's stick with reality for now ;)

Annabelle: I find it difficult enough figuring out girls who are interested in girls, let alone interested in both girls and boys.

Arthur: Okay, so maybe the better place to start is figure out what would be 'minimum requirements'? Wherever we find her, the bisexual part would obviously be a requirement. And attractive to both of us... although that probably leaves plenty leeway in the overlap of our tastes.

Annabelle: I would want to look for someone that takes health and safety very seriously, and probably someone who would be happy if it ends up as a one-off encounter.

Arthur: Fully agree... it would be great if they had a bit of a 'teacher' attitude about the situation. That's really more important than looks outright for me.

Annabelle: But looks are still important, right?

Arthur: Oh, yes.

Annabelle: I would really like a feminine girl (preferably with big breasts)

Arthur: The only thing that's actually a complete turn-off for me is very overweight. Curvy is fine, but there's a point where it just doesn't work for me.

Annabelle: And personal hygiene...

Arthur: We can hose her beforehand ;)

Annabelle: We can't just hose everybody down! So, where do we find a clean feminine teacher-type with big breasts?

Arthur: Out in the big wide world... or online. I'm not sure myself. Filtering out by criteria is obviously easier online, but it's also less personal.

Annabelle: I think we need personal. I want to hear their voice. See how they behave in the wild.

Arthur: I wasn't suggesting that it goes straight from online into the bedroom. I think any which way there's a 'meeting somewhere neutral' in the chain.

Annabelle: Well, we can always try both... but... promise me we aren't picking up on Craigslist or Gumtree.

Arthur: Ew... Ick... Did you really have to say that?

Annabelle: Just wanted to be sure...

Arthur: Okay then... I'm blocking out that memory, ... right... now...

Arthur: So, what are we up to now? Where I think? Any thoughts? Sleazy motel? Dropsheet in the living room? Outside? ;)

Annabelle: The main thing would be, not in our bedroom.

Arthur: I don't have a particular hangup about it, but it does sound sensible, so agreed. Anywhere else then though?

Annabelle: Outdoor seems a little ambitious.

Arthur: We can always go take a trip somewhere though... so it's not 'home'. Woo her with a trip to the Hunter Valley? ;)

Annabelle: That sounds pretty good... and motels don't have to be sleazy. There is something about crisp white hotel sheets that makes me feel adventurous.

Arthur: *cheeky grin*

Annabelle: I'm good.

Arthur: Cool, I think that probably cleared a lot up. Hope the readers enjoy. And we'll have to keep them posted on further developments as they happen then.

Sucking Sickness

I don't like being sick enough to not be able to just kiss Annabelle on the mouth. And it's even worse when she teases me nibbling little promises into my neck and earlobe. I want to be well again soon, thanks. Guess it's time for another dose of meds.

Sydney Supernova

Okay, first up I have a confession to make. Both Annabelle and myself are, not so secretly, geeks. When our Atomic had an advertisement for Supernova (a pop culture expo) in it we decided it was about time we attended an expo of this ilk. Even though this did mean a full weekend for us, there was no way we were going to pass up this opportunity.

And so glad that we didn't; first of all there were plenty of attractive girls there, second of all, a large portion of them were dressed up in the hottest outfits. Little skirts, large boots and hair in all possible shades and styles.

Annabelle was distracted (twice) by a tall slender leggy girl that could have walked straight out of a Tim Burton production. Think Nightmare Before Christmas. Little skirt with a bustle of fabric gathered on her ass, long dark wavy hair and dark make-up offset on pale features.

Apparently Skelanimals are very in as well now. Many of the stalls had items from their range, and we didn't leave without a little treasured purchase for Annabelle. She was tempted to buy kitten ears, but resisted in the end. And I swear, she would have stolen the shoes of one girl if she could get away with it; they were pretty ordinary high heels, other than the heels being formed by off-kilter love hearts.

On the male side, Annabelle was quite taken with the Fabio look-alike wrestler around the center ring of the venue. Not sure if it was the body or the WWF-like regalia; it may have been the latter considering there was a mixed-gender group in a corner that she approved of as a whole. Or maybe she's planning a WWF orgy?

There wasn't actually anything that I wanted to buy for myself, but there were plenty of things that I would have gladly taken home. The Dungeons and Dragons stand was very lively, and one of the games had a hot Asian(?) girl merrily playing along (hot!) with a very nice smile and black-orange hair in pigtails (hotter!).

By far my most favoritest part of the expo however was Just Dance. Let me rephrase that, my favoritest part was the Ubisoft reps that were demonstrating the Just Dance game on the Wii.

Basically, the game involves a selection screen where a song is chosen. Then an avatar appears on screen demonstrating the moves while the song is playing, and everyone gets points for mimicking the moves with a WiiMote in hand. And these girls appear to have had quite a lot of practice.

The leftmost rep in the picture with the blonde hair and light jeans was the most enthusiastic of the lot, but I have to agree with Anna that the second rep (third girl from the left) had better moves... swiveling hips... real smooth... real... do-able.

It was so tempting to just spend another hour standing and staring at the reps doing their very enjoyable sales pitch, but my legs wouldn't have liked it as much, and we might have ended up singled out as the creepy couple undressing them with our eyes (even tho that's exactly what we were doing).

Oh, and on a side-note, we were both given Herpes at the show by the girls at Miss Pixie. I'm talking about cute plush toys of course.

Katoomba Winter Magic Festival

I live in Sydney. I've always lived in Sydney. It is one of those strange little quirks about living in a place, you never really thoroughly check out the entertainment and events in your own backyard. Every year that Winter Magic has been running I've made noises about wanting to go. Every year the festival came and went without me ever getting up there to see what it was all about. This year we finally got on top of things and made our way up the mountain.

We arrived just after midday to find the overpass into town swirling in big billows of steam from the train puffing along the tracks. The town looked fantastic, with tents all down the main drag and roads closed to allow the masses of colourfully clad people to wander about freely. We parked the car (reverse parallel up a hill in front of a police car while wearing my chunky boots- w00t!) and got to wandering ourselves. It was ice cold with a wind so thin that it could slip through the smallest holes in the fabric of our clothing.

It didn't take long to figure out that the day was going to be a total perve-fest. There were girls everywhere. Not just girls, pretty girls. Pretty girls in corsets and miniskirts, and girls in fluffy white hats and long tailored coats. There were punks and goths and classically dressed beauties. Arthur and I spotted a friendly-looking pub near the railway and decided it was the perfect place to admire the view of the street.

As we sipped our drinks, the people walked by outside in the cold. Two stunning women, mid twenties, in corsetted long sleeve Victorian dresses made their way arm in arm towards the train. A group of early twenties in tight jeans and long jackets leapt up the stairs towards the main road. Flitting along the road towards a shop full of knitted Peruvian wollens was a tall woman dressed as a fairy. A nearly-shirtless male drummer wearing translucent yellow butterfly wings was spotted walking the opposite way. By the time we were ready to leave our nice warm table, we had a pretty good idea of what to expect.

A little way down the street, I heard a very loud girl yelling "save the bears! Sign the petition, save the bears!". She looked nothing like most other animal activists I've seen. She was tall and slender and wore long black boots and tiny shorts. Her eyes glowed cherry red. My knees went a little weak as Arthur squeezed my arm to point her out.

Further along we had to duck around a bunch of girls in complimentary ripped fabric skirts and tight little tops. They all wore long boots and were braving the icy wind and showing a little bit of leg through their torn stockings. I'm making a mess of the description here, but suffice to say they were rag doll hot. I think I actually stopped in the middle of the road and turned to watch them walk past. Obvious, I know, but there were so many people I doubt anyone at all noticed. I doubt if they would have been concerned even if they had.

After poking through piles of brightly striped scarves and watching some people circle dancing at the very bottom of the street we met up with some friends for an early dinner. The pizza place was small and cozy, complete with black couches and a roaring log fire in one corner. Another time, and slightly less customers, and I'm quite sure it would be a lovely place for a long, slow fuck. We just used it for eating pizza and for getting out of the icy wind.

Braving the cold once more, we hurried down the road to the waffle house, the traditional eatery for visits to the mountain town. last time I visited it was full of pimply lentil-eating folk who looked far less healthy than their diet would suggest. The time before that there were two middle aged french men, one fat and stereotypically jolly, one thin and quite handsome. This time, however, it was full of very attractive girls. There were at least six, all wearing tight black shirts, little aprons, and welcoming smiles. One in particular was very chatty, offering me the use of the store heater. She had a bright face and silver eyelashes, the type of girl that makes my heart warm and curious about possibilities.

If my hands had not been blue and if Arthur had not been jogging around to keep his legs warm, we might well have stayed a little longer.

Next year we'll both dress much warmer. Fake fur is warm, right? I'm thinking of going as a cat...

Hot on the Web

No theme. Other than that I picked the images that most turned me on right now. Hopefully it has made the descriptions better than they otherwise would have been.

A few of them had the added benefit of making Annabelle shiver in that special way. I should find out what her take is on them. Hey, Annabelle... add a comment below about the images that you like and why? :)

Image via Fantasti.cc

Girls making out... still the best thing on the planet. Jeans girl appears to be acting all male... holding the legs spread wide, sitting in a thrusting position. Smouldering!

Now the dilemma; in my fantasies take her place? Or let her do her thing with a strap-on and then do my thing to her from behind? I wonder which would turn Annabelle on more?

Image via Art-or-Porn

Oh god, this one gets me so hot. In my mind, that's what a threesome should be like; so intense that everyone is completely absorbed in what is going on. Looks perhaps a little more intimate than is safe¹ for a first threesome, but more on that in the next dialog with Annabelle... stay tuned.

Image via Fantasti.cc

Okay, so this one is really kind-of a me-thing. I love that it's a candid self-shot by a nice curvy-but-real girl. The idiosyncrasy of her carefully rolled-up top to keep her breasts totally covered, but the underwear pulled far enough to expose... The soccer socks, looking warm and comfy, and the boots that look even warmer and comfier.

What is even better is that it's still a good starting position to fantasize about stripping the boots and socks to expose cute wriggly toes. Strip the top slowly, getting her breath racing over what she was trying to hide. Then peel the underwear... *flutter*

Image via Art-or-Porn

Contrast; the sum is more than the parts. And look at the body on that black girl... *drool* ... all the little ridges around the belly, a little definition of the ribs. I want to run ... my hands ... tongue ... cheek ... all over. The strings of beads are nice too. Specifically in this case, the loose ones make the tight ones at the top even hotter. Tied down and adorned at the same time.

Fantasia and Fugue in Four Voices

Parked.
Slowly up the escalators.
Shopping.
Annabelle's heels clack.
Signals.
Every attractive girl we pass.
Squeeze.
And a whispered comment.
Music.

We slow down as we close upon the corner where two musicians sit against the wall. Guitars in unison, voices slightly off but country. Standing and staring. Admiring music is good cover for admiring the musician.

I start feeling a little self-conscious just standing there when they are playing their hearts out before us. I mumble to Annabelle and we sit down on the planter across from them while I fumble through my wallet, and she fumbles through her purse.

I take the pen and paper from Annabelle and quickly write a note. Fold it twice. We walk over all smiles. She drops a trickle of change into the guitar case while I catch the eyes of the singer closest to me as I drop the note in with the money.

"Care for dinner and 'dessert'?", followed by our address. Hope the quotes are obvious enough. Awkward otherwise, but fun either way.

Walking on.
Over our shoulders a quick glance.
Together.
They open the note.
Smiles.
Redhead ducks in blondes neck and whispers.
Promising.
We will wait and see what happens.

-- Some Time Passes --

"They're coming", I call to the other side of the house. "Coming already?", Annabelle responds with an imp in her voice. "Up the driveway I mean", sounding mock-stern as I reach the door.

Opening the door reveals them exactly as they were before. Tight jeans, bright converse and warm jackets. Guitars still over their shoulders. Straight here from their performance.

We all make our introductions; Red takes the lead and introduces Blonde, I introduce Annabelle and myself. We get comfortable around the table, and dig into the lasagna and salad.

After dinner we sit and talk. About music. About life. About anything but sex. Red asks where the toilet is, and Annabelle leads her down the hall. I stay and talk to Blonde.

They live together, renting a house. The music is more hobby and a little extra cash than anything serious. I ask about the house. Is it big? "3 bedrooms, but we only use one as such". I prefer my hints not too subtle.

"Are you coming?", Annabelle calls from down the hallway. I had completely forgotten about her and Red. "Should I come too?", Blonde calls out. "Yes, of course... *mumbles*" from Anna.

I show Blonde in the direction of the sounds, but I have my suspicions already. We find Red and Annabelle in the bedroom, the former on top of the latter. Her ruby tresses obscure her face as they reach for Annabelle's cheeks. The smooth curve of her neck mesmerizes.

Blonde grabs my hand and pulls me along to the bed where we sit to watch. Red traces along Annabelle's arms with her delicate strumming fingers. I see the hairs stand up. Blonde traces my hand along her thigh into her warmth.

Annabelle takes off her top after scant encouragement. Red looks at her perfectly round breasts. Blonde sighs as my hand rubs intimately along her jeans. My fingers find their buttons and pop them one by one. Red is licking Annabelle's breasts as my other hand finds Blonde's waist and sneaks its way under her shirt.

"Come, I want your shirt off", Blonde instructs me. I struggle the skin-tight shirt over my head. Red asks Annabelle, "I'd like you to come lie on top of me" as she strips off her own shirt. It appears we are all top-less at this point. Breasts everywhere. I feel lucky.

Blonde lies on her side, watching Annabelle and Red. I lie down behind her so I can continue watching too. I nibble her neck. She moans. Red moans. Annabelle is sucking on her nipples. Reds hands are on Anna's breasts. Squeezing hot.

My hand finds Blonde's breasts. Her hands find my zipper. I lose my pants and so does she. Red and Annabelle are kissing and making me hard. Blonde finds my cock and gently strokes it while I roughly handle her breasts and nip at her neck.

I watch Red slide elegantly out of her jeans followed by her helping Annabelle do the same. They switch to 69. I feel like my cock is trying to burst out of its skin. My hand slides down past Blonde's belly. Her pussy tells me she is enjoying the show too.

"Like doggie?" I whisper in her ear. "Uhuh". She gets on all fours facing to watch Annabelle lick Red's pussy. I completely strip down and suit up. Red moans her open-mouthed moans around her tongue on Annabelle's clit.

Annabelle groans with her lips covering Red's lips, but continues without interruption. As I get on my knees, my hands run up Blonde's back, and back down her sides. Parked on her hips. Her hand grabs my cock and brings it to her lips.

The tip slides in, but I wait and savour. Annabelle and Red getting more and more frantic. Light beaded sweat over both their bodies. Blonde pushes back and I slide in. "Fuck me." Her hand moves to her clit, while I start thrusting.

My hands grab on tight. Pull her. Push me. Little bounce. Pull back. And again. And faster. Mixed moans; too many to just be me, or anyone else alone. Red arching under Annabelle. Squirming. Spasms in Blonde's back.

"Oh, I'm coming", from Red's lips onto Annabelle's. No reprieve, she keeps going. "Hmmn, so am I", I groan at Blonde. Pushing deep, pushing hard, pulling on her hips. Release. Pushing deeper, pulling harder. I throb inside her. Her fingers frantically on her clit.

I push her hands away and take over. Only fair. Red is reaching back up to Annabelle too. Annabelle just kissing her stomach. Everyone comes. Everyone collapses.

We all cuddle up in a big pile. Myself next to Annabelle. Whispering how hot that was.

As Red and Blonde depart, we extend an open invitation for "dinner" any time they're horny.

Toy Story 1

We'd never been to the local sex shops. I'm pretty sure that way back then I'd never been in a sex shop at all. I'd browsed the online version but I'd never taken the long walk to the big scary restricted premises upstairs.

I revealed this little snippet of information to a sexually liberated friend of mine, Brandi, and soon we found ourselves in the car with Arthur driving us to the nearest main street in search of a sexy birthday present for myself. We managed to locate three open doors, all decorated with combinations of flashing signs, strings of coloured party lights, and a very unattractive musk pink paint. Since all the exteriors looked equally sleazy, we decided to check out all three in turn and see what they had to offer.

After some discussion and a thorough exploration of each shop we decided that the table of jelly toys were the best option, so the three of us trundled back up the stairs and started to paw over the extensive selection of colours, lengths, widths and shapes.

The worst thing about buying a vibrator with friends is that there is almost the expectation of being a size queen. Even worse is when you've been with very few men and have never owned a sex toy. How are you supposed to know which wibbly wobbly willy to buy?

I decided to go with what I know. I chose a purple one. Nothing like picking your playthings based on colours of the rainbow. Brandi gravitated to a thick black number. Giggling and grinning we took our choices over to Arthur at the counter. He shot Brandi a mock admonishing look and said "no, I'm afraid you'll have to pay for your own, it isn't your birthday" as he put my new toy on the counter to pay. The guy behind the desk looked at me, and then at Brandi, then looked at Arthur with the type of respect that is normally accompanied by a high five.

Mr Purple, my very first vibrator, has served me well since that day. On top of helping me learn how to bring myself to orgasm more easily, it taught me a bundle about buying sex toys.

• Jelly, as wonderfully cool and squishy as it is, attracts dust like a starving Swiffer. Dust (and in our case, cat hair) is not something you want to jam into your girl parts.
• Cheap toys mean cheap motors. This isn't necessarily a bad thing however combined with jelly and some uber-cool pussy clenching it does seem to strangle buzzing ability at most inopportune moments. Any sort of pressure slows the vibrations to a labouring rumble which, while quite pleasant, is sex toy speak for "get off me! I'm dying!"
  
• Big lumbering vibrators are good for getting that full-o-cock feeling, but not so good for getting off with speed and accuracy.

My toy drawer is still home to Mr Purple. It now lives in an out of reach corner, marinating in pthalates (Arthur: Phthalates are bad, 'mkay?) and still managing to collect dust through two protective plastic covers. What can I say, da toy got skillz. I haven't got the heart to throw it out, but these days I never use it.

These days I've got options. ;)

Sex Is Fun; the Book

Recently we received our copy of the fully illustrated guide to creative ideas for exciting sex. Also known as the Sex Is Fun Book.

It covers a broad range of sexual practices in the form of explicit cartoons, and varies from informative to quite a thrilling read. So far I have skimmed through most of it, and Annabelle has started reading from the beginning (she can be so conventional).

This week... we left it on the coffee table when we were expecting friends over. Fearless. I'm proud of how quickly we are getting comfortable with being sex-positive around friends.

It took a little while, but once we had to put some platters on the table one of our friends spotted the book, picked it up, and refused to put it down again for a good hour at least. The flushed face was telling the whole story. She was snapping a couple of pictures and IMing the guy she's seeing. It was adorable.

I think in the process we convinced her to get her own copy of the book. If she doesn't get it for herself, we'll buy her a copy for the next embarrassing occasion that presents itself.

How To Tell...

How To Tell when Your Partner is Turned On: a brief object lesson.

Yesterday, after I posted my Hot on the Web post, Annabelle opened her netbook and had a read, as she is wont to do. Nothing to be read into that...

But as she proceeded to read the post there was a collection of signals, starting with a quick sigh and an admiring comment about the angels ("I want to be the white one, so the black one is on top of me"). Some general comments about how pretty the fairy looked, and not much specific about tattoo or bike girl.

Which brings us to the kitty... I'm not quite sure whether to call it a sigh or a moan, but she definitely lost control of her breathing. Then when I ask her teasingly if she likes the kitty, she squirms, sighs another ragged breath and generally looks like she might orgasm if I leave her alone with her netbook just staring at it.

That... is what we experts call... a signal.

I guess for her next birthday I'll be looking for cat ears, fluffy leg and arm warmers and one pouty blonde.

Hot on the Web

So many to choose from... but going for a little quirky this time around. These images are a very good example of why I love Art Or Porn; a little less conventional, but no less hot for it.

Image via Art-or-Porn

Good and evil, locked in a heated exchange, rolling around on the floor... I can't take my eyes of girls kissing. It's intrinsically hot to watch. (And to imagine putting on a demon outfit to show them both who is boss...)

Image via Art-or-Porn

I wouldn't mind knowing what she's thinking. I don't have a fetish for tattoos, piercings or extravagant hair, but I sure don't mind them in the right measure. And she measures up just right.

Unless you are offended by bare-chested women, feel free to click through to the whole post for a few more images.

Morning Glory

Three beautiful things:

• Being woken by a large, strong hands gently kneading at my breasts and belly. It relaxes me like nothing else. I love having my chest squeezed and pushed about, it just makes me melt.
• Having my sleepy hand guided towards a previously unnoticed thick, hard cock that is ready and waiting to get inside me. Arthur has a really handsome cock. I'd describe it, but it'd just make him blush.
• Catching a glimpse of a beautiful waist curve on Arthur as he walked to the shower. He really is quite the Adonis. I drifted off to sleep shortly after seeing him and I just could not get that curve out of my mind.

Mums Better Than Dads

Today the Sydney Morning Herald had an article about how much more well-adjusted kids to lesbian parents are. I wonder what the Christian fundamentalists are going to replace this pillar of their "Why Same Sex Marriage Is Bad" mantra with now.

It does occur to me though that scientifically the conclusion that this means there is no reason to restrict child rearing based on sexual orientation cannot be drawn from this. All this proves is that if you replace the man with a woman, the kids are better off. It doesn't automatically follow that replacing the woman with a man works the same way. <TongueInCheek>Maybe men should just be banned from raising kids altogether?</TongueInCheek>

Good Morning

Best way to start the day... fondling Annabelle in the morning. Only felt a little bit guilty about doing it at 10am knowing she probably didn't sleep until after 4am. But she went straight back to sleep after, so maybe that makes up for it?

I'll find out how rested she is when she actually wakes up to resume the day.

Turn It Over & Turn Me On

I'm a normal girl, I just have a weakness for cars. I have a particular fondness for sleek, sexy cars with big throbbing engines that grunt and purr and scream for release.

I don't own one. I've got a cute mumsy little car that is designed for A to B transport. It is nice, don't get me wrong, I thoroughly appreciate the get-up-and-go it has, and its heartwarming attempts at gripping the road in the rain. I really am quite fond of my little car, it just doesn't turn me on.

Yesterday I met a car that turned me on. It pulled into our driveway like it owned the place. I hadn't expected it to look so very 007ish. The bonnet curved in a rather seductive way, much like muscled thighs, amnd the light sparkled off the body so that it looked like a glittery 70's sci-fi moon rock. I could almost feel my heart rate speed up as I traced along its outline with my eyes.

There are many good looking sportscars and supercars out there and every single one feels different, like a different person. Luxury family cars feel like that handsome guy a couple of years above you in high school that might occasionally glance your way and smile. Little two-seater cars feel like that leggy blonde that you desperately want but can't seem to hold on to. This car, this curvaceous beast, this car felt like a suave, self-confident dominant man that always gets what he wants and yet is somehow still deserving of your complete trust. I suspect that part had something to do with the small army of airbags, sports suspension and wide, grippy tires. Trust does need a foundation after all.

Inside, it was all black. Black gloss, matte black, black leather, black carbon fibre, and even black floor mats embroidered with the model number. I couldn't help but touch. I felt like I was encased in a pod of pure automotive sex. The leather seats felt devine. Leather upholstery is nothing special really, but a well-designed bucket seat is something altogether hot. Being cradled by something inanimate while feeling the purr and power of the engine vibrating up through the floor, well, it is a sensation that even the best sex furniture would be hard pressed to equal.

Luckily for me, sexy cars are sometimes owned by wonderfully understanding sex-positive people who don't mind if they catch you wriggling and writhing in the passenger seat of their new ride.

I writhed. I closed my eyes and felt every curve and every line of stitching in that seat. I felt the leather smooth and warm through the denim of my jeans. I groaned, and slipped further down so that my boots were resting at the far end of the foot well. It felt delicious. I turned around to find the owner staring at me with a cheeky knowing smile on her face. "I love your new car" I grinned. "Mmmm, I can see that" she giggled back at me, giving me a little prod in the shoulder to bring me back to reality. When we finally got home from our little drive that evening, my underwear was well and truly soaked through.

Hi, my name is Annabelle and sexy beasts of cars turn me on.

Groomed

Got all plucked with a little help from Annabelle last night. Balls feeling all nice and smooth in the shower now. Love the feel of water running over hairless skin.

All on the Table

I had an incredibly distracting fantasy last night... didn't get nearly as much sleep as I would have liked. But when life hands you lemons, you write it all down on your blog.

It all begins as these things do (naturally enough), face-down on a massage table. The room is a little chillier than I'd like, but I only just stripped down and draped a towel over my middle. All I need is a little patience.

I faintly hear her walking into the room, the tiniest of rustles on the carpet. There is nothing major wrong with my back, and she knows that, but I'm not one to pass up a massage when it is on offer. Some more sounds coming from next to me, and her hands find themselves on my back. Warmer than the room.

Circular motions spread the oil, then firm pressure deep into my shoulders. I think I just let out a grunt or a groan, but my mind is with her hands. Her thumbs. Small and strong movements.

She mentions she's found a few knots in my back that need more pressure. She asks if it's okay if she climbs on top to increase the pressure. A bit bemused I tell her I can't think of any reason why it wouldn't be.

As she climbs onto the table I feel her bare legs brush past. She sits her deliciously firm and round ass on my bottom. I manage not to make a noise. I feel her adjust her weight and tuck in her legs, her knees in my armpits, legs tucked along my ribs and her feet sneaking under the downy white towel, her arches cradling their curve along my bare hips.

Her hands return to my back. More pressure, more pain... and then release. One knot at a time, small circular motions. Fingers. An elbow. But my mind is no longer with her hands, but rather with the small motions of her ass and her feet each time she has to shift her weight. It is taking a momentous amount of effort not to get aroused outright.

"Hamstrings tight?"... not really, but "Sure..." she gets up on her knees and turns around to get access. Her knees now against my thighs, her feet wrapped around my ribs, and her ass firmly on my slightly sore upper back. Her hands wrap around my left leg, pressing, rolling, squeezing the muscle. I didn't think there was tension there, but now it's disappearing. The towel pushes up a little as her hands make their way around my right hamstring.

Just as I think she must be coming to a finish her hands reach around my right leg. "Oh my, your quads feel pretty tight to me too", a brief pause, "can you flip over"? She lifts her hips a bit off my back, shifts backwards and lifts the towel discreetly staying on the top side. I roll over onto my back and she puts the towel back down again and gently sits on my chest instead.

My eyes closed as she works on the front of my legs. Relaxing into the massage. A brief glimpse as my eyelids flutter... open... stare... She's pushing her weight into the work on my legs, but I have an excellent view of her shorts snugly following the contour of her hips, then legs into the distance and feet right under my armpits.

Just as I resign myself to her sweater obstructing the shape of her torso, she sits back up straight and pulls it over her head. "Hot work" she says ambiguously and gets back to my legs. The sight of her tight shirt wrapped around her upper body is the final straw on my arousals back. I can feel I'm shifting a little under the towel. I think there's a brief hesitation in her massage, but so short I cannot be sure.

Taking a gamble I shift my hand against her knee. No reaction. I place my hand over her knee. Still nothing. I run my hand up her leg till I reach the bottom of her shorts. I give a little squeeze. I shift a little again. Her hands have found their way to the edge of the towel, her wrists right against the edge as she works the muscle. My hand caresses down her leg and up again. Both my hands against her sides, and up. Then down her back. Then on her ass, a gratuitous feel. She inches her hands even further up and I feel her wrist brush briefly against the tip of my cock.

Shivers all up and down. When my senses return I find my fingers curled into the top of her shorts, along her skin, into her underwear. She takes this as a cue, undoes the button on her shorts, balances up onto her toes, letting my hands take everything with them down her legs. After she steps out of her discarded clothes, she sits down again on my chest, her naked ass in my face, pushing her weight into my chest, her skin against mine.

Her hands go back to the edge of the towel, but rather than inching up, she slowly pulls it away revealing me well on my way to fully erect. Her hands work on the top of my legs and then gently into my groin. Her face coming closer and closer as if intent on the work.

When she lifts her hips and leans back a little I don't need any words to understand what comes next. My head reaches to the inside of her thighs and I gently suck kisses onto them, left, right, left, right. Her mouth finds my cock and a few short twists of her tongue added to the anticipation make me hard as a rod. My mouth finds her lips and my tongue makes wet circles around her pussy.

Tensions slowly rise as we now work on each other on the massage table. She is readily aroused and wet, possibly never used it in this fashion before. My lips and tongue touch her in every way imaginable, as she works her way through an impressive repertoire on my cock. Just as I am about to start sucking on her clit again and flicking it with my tongue, she wraps her hands around my balls and squeezes gently, ... unexpectedly. I tell her I'm tipping over the edge, and she does it again, sealing her lips around my cock and tilting just a little. As I feel my orgasm vanish down her throat I realise that her abdomen has been spasming too.

After everything settles, she shifts her body forward, and lies her hips down onto my abdomen, her body slightly twisted to its side along the top of my leg and her head resting on her arm. The perfect end to a perfectly unnecessary massage. What more could I ask for?

Conversation by Example

Talking is hard, but the only way it gets easier is with continuous practice... So, in that spirit lets try; hey, Annabelle... how do you feel about hot girls with blonde curls? strap-ons? threesomes? (Pick your poison ;) ...)

Hmm, I have to pick? Well lets start with blonde curls. I like the loose, wavy variety quite a bit, especially in long hair. Think of the stereotypical farmer's daughter, or the girl who has lived by the beach all her life.

Strap-ons I'm not entirely sure about yet. I don't think seeing glittery pink ones slipping in and out of ooh-ahh porn stars in bright and shiny movies has helped. I'm not against them, but I think they'd have to be used in a really specific way for them to be sexy to me. Overall though, not really a sexy object in and of themselves.

The last one needs way more in the way of words and what ifs than I have in me tonight, but I have to say that if she was pretty, soft, and interested in me then I would have to seriously consider it :-) It is most certainly something on my curiosity list.

Ah, that was a little unexpected... see, sometimes you intend to have a single conversation and you end up with three at the same time. Farmer's daughter works well for me too, but more than the hair it is about the whole ... stereotypical uncomplicated? Something radiant... and that just goes well with the wavy curls. A certain bakery worker in our area has that kind of face. You never noticed?

Maybe the strap-ons is more me then... I'd imagine more than them being sexy in and of themselves, they'd feel good if just the right one was used in just the right way. It kinda turns me on to think about one being used well, but more from a voyeuristic perspective. Just imagine a fiery redhead with wavy curls and a beach tan, with a nice black leather harness and strap-on, showing you slow and deep what she knows she can do.

Well, the third one is too interesting to rush as 1/3 of a conversation, so how about we leave our readers with the titillating knowledge we might get back to that next time we talk? ;)

Hmm, I obviously need to buy more baked goods! It isn't necessarily the farmgirl look, although I do like that, it is more about the waves and the natural sunkissed colour. Seriously though, I do like the farmgirl look.

I can imagine, but I think I best finish typing first as that image is more than a little bit distracting. I think my desire for girls with wavy faux red hair might just be stronger than my thing for blonde wavy hair, and black leather is always a winner.

Another talk? I think we can manage that. ;-)

Bakery girl is not exactly farmgirl, although that would be almost perfect with her job. I always feel like I'm smiling like an idiot after buying something there. It's infectious is what it is. I do always feel a little bad distracting her from her work any more than necessary though; it seems rude... even though she once awkwardly tried to start a conversation by talking about the weather. She wasn't very busy that day. Find a quiet day, and you'll have all the time in the world to ask her about all the breads... and ogle.

I think presented the right way there is quite a range of wavy hairs that'd do the trick for you. How about wavy blue hair with a nose piercing, a spiked collar and something tight leathery and black with blue trim, and just-over-knee-high boots? All kinds of girls are incredibly hot, especially when imagined, but even out there in the real world it doesn't take much effort. Maybe we need to go shopping this weekend? We have an extra day...

I do always seem to imagine farmgirls as being able to bake. Normally it is a big crusty vienna loaf, though I'm guessing as breads go that isn't the most sexy option available. Baguettes are more suggestive, though most beautiful women I see tend to eat Turkish bread so maybe shape has nothing to do with sexy. Maybe I could ask Bakery girl about sexy breads? Though, thinking about it, that more of a second or third conversation topic, I should probably start with high fibre or something more ordinary.

How about two cups of coffee, some scones and a spot of window shopping. That sounds like a good weekend to me. Oh, and some sex. The perfect cherry on top.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained... ask for any breads you feel like ;)

And that sounds like a perfect lunch to me for Sunday... can we perfect our who-am-I-talking-about code beforehand and really take our time? If we sit there long enough I'm sure we'll be turned on enough to go home... and if not, we'll read our new book.

Time to post and sleep now... nite-nite!

Shave and a Haircut... not quite...

Looks like it's time to do some personal grooming tonight or soon at least. Already trimmed the hairs to a short-ish 3-4mm to make them easier to pluck, and out they come.

Now, if the thought alone makes you wince, then clearly you're doing it wrong. It's not painless, but if the skin is held close to the hair while pulling gently they should come out with a minimum of pain and fuss, and leave your private parts nice and hair-free for quite a while.

Annabelle generally likes some hair, but since she's discovered how smooth hairless balls feel she's converted. Which is useful, because now she can help me ;) ... save me some neck-strain getting them all out too.

Hot on the Web

A handful of images this time, because there were too many good one to whittle the selection down to just a single one. And variety is the spice of ... lust?

Image via Art-or-Porn

Black skin in general has a very strong appeal, just something about the 'Other'. Also, the mental image of the contrast of a white and a black body pressed against and into each other. Every scenario that is hot due to the visual of 'me' doing to 'you' just gets that extra kick when the boundaries are defined by stark contrast.

And why this specific image? Well, nothing is explicitly revealed, but everything hinted at or attention drawn to. And the mouth just inside the frame completely defines her frame of mind.

Image via Art-or-Porn

Well fitting clothes look good. Hot naked looks great. Well fitting clothes that reveal as much as they hide (in this case literally) look amazing. I really cannot say anything more about this one, other than comment on the sheer anticipation a dress like that builds in the male mind... the hypnotic almost-promise of maybe luring her to a dark corner, pressing firmly to the wall, and peeling off that dress just far enough.

Image via Art-or-Porn

In case my post about the gym had not revealed as much already, dancer/gymnast trips some kind of short-circuit switch in my brain. I'm sticking with the theme of as-much-hidden-as-revealed today. An amazing pose, complemented perfectly by 'Strategically Placed Ribbons' (geek in-joke).

Image via Art-or-Porn

And last, but not least... just legs... just so. What is nice about this one is that if you look at this image in a non-sexual context, it's just someone standing on the tips of her toes. But if you switch on the sex, it's enough to make me want to run my hands along those quads and calf muscles to the tips of her toes. Heck, my tongue can have a turn too. Just very nice strong, but flowing lines... who could resist?

I wonder if Annabelle will be just as turned on reading this post as she was after the last... she's been talking about redheads ever since ;)

Did that just happen?

I think I was just checked out by a rather cute couple.

It is hard to be sure, but as I walked past the coffee shop I spotted a slim girl in dark jeans looking at me. She didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, just sort of eyeing me. This seemed a bit unusual, most women studiously avoid looking at other women for some reason, or at the very least they avoid getting caught.

The girl dragged her eyes off and took a few quick steps towards a rather good looking man who was walking just ahead of her, smiled, and said something quietly into his shoulder before she began looking intently at the paving. The guy slowed a little and took a glance backwards at me, in an unmistakable attempt at checking out the goods without being too obvious. Wheee!

The pair of them slowed down just a little, enough for me to get rather close to the girl and have a few moments to do some checking out of my own before I had to turn away to the car park.

Yep. I'd tap that. :P

Blue Jean Baby

I can remember every pair of jeans I have purchased new. So far, I'm up to 5 pairs. Ordinarily I hunt around in second hand shops and walk away with inexpensive designer bargains. Sometimes they even fit me well. Recently I've been losing a bit of weight so the rate at which new jeans are required has increased. Hunting through racks of musty-smelling used denim can be fun, but when you go in to a second hand shop with a need for a specific item it is almost always a frustrating experience.

I decided to buy new, but I still can't bring myself to spend the standard $100 on something so simple (and usually poorly constructed. Don't even get me started on the quality and finish of everyday bondage equipment.) The weekly catalogue hunt showed a bargain deal at a local department store. $20. Sold. After an energetic fitting room session that included a good deal of hopping and the obligatory jiggling critique of my not-so-ideal buttocks in the mirrors, I settled on two pair of faded blue jeans. I came home and paraded around in them for Arthur, who gave his seal of approval.

I really didn't think well-fitting jeans could make me feel so goddamn sexy. I just love the way they hug my thighs and swish together at the ankles. There is something so hypnotic about that quiet little swish and the sharp clacking of boots.

It was those rhythmic sounds I was listening to last weekend as I walked along in an echoey arcade, so I only just noticed the two well-dressed men coming towards me. As they passed, I heard one of them whistle gently in my direction. I didn't stop, I thought they must be looking at someone else. Apparently this was not the right reaction as I then heard him call after me.

"Oh, pretty lady walking in the other direction! Come back pretty lady!"

At this point, I was pretty sure he must've been talking to me, and chanced a look around. He was walking backwards, looking at me with a warm smile. I think I turned the colour of a beetroot. Nobody ever whistles at me. No random men ever call me pretty lady. I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face for hours, and as soon as I got the chance I called Arthur to share my warm fuzzies (and to brag about my extreme hotness! Weee!).

A small part of me feels I should get all indignant about being treated like a piece of meat, not because I'm personally offended, but because that is what intelligent girls are supposed to do. Men aren't supposed to show appreciation for physical beauty in such a way so, if they do, they must be pigs. Women are supposed to find this behaviour distasteful and unacceptable. I am letting the team down on this one because dammit, I liked it. I liked knowing some stranger found me attractive. I liked that little confidence boost that comes from knowing someone thinks you are worth looking at.

I really liked my new jeans. I liked the way I looked and I liked the way they made me feel. I liked them so much I went out and bought a second pair today. Now if only I could figure out a way to wear both at once, I'd be unstoppable!

A Matter of Degrees

There is a well-known joke about a man who asks a pretty girl whether she would have sex with him for a million dollars. After a moments reflection on what a million could buy her she says she would. Then he asks, "So, would you have sex with me for $50"? Insulted, she asks "What kind of girl do you think I am"? To which he responds, "We already established that, now we are just haggling about the price".

This is not a post about prostitution though... rather about self-censure and -deception.

Is there a point at which you'd give in to your desires even if you shouldn't? What if you ran into your ultimate fantasy? Call me crazy, but if Scarlett Johansson was dangling a strap-on on one hand and Missy Higgins off the other asking me to join them for a threesome, that would be kinda hard to ignore or pass up.

I think everyone has a point at which a temptation becomes just too much to ignore. I think that anyone that says there is nothing that could possibly ever do that has just not been faced with the chemical warfare at the disposal of their own brains. On the positive side, I don't think that point-of-no-return is crossed all that easily, but that doesn't change the fact that it exists.

And of course this isn't all as black and white as all that. It comes in degrees and might slip closer or over the boundary by increments. That Just-Another-Girl at the party, attractive, but not outstanding, can suddenly become a lot more appealing when the sex-swing in her room comes up in conversation. The mental image of her bouncing up-and-down my cock on the swing would make it hard to have a coherent conversation from that point on. Add an invitation for Annabelle on top and it would likely seal the deal for me.

So what kinda boy does that make me? Because all we're talking here is haggling about the price. But I believe it makes me the same kind of boy as everybody else out there... (even if no-one is admitting it)

Oh, and for the record, I'd like to think that if I called Annabelle and explained Scarletts invitation that it'd be one of those once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that just cannot be denied ;) And to be fair, her calling me explaining an offer by Jamie Bamber or some such would require similar consideration... I'll be annoyed if she gets an offer from Scarlett without me though.

Uninspired Day

The Pilates class was packed today, so why can't I find inspiration to write something explicit? All I want to do is surf for porn and be a good little consumer... or maybe talk? Hope tomorrow will bring more good stuff.

Talk is Cheap (compared to the alternatives)

"Let's Talk about Sex"; every night in bars all over the city, people banter with each other to varying degrees of explicitness for the sole purpose of getting into each others' pants. Inside a serious relationship on the other hand communication is hard and scary.

But maybe that's not a contradiction; communication is always hard and scary, but to start a relationship it is crucial whereas to maintain one it is merely important if we want to be in it for the long haul *and* be happy at the same time. I think most people pick between 'breaking up' and 'being unhappy' long before considering opening their mouth.

So if communication is hard and scary, what is the solution? ... Well, in fact, even more communication turns out to be the way to go. Just like job interviews, roller coasters or going to the gym for the first time, the fear passes the more you do it. And the longer you do it more, the more permanently the fear subsides.

Now, as a little bonus for taking the leap and pushing through the fear, you get to keep your conversations more focused. No more convoluted "I would like to try X, but only if Y and Z, and not if I change my mind before it happens, or if it freaks me out, or..." no need to try and cover any eventuality when you can just talk again and again and again as the situation evolves. And it even gets to be fun and exciting over time.

Hot on the Web

Every once in a while, among the girls I pass during the day, one catches the eye more than any other. Unfortunately out in the real world I have no way to hot-link and explain, but luckily on the web I can show what I mean...

Image via Fantasti.cc

It is hard to keep my eyes off the face. I'm sure Annabelle will claim I have a thing for redheads and that's why I like this one... but really, it's the pretty light eyes surrounded by dark (yes, I hate make-up, ... I'm a hypocrite), the cute nose, and the not-quite-smile on her lips.

Now, the body isn't by any means bad either, but it just doesn't compete with the face by a long shot. I guess I'm just a bit spoiled by Annabelle's flat stomach (which she will undoubtedly deny), and all the girls at the gym to be so blase about it.

Okay, I gotta be off and fantasize about Annabelle making out with this girl now.

The Best Place on Earth

I really enjoy going to the gym... I enjoy how it wakes me up and energises me... how it wears out my body, but not my mind... how it makes me healthier... hotter... something-else-with-h. There is nothing quite like the tired but satisfied feeling after completing a particularly strenuous class. The sense of peace and quiet, and "I have earned that second scoop of ice cream".

I don't know why most guys don't bother with the classes though, because in my opinion they are the best part. I may be slightly biased by the fact that women outnumber men about 4-to-1 in any kind of class around here. More eye-candy for me! What is even stranger is that every once in a while a few are tempted to try a class by the scores of women lining up to enter... and more often than not they never return... but maybe they aren't that interested in women in the first place (or is that one of them body-builder stereotypes?)

Most of the time having scores of women in the class doesn't make a big difference, because a good class is intense enough that there really is not much time to glance about and see who else is in the room once it starts. But you get to know the regulars, and there is always a few moments at the start to take inventory of who is hot and where they decide to set up shop.

Every once in a while though I might find myself next to someone who manages to be extremely distracting in any of a number of ways. Sometimes they look like a model and glancing is just unavoidable. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of such flexibility to make me lose track of what I was doing myself. Sometimes it's the eyes, or the skin, or the impressive strength, or the focused attention trying as hard as they can. Sometimes I catch one glancing in my direction which is more distracting than all of the other possibilities combined.

It's amazing the ways in which a couple of classes at the gym can lift my spirits. But what is even better is getting home and being asked to give out what little detail I can remember through my adrenaline-induced haze. Were there any new hot girls? Was this-or-that-person there? What did they do? Who was the instructor? Was the instructor hot? Oh yes,... I so do love going to the gym.

Forget-Me-Not

I'm a very forgetful person. It isn't all that surprising when you consider all the little things I have to hold in my head every day, but it can sometimes be a bit of a problem.

Today it proved to be a bit more of a problem than usual.

After a long day trying to remember a stack of tiny-but-important details for work, I decided to duck out to the shop to grab a few things we'd run out of. Arthur was off at the gym and wasn't going to be home for a few hours so it seemed like a good way to shake off the drudgery of the day.

I didn't notice that I had left my mobile phone at home until I was pulling the mess of eco-friendly shopping bags out of the back of the car. Bugger. It wasn't a big deal, I had said I might go shopping and I was pretty sure I could get everything done and be home before Arthur was any the wiser. Just in case I was wrong, I added a packet of Oreo cookies to my shopping list.

When I arrived home I found Arthur had gotten there before me. Bugger again. Oreos at the ready, I went inside and began unpacking to the sounds of a post-gym shower. Soon after, while making a start on dinner, I was attacked from behind by a pair of deliciously buff arms and a cheeky comment. A good sign indeed! This was followed by the offer of a nice red wine. Oh yeah, this was a sure thing!

Unfortunately I'd forgotten to eat lunch, so the wine hit me a little faster than I expected, turning me into a giggling, slurring, touchy feely octopus. After biding my time, eating a comfort food dinner, laughing, sharing the odd suggestive comment, and then watching Arthur get settled in for a night of TV, I started to feel puzzled. Surely he was aroused? Surely the wine, the touching, the comments... No, there was some serious sex in my future, I was sure of it! I casually asked if we were possibly maybe partaking in a wee bit of sex.

His response, like many other comments that night, was surrounded by much smiling and laughter. He grinned and said in a mock disapproving voice that I really should remember my phone when I go out.

My phone! I'd forgotten all about it again! It was on the table beside me. I leaned over and checked my new messages...

"You not home... *pout*... I'm horny... Guess I should have nabbed a girl from class?!"

Noooooooo! I wailed, I thrashed, I begged, I seduced (kind of, I wasn't really sober enough to do anything but giggle madly as I ferreted up his trouser leg) and I asked very nicely with a cherry on top.

Nope. Sorry. Not tonight. It seems that while I was out taking care of the shopping business, Arthur was taking care of a little business of his own.

I think I'll be needing those Oreos for myself now.

Oh well, there is always tomorrow ;)