Friday, September 15th, is Boobday!

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I’ve [mostly] dusted myself off and the week has been spent with Peyton, my one and true little love.

Enjoy the tits this week.  We have a new participant!

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

I’m still crushed by August, but moving on.  He sent me a sketch he’d started of this photo once.

NOT my tits:

Miss S shares her lovely sensuousness with us for the very first time and overcomes her doubts.  Thank you so much for sharing!   You’re stunning!
I’ve always had a hang up about my body but my boyfriend says I’m beautiful and sexy. Which is why I’m sending you this pic, it’s a cropped version of one of the ones I sent him. Until we started texting, I’d never done such a thing as to send a naughty pic. I was always ashamed and afraid to. My hang ups about my body have held me back for so many years. Even that I don’t like to wear girly clothes. In case something shows. I live in jeans, t shirts and hoodies! (Don’t do make up or anything that might draw attention to myself) I’ve been looking at the blog for a few weeks and gained a bit of confidence to do this after my new man’s comments too.


Dating is the cruelest of sports: An open letter to the man who ghosted

I am crushed that I am reduced to emailing you what I am about to say, but I feel I need to nonetheless.

I am torn between two warring thoughts about what has happened between us.

On the one hand, I think you are cruel to treat me this way; on the other, perhaps I am a roaring asshole and deserve it.

I have poured over ever sentence, every touch between us that night in an attempt to figure out what I did to cause you to react in such a way to me.  Should I have not blown you under the bridge?  Been so eager to accept your invitation to brunch?  Was it because I wanted to hear you cum?  Because I wrapped my hands around your beautiful neck?  Or perhaps it was when I urged you to suck harder on my nipples.  No, maybe it’s because I used my vibrator?

Or, what my darkest voice suggests to me, it’s simply because I am a person of no value and so of course the beautiful, young man who had spent an evening (plus nearly 4 weeks) whispering sweet nothings into my ear would toss me aside like yesterday’s garbage, today’s biggest regret, because I am worthless.  That is what the dark voice in me says.

This is what I am wrestling with, because surely that can’t be true, and no one could possibly deserve to be tossed aside like that, right?  You have decided to do this; I didn’t bring it upon myself.  For only a matter of hours before you thought I was incredible and told me so. We made plans for Saturday and even Sunday morning.  You talked about taking me camping some time and teaching me to appreciate whiskey.

If I did misstep then why wouldn’t you say, Hy, you hurt my feelings or I didn’t like that so much.  Or even, Hy, I’ve had a change of heart.  At the very least, Hey, I need to talk.  That’s the man I thought you were.

When I have suddenly pulled way from someone it was because the sex was horrendously bad (I remember you saying it was the best – or did I imagine that in my own repulsive brain??) or because he assaulted me (I watched you closely as you closed your eyes and moaned and gripped me tightly, but perhaps you didn’t want to do the things we did) and even then the next day when that sad man would text me and notice a shift in me I would tell him I was no longer interested.  I was humane.

Why, why would you turn away from me like you have in such a heartless manner and leave me to spin in emotional turmoil flipping between rage and sorrow and worry??  Rage at your treatment of me, my sorrow – and humiliation – at being so soundly rejected, and worry that you might be hurt.

I mean, what if you’re in a coma and I would seem like a terrible fool for assuming you’ve done anything to me.  But I am a realist and the most reasonable way to approach this is to assume the answer is the simplest and that is that you have had a change of heart, not that you are injured.

August, I know we only knew each other for a handful of weeks, but I trusted you.  I breathed your breath and tasted your skin and I let myself go with you in both mind and body, beneath you and atop of you, and you have disappeared on me.  Not only that, but I spent hours upon hours of my valuable time writing to you and thinking of you.  How is it that I now find myself in this position?  Why would you do this?

I don’t expect an answer — seeing as you have made what seems to be your final move here with me — but I wanted you to know how it has affected me, someone you held close and who trusted you.  I was so filled with hope about you.

If I did something to hurt you I am eternally sorry, truly; you were like a beautiful beast crossing my path even if for a short time and my days were filled with excitement and hope because of you.  I’m only sorry it’s ending in so much pain and confusion.

– Hy

And yet, as horrible as it may sound, I hope you actually are hurt rather than the alternative because I don’t want any of this to be happening right now.  I wanted to know you for a very long time.  x

Friday, September 8th, is Boobday!

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It’s been a whirlwind day.

The minutes never stop ticking.

Enjoy the tits.

Love you all.

xx

Hy

 

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

Dark blue.

NOT my tits:

Sandy playing games with us.

Took this one at a party just for you (playing cards against humanity)

 


I’m waiting nervously.

I never get nervous about first dates, but here I am, battling a fluttering gut and palpitating heart.

In less than 20 minutes he’ll round the corner and I will feel his arms around me as we hug hello.  I will get to fill my nostrils with his scent and feel the vibrations of his own nerves through my fingertips.

I’ve strategically placed my purse on the seat so he must sit as close to me as possible.  I don’t think he will mind.

The hotel lounge fragrance is both sweet and decadent and the staff are politely chatting with one another as bottles clink and ice is scooped.  A gentle, pulsing melody floats overhead.

I’ve shaved my legs and even my pussy, but didn’t wash my hair.  It’s my way to syche out the Universe.  Or confuse it.  I don’t know what I want with this young man tonight.  

All I know is that if I had not shaved my overgrown snatch, he absolutely for sure would have ended up with his face buried in it later.  

@Friday, September 1st, is Boobday!

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Byree is 

It’s a special weekend, y’all!  It’s my birthday!!  And it’s Ann’s birthday, too!  I have fun things planned for me and Peyton and this year looks like it’s going to be a better one than the last two.  Fingers crossed!

In addition to Ann’s birthday tits, I also have sexy Sandy and a friend from IG, @bustycurvymilf.  It’s an account run by a husband for the love of his – you guessed it – busty, curvy, milf wife.  They’re lovely, so if you’re on the ‘Gram, check them out.

In other news, I had an interesting convo with an IG follower today about how women “like me” are asking for dick pics.  Check out my post if you’re dying to know what it was all about or you can wait because I’m definitely writing about this.  For some reason I was finally able to crystallize my argument against that line of thinking.  I don’t think I converted him, but I think I found a shorter way around between the two points.

Happy Labor Day weekend to those of us in Canada and the Us!  Enjoy your Monday off!

Also, if you have it in your heart, please donate to a relief fund for Harvey.  The pics are heartbreaking.

Love you all.

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

Loving the silver marks.
NOT my tits:

Ann got creative with some cupcakes.

Wanna lick my icing?

::

Say Hi to BustyCurvyMilf, guys!

::

Sandy is mounted and ready to ride.

Belted boobies.


I’m on a man diet. For real.

I have purged my life of all the unnecessary noise of men pawing at my door and am only allowing one knock at a time.

After indulging the nihilistic Hyacinth a couple of weekends ago I completely wiped the slate clean.  I got rid of men around the world and at my doorstep.  I stopped engaging with anyone who might not turn into a real life option for love.  I had to realize my own despair while abandoned in a brightly lit hallway to accept my loneliness for what it’s become: overwhelming.

I have made false connections with too many for too long.  So what if we have light, witty banter for a week?  So what if he’s hot?  So what if he’s into me?  And secondly, how do I know anything about this person – beyond those superficial things – in only a week or two that would warrant me giving them my time?  A piece of myself?

Realizing the truth of my “connections” with these men, this false intimacy, has made my decision-making easier than ever before.  I see the Matrix of Dating suddenly and am swiping the bullshit aside like a curtain blocking my view.   I can’t expect something real from something temporary.  No rose will grow from granite, so why would I expect it to?

My diet from men means I’m making healthier choices, not that I have stopped eating sugar – er – men altogether.  Right now I’m nibbling on only one man and though he might not be the healthiest option my approach is sound, the landing should be good.  At least my therapist thinks so.

I haven’t written about him before; he’s young – 14 years younger than me – tall, handsome, fit, hung, submissive, financially secure. sexy, flirty, filthy, engaged in what we’re doing, open and open-minded, not allergic to cats, politically aligned with me, doesn’t want biological children, intelligent, attentive and… lives with his girlfriend of 6 years in a non-hierarchical polyamory relationship.  His other girlfriend of two years lives in her own little poly pod 2 hours away.

And despite the girlfriends, I am extremely excited about him because my choices have been thoughtful and I am applying great restraint to let this unfold gently, naturally.  I want the intimacy to be real.  I also don’t know that the girlfriends will be a problem.  I’ve never tried to date a poly guy before.  Maybe I won’t care; maybe they’ll make it better for us.

Things have been different from the start.  I insisted on corresponding via email and waited at least 5000 words a piece before I used the number he gave me to text.  I made it clear that texting was not for days long conversations that could be had in 30 mins over the phone, but for flirting and possibly pics.  Due to his age, he had a slight aversion to speaking on the phone, but he carved out a little time over the weekend to chat and it was sweet and lovely and I appreciated the effort immensely.  He surprised himself with enjoying it as much as he did (seriously, what is wrong with Milennials – and even some of us Gen Xers – that a phone call feels too intimate when you’re trying to date someone???).  I could have invited him over 10 times during a rainstorm this weekend, but I refrained, and instead set a date two weeks away.  I want to be certain he’s worth my time.

Now we wait eagerly each day for the other’s email and text little mailbox emojis when the deed is done in between sizzling hot pics and sweet chatter perfect for text.

I still check the pots to see if anything interesting has been caught, but ultimately throw them all back in.  No one compares to this glowing young man of summer.  In fact, one man on OKC who spoke to me in lengthy nonsensical, look how funny I am with words! guy just cut me loose because I hadn’t responded to him since Friday.  That’s how most of us should be, actually.   Truth is, I wasn’t interested, which is why I forgot to check my email there.  Sorry, dude, but you did the right thing.

My diet feels like clean eating for my heart.  I love the quiet, I love that Peyton has more of my attention, I love that when my phone chimes I know it’s someone I actually want to chat with, I love that my time is well spent, and most of all I love that this feels right.

I might still be eating bread and brie – a leftover from my time in France – but I’m also hitting the gym four times a week; I feel good.  My Man Diet is similar: I’m making good decisions, but with some indulgences thrown in here and there, judiciously and with care.  Just like any good diet that can be stuck to for the long term it can’t be all about deprivation.  It also has to feel good.

Friday, August 25th, is Boobday!

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I’ve had the quietest week ever because I’ve dropped almost all communications with men with the exception of Luke, the guy who gave me $100 (though that’s sporadic due to his travels), and yet another “new sub.”  (I’ll put hyperlinks to all those later; I’m in a rush to get to the gym on time at the moment.)

In other words: my week has been amazing.  It feels good to be quiet and do what my heart needs.

This week we have Mrs. MnM from IG whom I met while in Canada recently (she’s amazing, btw), sexy Sandy, Ann’s tanlines from her vacation, Miss W whom I somehow missed posting a couple of weeks ago (it happens, people.  I’m just a one woman show over here lol).

Tonight I have no plans other than watching movies with the animals and I’m really looking forward to it, to be honest. Maybe I’ll even do some writing…

Love you all.

xx

Hy

 

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

 

My tits:

I can’t say for sure, but I think this was the pic that finally got me deleted off of IG.

 

NOT my tits:

Yummy handfuls of Miss W’s delightful breasts.

::

Mrs. MnM let’s it all hang out for us.

In case you need more boobs.

::

Sandy is in charge.

In your face!

Ann’s vacation life of working on her tan must be rough!

I’ve been sending tan lines status pictures to Bruce while away on vacation, and I rather liked this one.


e[lust] 97

Modesty Ablaze Elust 97

Photo courtesy of Modesty Ablaze

Welcome to Elust 97

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #97 Start with the rules, come back September 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Confessional

A MISTRESS UNSEEN

Wrapped around his finger

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Counting

The Storyteller’s Conundrum

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Rainy Day Lover

 

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Fiction

The Sleeping Beauty
Longing
Broken to Be ~ Part 7 – Conclusion
A good man, with a belt

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

The Scene That Almost Never Happened
Sticky fingers

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Art Class Model
Bondage Alfresco Style ~ Collared & tied.
Welcome Home Lazy Vanilla Lovemaking
The Happiest Place On Earth?

Poetry

Burn Together

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon 2.0

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Sometimes I feel this is all I’m good for

 

 

 

Elust 88

Friday, August 18th, is Boobday!

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I have 4 mins of free wi-fi at the airport.  Let’s see how far I get!

Love you all!

xx

Hy

 

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

 

My tits:

Texting a youth.

 

NOT my tits:

Mz Hyde twice.

 


Personal destruction.

The woman’s dark blonde or light brown hair was pulled back in a bun.  Her clothes looked like bed-clothes, something comfortable.  Her words were angry and her movements defiant.  The man ahead of her walked on long legs down the hotel corridor purposefully, swiftly.

My brow furrowed.  What had just happened?

She remained between the two of us as I trailed behind confused and disoriented.  I took a few more steps and stopped.  She turned her back to me, like he did, and followed after him.  He never looked over his shoulder.

In the car ride home I sobbed broken, jagged sobs.  The driver navigated the dark route home, his features dimly lit by the dash.  I put my head in my hands and wailed, uncaring of my quiet audience.  Was this rock bottom?

I’d spent the entire day on my couch after a drunken red wine night and a $100 morning.  Around 4 pm he’d texted me with a picture from a fancy balcony of the beautiful countryside.  “That [city] vibe is hard to beat,” his text read.

A woman from college had come through town and he was at a resort with her.  She was sleeping in the other room while he drank bourbon and smoked a cigarette on the balcony.  He was teasing me, he said.  I told him it hadn’t worked.

Later, drunker, he asked me to come out to see him.  By then I had cleaned some of my house – and myself – and was seated at the end of my favorite bar smiling gamely at anyone who would look.  Two glasses of wine and two cocktails later I accepted his invitation.

After two false starts and a phone call to the front desk I found the bar nestled in the belly of the resort and waited.  My texts had turned from blue iMessage to green text and I wondered if his sleeping suite mate had awoken or perhaps he’d passed out.  I texted again.  Blue.

I waited longer and ordered a second cocktail.  Rye and bitters and an oily orange peel.  My phone lit up.  He had fallen asleep but was on his way down.  I should have left then.

He strode in, toothsome and tall.  A broad, boyish grin split his face open.  We didn’t even hug.  He ordered himself a double something and said, “Lets go outside.  I want to smoke.”

I wasn’t even there.  I felt my body moving and my mouth talking, but I wasn’t there.  I didn’t care to be there; I tried to feel something.  We sat on patio furniture enveloped in  other smokers’ exhaust side by side.  We said nothing and everything.  And still we did not touch.

And then a woman walked through the door and closed the distance between us.  The man stood up without a word as she spewed many at him, at me.  That is when he strode away.

She turned and followed him.

And I followed her.

I don’t know why I did that.  I had nothing to say to her.  I was pursuing him, an answer.  Was this real?  Was that actually happening to me?  Was I even here??

I didn’t follow for very long.  The blue and white flooring opened up at a large corridor intersection and I stopped.  I feared I’d get lost if I kept going, get lost in long hallways and repeating doors and lights and turns and turns and turns.

I felt so alone, so ashamed, so used up.  I’d abandoned myself completely and utterly, made one bad decision after another, and found myself in the untenable position of complete and utter fool.

The torrent of emotions poured out in my sobs, a lifetime of feeling worthless personified in a hotel hallway 20 minutes from home.

I never should have left the couch that night.  I never should have answered his text.  But when someone is hellbent on destroying themselves, there’s little to do but hang on and wait for the morning light.

The morning after is always better and the heart is ever so much a little lighter.

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