I am Hy.

Smith found me on Instagram.  His weird, dummy account told me nothing about him, but his good grammar and smooth words did.  We chatted for one long early morning when I woke up before dawn and checked my DMs; he was at work, I was in my underwear.

It quickly became clear that he had a banging body.  Images of six-pack abs flooded my feed, a glass sink bowl strategically hid his penis from view, and I openly drooled.  He laughed.

Because of my IG catfish experience I asked him to verify his realness with a kiss to his middle finger.  He obliged.  I wasn’t exactly expecting a picture of his face, but I got one.  He was dark-haired, manly, damn fine looking.  Reassured, I kept talking and discovered he lived in my state, not too far from me.

I keep my location top secret for multiple reasons, but the main one is I don’t need any crazy people fucking up my shit.  I know it’d be pretty difficult to figure out who I am just from my pseudonym and my city, but I’d rather not chance it.  Smith was calm and cool and quickly earned my trust.

“I’m not far from you,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” was his reply.  He didn’t ask to know.  He seemed to understand I’d tell him when I felt it was right.  When I eventually did we discovered we were a little more than 3 hours apart.  Not bad, but definitely not easy to meet up.  We shelved any imminent meeting and concentrated on being occasional penpals.

A while later I got a direct message from him.  “Looks like I’ll be coming to your town soon for my friend’s bachelor party.  Will you be free for lunch or dinner or anytime, at least to meet? ;)”

I checked my schedule.  I’d have Peyton, but my folks are often on kid-duty on Fridays.  I told him I hoped we could make it work.

We switched to text and fantasized together what it’d be like to meet.

He would be the second person to meet me that I met off of IG, the 3rd to meet me as Hyacinth Jones.  I was nervous.  Would I measure up?  Would the fantasy overshadow the reality?  The first man I met was just a friend, a Twitter friend first and foremost, then we’d moved to Skype.  When he told me about some upcoming travel and it happened to be in my town I took the plunge and revealed my whereabouts.  The night was fun and it’d been especially thrilling to me to be called Hy all night.

The second man is the fella with the beard and “complicated relationship” (read: marriage) I’ve mentioned here and there over the last few weeks.  He’d DM’d via IG something smart and respectful and when I clicked on his profile I discovered he lived in my town.  I kept our proximity hidden for days until I felt comfortable enough to share (he wouldn’t ruin me seeing as he had much to lose himself).

So Smith would be the third man to know me as Hy, the first with whom I fully expected a physical encounter.

We texted off and on throughout the day he arrived and realized that the plan for the night would be one neither of us had counted on: we’d meet a strip club.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yep!  It’s fine with me!” I replied.

I worked in a titty bar after college as a cocktail waitress and have frequented them off and on over the years during more than usual debauched nights out with friends.  I consider them dens of iniquity, the worst of all of us under one roof, but there’s something thrilling about being so base.  What did I care what people did with their time, money, and bodies?

I wasn’t nervous as my Lyft bore down the dark, streaky streets.  Despite the rarity of the situation itself, meeting someone new wasn’t.  I live for this shit.

I wore what he’d asked me to, a black and white striped mock turtleneck that clung to my body, black tights and boots, a short black skirt.  The deal was I was supposed to be braless for him, but I still wore it when I arrived.

“I’m here,” I texted.

“Be right out.”

I walked up to the doorman and got waved through; no cover for a single woman, I guess.  Lights flashed rainbows and I blinked trying to adjust my eyes in the busy foyer.  I looked up and there he was.

Average height, shirt pulled tight across his bulging pecs, dark hair, dashing.  We hugged hello and he drew me into the belly of the club where I pushed him against a wall and kissed him.  Music thumped and girls writhed all around us, but my eyes were closed to it all as I tasted his lips and pressed my breasts against his hard body.  We broke apart and smiled.

“Lemme buy you a drink,” he said.

At the bar I took off my jacket.  He admired my shirt.  “I still have my bra on.  Sorry.”

“You need to fix that,” he said loudly over the music.

I deftly undid the clasp and pulled it out through the bottom of the turtleneck, held it up for review, and dropped it into my large shoulder bag that I’d brought exactly for that reason.  His eyes widened and he laughed.  I turned in the flashing light this way and that, my breasts clearly outlined by the clinging fabric.

“You like?” I asked.  He liked.

He led me back to the VIP section where his friends were buckets deep into beer and babes and soon I was on his lap, my breast in his mouth, the fabric hot and wet between us.  We kissed and ignored the world.  I don’t remember a single thing we said to one another.

The agreement had been from the beginning that we would meet for a couple of hours and then he’d peel off to spend the rest of the night with his friends.  Their proverbial carriage showed up and we said goodbye.  I called a Lyft and rode back home thinking about his lips on mine and aftershave on my skin.

Was this something I would do or just Hyacinth?  Would I meet a strange man and his friends at a strip joint and make out with him, say goodbye, then leave?  Or just Hy?  Would I push a stranger against a wall and kiss him 30 seconds after meeting him?  Or was this strictly a Hyacinth move?

It may be surprising to learn that having a double-life, a pseudonym as important to me as mine, means that I wonder if one is enabled by the other of if they’re independent of each other.  Before Hy existed I’m pretty sure I’d have done the same thing, but the opportunity to meet someone and do this would be slim to none.  I’d be “looking for a relationship” or some such.  Being Hy gives me the freedom to literally do whatever I want whenever I want.  Funny thing is, if I’m honest with myself, I kind of do the same thing.

Pushing Smith against the wall and kissing him branded me Hyacinth in a way that the other men I’ve fucked and kissed and talked to haven’t.  It symbolized to me that she is me and I am her in all the best of ways.  She is my freedom much as I am her sensitive side.  Together we are me regardless of whether or not you meet me as Hyacinth or me and it’s about time I accept this.

The next morning I texted him to see how the rest of his night had gone and we both lamented that I wasn’t there in his big hotel bed with him.  Maybe I will be for the next bachelor party he attends.  As both me and as Hy.



I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I’m sick.  Again.

I fell asleep at 9 last night and when I woke at 6, after a mostly productive night of sleeping, my first thoughts were, “How do prostitutes – no – sex workers stay healthy?”

Second thought was, “What the fuck, Hy?!”

When you kiss and fuck as many men as I do, there’s bound to be a risk of just plain old germs, right??

In the last month alone I’ve kissed more than half a dozen men and slept with 3 or 4.  I can’t even remember as I lay here buried under purring cat and throbbing headache.  In equal measures, I might add.

I’m going to have to start taking vitamins, or something. Eat better than I already do, work out harder.  The last thing I want is for my body to betray my desires.  What a fucking bitch that’d be.

I feel like that prostitute with a cough in Love Potion No. 9: shady, a little dirty, sexy nonetheless in a trashy sort of sweet way. 

I don’t have time to be laid up!  I have lots of men I’m eager to touch, taste and meet in all varying degrees of intimacy this week.  A hookup, a scene, a first time, a reunion, and a continuance.  Each one a unique experience I’m looking forward to, each one orchestrated by the Universe, not me — probably not unlike this goddamned cold.

I’ll go into work today for a couple of meetings then head straight back to bed so I might feel up to meeting the traveling businessman whose cock juts from boxers like a geyser as thick as my wrist.

So I’ll be ready to dominate a pretty, masculine sub male who said my bad experience with The Neighbor pulls at his subby nature and all he wants to do is, “serve you, Miss.”

So that my first time with a sexy, bearded [married] man will make it worth it to him to break his vows of fidelity.  That I’ll finally be able to taste his kiss and tug on his beard like I’ve wanted to since meeting him.

So that my reunion with my childhood sweetheart after 22 years apart is tender and real, two teenagers wrapped in 40-something shells hugging and crying (me) and reminding each other of who we really are.

So that when Bones gets home on Sunday I’ll be ready for round 3 with him and his beard and sweet kisses and dry sense of humor, that I might get to know him better and — if I’m lucky — fall asleep in his arms again.  Also, his big dick.

Excuse me while I cough.  I’ve gotta get better.

More aches, more tissue.

Friday, February 5th, is Boobday!


I have the happy problem of having too many submissions for Boobday this week (I’d wanted to cap the posted pics to 3 or 4), but I simply can’t not post them.  This space is too sacred to me to turn anyone any away.  So, here we go!  Lots of tits, lots of beautiful bodies!

Regulars, Sandy and Kate join newbies Susana, Miss A, Miss T, and Camille also get creative.  I can’t remember at this point who’s brand new and who isn’t unless I’m told.  It’s getting ridiculous, this Swiss cheese memory of mine!  Ooh! And of course she posted hers before mine, but Kayla returns to Boobday, too!!  Yay!

Anyway, the art of our bodies is endless.  Thank you for creating for us here!  You all are incredible and inspiring.

Happy Friday and Boobday, everyone!



Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate: 1) either be one of the first 3-4 people to submit a pic OR (OR, not AND) 2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.  And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts!  This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

I like to call this one:, "Penguins and paws."

I like to call this one:, “Penguins and paws.”

NOT my tits:

Kate snaps off a quickie for us. Seriously, what did we ever do before smart phones?

Kate snaps off a quickie for us. Seriously, what did we ever do before smart phones?

I almost forgot about Boobday so this shot was a quickie and a one shot only attempt.
Feeling tired but positive tonight.
Happy Boobday everyone!
If you guys haven't, yet, you should totally go check out the artistry of Camille's (and Holden's) blog. This stunning image is just the tip of the iceberg.

If you guys haven’t, yet, you should totally go check out the artistry of Camille’s (and Holden’s) blog. This stunning image is just the tip of the iceberg.

If your week has been anything like mine, then I know you can identify with how much I’m looking forward to a warm Friday night bath and a glass of wine or three!


This is Susana's first submission. I love the whiteness of her skin and darkness of her lips. Just a stunning image.

This is Susana’s first submission. I love the whiteness of her skin and darkness of her lips. Just a stunning image.  You are certainly a Goddess!

I’ve wanted to submit a photo to you for a few years and be one among all the other beautiful goddesses celebrating the awesomeness that is boobday.


Sexy Sandy does the bidding of her boy toy.

Sexy Sandy does the bidding of her boy toy.  I love the softness of the image juxtaposed against the nipple suckers.

On task! When the boy toy and I are apart he gives me tasks often. Today it was wear the nipple suckers for 10min then send pics of the after effect.


I love getting a peek into the seduction of another as Miss T allows us to here.

I love getting a peek into the seduction of another as Miss T allows us to here.

I took this pic for a guy I was dating. I feel very sexy in this pic and I love love my boobs :)

Anna felt frisky after her workout. Lucky us!

Miss A felt frisky after her workout. Lucky us!

I was feeling sexy during my workout and decided to take a pic

Be sure to click below to see even more stunning women:

Golden wrappers mean golden moments.

Mid-date, I sent a message to my friends that went something like this:

Please oh please oh please oh please let Bones’ bone be huge!

And then a bunch of little prayer hands because I meant it.

I have shelved my eternal lust for giant cock and have found great pleasure in men less endowed than what I fantasize about, but I really wanted this man to have the kind of package that shoots me over the motherfucking moon.

He was dry and witty, culturally sensitive, intelligent, good looking.  Short.

This was our second date in 72 hours.  After he drove me home the first night and I leaned in for a kiss the archaeologist said, “You’re a really good kisser.”  I had similar thoughts and tucked back in against his full lips and scruffy beard.

It wasn’t passionate, exactly, but it was charged.  If we kissed this well, what else could that mean for us?

I ran up the stairs knowing his eyes followed.

When he arrived 5 minutes early to our second date my hair hung in long, wet ropes.  “I told you not to be early!” I laughed when I opened the door.  He immediately kissed me hello.

“I know, but you’ll live.”

I set him up with a beer and the dog and dried my hair.  We played Jenga and drank until it was time to head to the movies.  His heavy hand rested on my knee and he held my hand.  I leaned against him and smiled, stole more scruffy kisses.

Later, at the bowling alley, I shamelessly flirted to distract him at darts.  “You’re using your breasts for evil!” he accused.  I couldn’t argue.

At our lane there was an easy rivalry between us now since I had won at both Jenga and darts.  The alcohol flowed with the jabs and laughter.

We walked home and our clothes flew off.  I heard the jangle of his belt and the stiff slide of denim before I saw him jut out.  He was big – quite big.  It was if the emoji gods had heard me after all.

I had to scramble to find my Magnum condoms, long since hidden away from my time with The Neighbor.  He rolled one on and pushed into me and I felt that body-splitting hug from the inside out that I so crave.

We moved against each other like choreography and came in rushing rivers.  His dense weight upon me made the bed screech in protest and I was sure we were disturbing the peace.  But we didn’t care.

He pounded into me, flipped me over, pounded some more.  Hair wrapped around his hands like reins, my round ass impaling itself on him.  Our kisses were firecracker smacks now, not unlike his hand on my flanks.  His height perfect for slamming into me while latched onto a breast.  Candle light flickered against our pale skin and the fan whirred above while we tangled like the drunken heathens we were.

I fell asleep after he’d cum twice and me more than I could count.  His hand was in mine.

Some time before dawn he woke me up with warm, strong fingers touching me here and there.  We moved against, in, and around each other blindly.  He filled me up again, another golden wrapper ripped and rolled, dropped and forgotten like Gretel’s crumbs.

He ripped me apart this time, my own wetness no match for his size this time.  I moaned in pain and pleasure and begged him to cum even as my own orgasm washed through me like a long, low bay.   We fell back asleep entwined until it was time for the sun.

This time I played with his uncut sheath, licked and slid it under my grip.  He moaned and shivered and threw me off.  Rip, roll, drop again.

He bunched me up into a ball beneath him and drove deep.  I cried out as each thrust caused a ripple of stinging pain and swooping orgasm.  “I’m gonna cum!  I’m gonna cum!” he said and at the last second he pulled out and in one easy motion removed the condom and came all over my heaving belly.  He cleaned me up and laid back down beside me.

We closed our eyes and he appeared to fall asleep instantly, his steady breathing a far cry from the activity behind the blackness of my lids: this feels nice, a man is in my bed overnight!, he feels good, this is so comfortable, I’m freaking out a little, no – wait – not really, just relax, go to sleep.  Eventually, I shut down and slept for a few more hours with his warm body beside me.

When I awoke next he was tapping my nipples and poking my lips.  I swatted him away and he chuckled.  “I’m starving,” I said, “Do you want to have breakfast?”  He checked the time and said he should probably go, but he didn’t leave.  Instead he lingered and pestered me some more and we talked about nothing and just touched one another.  Finally, I said, “Well, I’m gonna make some bacon and scrambled eggs -”

“Ok, ok, I’ll stay,” he interrupted.

While I made breakfast he put on his jeans and lounged on the couch watching re-runs of Saturday Night Live.  He’d offered to help, but there was nothing for him to do.  It was odd to have him sprawled out so comfortably, the dog asleep at his feet, while I puttered in the kitchen.

We ate and he began to clean up then put his shirt on.  I wore a white t-shirt and some pajama pants to cook in and I sat next to him on the couch where he was putting on his socks, my long legs bare and my breasts visible beneath the thin material.

His devilish grin belied his words of imminent departure and we undressed each other quickly.  I was too tender for him to touch, but I was determined to push on.  A nice long blowjob and a  little K-Y jelly later and we were cumming together.  He pulled out, peeled off the rubber, and spurted hot globs of cum nearly to my chin.

I panted and put a pillow over my face.  It was all too much.  Too many orgasms, too much touching, too much fun.  My grin left a wet spot on the pillowcase.

He laid next to me and I told him how impressed I was with his pull-out-and-cum-all-over me move.  He said he’d seen it done once in porn.  Then we high-fived each other and he got up to leave for real.

After he left I walked gingerly to my room and laid down and that’s when I noticed the strip of golden wrappers at the foot of the bed.  Later I’d find wrappers on the dresser and by the bedside table, little shiny reminders of Mr. Bones’ big bone.

At last, we are reunited.

At last, we are reunited.


Click the lips below to see who else is being Sinful today!

Sinful Sunday

Friday, January 29th, is Boobday!


[Ed. note: I forgot a new participant!  See below.]

This week has flown by and I have lots of writing to do, particularly my thoughts on being dominant.  I’ve been on 3 dates and have at least 3 more lined up.  It’s been a beautiful week inside and out.  I hope yours has been as wonderful, too!

The ladies participating today are some of our old standbys (the beautiful Kim, Sandy, and Kate), also our newcomer, the luscious Miss J from a couple of Boobdays ago, and a first-timer, the beautiful Camille whom I met on Instagram.  She and her partner had a stunning account of them together (and separate) in decadent and sexy scenes.  Thank you for sharing yourselves with us and thinking of this little meme during your busy week.  You guys are amazing.



Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate: 1) either be one of the first 3-4 people to submit a pic OR (OR, not AND) 2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.  And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts!  This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

Good morning, world.

Good morning, world.

NOT my tits:

The beautiful Camille makes her debut appearance for us!  Click her pic to see her new blog!

The beautiful Camille makes her debut appearance for us! Click her pic to see her new blog!


Sandy smooshes her jugs to stay cozy!

Sandy smooshes her jugs to stay cozy!

A cold day on Long Island post Snowzilla and 2 feet of snow!!


Miss J joins us for her second Boobday!

Miss J joins us for her second Boobday!

The reason why I chose this pic: This is how I always want to sleep at night but I’m unable to because of this winter. Ugh.


I imagine dipping a breast in that wine and sipping it off of sweet Kim.

I imagine dipping a breast in that wine and sipping it off of sweet Kim.

A toast, to Lovely Hy for so graciously hosting us without exception and to all the ladies who so bravely bare themselves here every Friday – we ROCK!!! :-)


Kate tantalizes in her new corset.

Kate tantalizes in her new corset.

This weeks photo features a little eBay purchase I made that finally arrived and fits. Yay!! Hope you like.

Be sure to click below and leave lots of comment love!