We are an unlikely pairing.

I’ve been up for hours and it isn’t even dawn, yet.  I awoke on the couch, the TV on, the lights bright, the bottle of white wine empty with its sidekick wine glass covered in fingerprints also empty.  My heart lurched a little with sadness, a smidgeon of relief that at least I wasn’t alone in my feelings: The Neighbor has similar doubts as me.

Our doubt is, is this as far as we can go?  For me, it’s Can TN one day fit himself into my little family?  For him, he wonders if he can go beyond where we are today.

The last several months have been hard for us.  Though we knew each other for two years when we finally admitted our love for one another, it’s only been half a year that we’ve been tackling the relationship aspect of our relationship.  My needs, specifically; now they exist and I am vocal about them, which has meant that he has had to give me more.  Lots more.

As just my neighbor he came and went as he pleased, things he said rolled off my back, I used other men to satisfy my longings, and I expected nothing from him.  From his perspective, it was a perfect deal.  From mine, it was rough, but I accepted it.  We weren’t committed and therefore I felt I had no claim.

Well, now we are and therefore I do.

Bam.  Shit’s all over the place.

The good news is that we are not unhappy.  We’re just both worried that we could be in denial about what’s going on.  It’s been hard the last six months.  Is it a death rattle??  So many tears, fights, heavy chats late into the night.  When I’m filled with doubt I project it onto him, see his ambiguity as if under a microscope.  He admitted to feeling it from time to time and being surprised when, a couple of weeks later, I finally respond to it though he’s confused because the moment had passed for him.

I feel at once closer to him for realizing we’re on the same page and also scared.  Really scared.  I’ve never felt this way about someone before, so in love, so loved in return, and to have something as integral as wanting him to become a part of my family stand between us… well, that’s a chasm we may never bridge.

For when I’m ready for and need him to join us, there’s no saying, No thank you, Hy.  I can’t.  I don’t want that kind of relationship with you.  There can only be, I’m ready.  I’m a little scared, but let’s do this.

The other good news is that when that might happen is far in the future.  I imagine that if he and I manage to hammer out the details and grow closer I can envision us joining forces under one roof in a couple of years.  I know myself; it’s what I’ll likely want.

It freaked him out to hear me speak of the future, but even he admitted to not being ready for something like that for another 18 months.  I found that immensely reassuring.

I also admitted that had he wanted the apartment across the hall I would have told him No.  He admitted that my proximity and his fears about us also drove him to chose the building down the hill.

My head is happy our feelings align, my heart, however, is heavy.

This weekend has been incredible.  Loving, sweet, tender.  Friday night I came home from wine with girlfriends to him naked and aroused in my bed.  He’d been waiting for me, punctual.  I’d somewhat deliberately lost track of time and come home late, but the second I saw him the sheer veil of lingering resentment I wore slipped away and I fell into his arms.

His warm, naked body moving over me and then filling me.  He kissed and nipped at my neck as I marveled at his giant cock splitting me open and his flanks curling into my open legs.  He hooked his fingers into me and I writhed upon them and drenched my sheets.  We masturbated while watching one another and I thought about how much I loved him as I watched semen spurt onto his belly and my own orgasm fade away behind my heavy-lidded eyes.

He left that night after tucking me in, but we had plans to meet up fairly early Saturday evening at his place.  I made him dinner while he filled some boxes and we watched YouTube clips of the Dave Chappelle Show and laughed hard, our faces cast in artificial light in the dark office.  “I’m Rick James, bitch!”

When we fell asleep I remember thinking how happy I was, how comfortable I felt, and how truly little it took to make me feel wanted by him.  When he pays me attention any and all reservations are blown away like little dust bunnies, it’s only that they come back with a vengeance if I feel ignored, unimportant.  “I wish I was like you,” I said the other day, “like a cactus.  But instead I’m like a…” I searched for the name of some tropical, high-maintenance flower about which one cannot forget.

“An orchid?” he suggested.  He’d known exactly the kind of analogy I was going for.

“Yeah, sure, an orchid,” I agreed.  “I don’t apologize for being one, but I feel like it’d be so much easier on the both of us if I were a cactus instead.”

He said something along the lines of not wanting me to be any different.  And that’s the beauty of being so unalike: we have the opportunity to appreciate the differences.

In the morning we awoke to a barking dog.  I stretched, got up to pee and felt beautiful, curvy, tan as I padded about in my panties.  My breasts hung heavy and my hair was a mess, but I strutted nonetheless.  “Psst,” I said.  He opened one eye.  “Don’t you think I look good?”  I turned in the filtered morning light.

“Mmmhmm,” he murmured and closed his eye again, a smile curved like a half-moon on his bearded face.

I peeled back the covers and got back in smiling, still happy, and later watched myself in the mirror — between bookend orgasms — as I stuffed my face with his big, pretty cock.  I sucked it for a long while, but he didn’t cum.  Half way through I took a little break, struggled with my guilt at not making him cum, and was firmly, yet gently reminded that he never worried about it and therefore I shouldn’t either.  I went back at it with renewed gusto for the mere act itself, not the end result, and found it to be even more pleasurable.

We went to a leisurely brunch and swung by the hardware store for more boxes next and made plans for a good cuddle later that night.  The cuddle never happened obviously, though I’m wishing more than anything he were laying beside me now so I could wrap myself in his arms and convince myself that everything truly was going to be ok.

It’s hard being uncertain, yet still impossible to be so.  We can’t know the future.  It simply isn’t possible.  I remember my exhusband telling me we’d be together forever… but forever doesn’t exist.  It never has.

I have so much to gain by figuring this out with him: a best friend, an incredible lover, an unconditional supporter of everything I am, a loyal bulldog in my corner.  It terrifies me to think of what I have to lose.

“I love you Hy and I want to be here.  I also like you and think you’re pretty,” he’d said with a twinkle in his eye last night.  It’s become his signature thing to say to me as we’ve labored over how to meet my needs these past few weeks, though in this instance I knew he meant it fervently.

“Sometimes I think I’ve strong-armed you into being in this committed relationship to me,” I told him a month ago.  “I just need to know you want to be here, that you love me.  I need to hear the words.”  And sometime later, after we’d touched our tender parts with our hearts and words and felt safe with one another again he’d said with an enormous grin on his face, “I love you, I’m sorry, you’re right and you’re pretty,” and we’d laughed our assess off because we knew we’d just hit the relationship — and possibly greeting card — jackpot.

I have avoided writing these things down until he and I have had time to wrestle with them first and it’s part of why I have felt so censored this year.  It’s out of respect for him and us that I want to keep the finer details private, but doing so has quite literally robbed me of sleep all these months.  My thoughts and worries, bottled up as they are inside of me, roil about and cause me more harm than good.  They spoil inside.  This post is an attempt to exorcise them so I may either a) go back to sleep despite the sunrise and b) feel unencumbered throughout the rest of my day and night.  We’ll see what happens.

As it stands today, being with him and trying to figure out the equation of TN and Hy is far more rewarding and makes much more sense than cutting my losses.  It may come to pass that one day the scales are tipped, I acknowledge that, but that’s how it is with every relationship anyway: you stay until it’s no good.  It’s not a sign of any kind of fatal flaw.

I love him for who and what he is in this moment and I am hopeful — and confident — that we will figure all of this out: the unlikely pairing of the cactus and the orchid.

I flash my tits to the Internet.

I’m restless, gagged, sad, nervous, bored, filled with self-recrimination and -doubt.

Just a normal Friday afternoon alone with the cat.

I sip on chilled white wine, the pale gold liquid zips down my gullet; I drag long and slow on a hot cigarette; I pick at my salmon and beets lunch.

Mom calls and says Peyton misses me, so I will stop by there before I meet friends for more chilly white wine on a gravel-y patio beneath pregnant vines of honeysuckle.

It’s Friday, after all.

And then when the sun has set The Neighbor will come over for just a cuddle and I will fight to dig out my libido and open to him. Or perhaps exhaustion will take over and the only thing I’ll be opening is the door to my fantastical dreams about fat babies, irritable cats, winged faeries, my broken vibrator and the IRS.

Friday brims with possibilities.

And then Saturday I will work and try to rub the grit of a long and lonely, mostly boring, self-flagellating week off of my skin with another binge of Inspector Lewis; half cocked, half miserable, and half unable to do anything about it I’ll lay on my couch anxious to see The Neighbor again to help him pack.

Friday may be irrelevant by then.

Then maybe I’ll finish the post that’s been six months in the making.

Here’s to Friday.

And tits.



The Neighbor makes me squirt a little… and more.

Hy kneeling in black panties -- plus a kitty!

I took this series for TN on his birthday.  He LOVES titties and kitties.

I woke with a start, daylight streaming in through my window.  I had removed my skirt and bra, but lay beneath the rumpled covers in my t-shirt and panties.  My heart raced for no discernible reason.

I checked my phone and saw that The Neighbor had called.  It was his birthday and he was due to arrive any minute and none of what I’d planned to do that day had been done — things such as fold the laundry in the living room, take a shower, or prep dinner.  The need for sleep had so overwhelmed me an hour before that I had staggered into my room and flung myself down and promptly passed out.  I frowned and punched in “call back.”

“Happy birthday!” I lamely croaked for the second time that day.  “Where are you?”

His plan had been to work all day then come over for dinner and fucking.

“I’m standing outside my door, but I can be there in 5 minutes!  See you soon!  Love you!”

“Love you, too,” I mumbled.

I stretched and thought, Thank God! and felt the heaviness of sleep creep back over me and press me down into my mattress.  Five whole minutes more!

Seconds later, he was filling my door and I jerked awake.  “Well, hello there,” he said and sauntered in unbuckling his belt.  Sex was the last thing on my mind, my face stung, sleep still hung heavy around my neck, I felt like shit a hundred different ways.

I snuggled down into my bed and stretched again, watched him peel his clothes off as he came around to his side of the bed, and wrapped my arm around him when he scooted in beside me.  Fuck it, I can cuddle, I thought.

photo 2

I was catsitting for a friend. Faisal approved.

We talked for a bit, about us finally being in the same decade now, and what I had planned for dinner (lamb chops with cherry wine sauce and mint, scallops, pureed acorn squash, and asparagus).  I thread my fingers through his chest hair and teased his tiny nipple as he stroked my arm.  I was beginning to feel better.

And then he made a decision.  He didn’t verbalize it, but he personified it.  He got up and kicked Faisal out, tail held high in indignation, and turned to me with a surprising erection.  I hadn’t noticed it while playing in the fields of his chest hair.

He teased me and said for his birthday I had to pet his velvety, hair-free balls (“I shaved them just for you!”).  I laughed and stroked his sac, much as I would the cat.  He even purred a little and his cock bobbed just above my head from where he stood, feet planted wide.

“Put them in your mouth,” he suggested.

I tried.  But they’re too big to fit together and I rotated between one then the other and he giggled.  I guess it tickled a little.

Hy holding her kitty-charge.

This little baby has no idea.


And then I wasn’t feeling fatigue anymore.  I wanted to please this man, newly 30, ambiguously positioned in my life.  I wanted to have some fun for a change.

I gripped his shaft with my hand and pulled him over to fuck my face, opened wide and took it in as far as I could.  A pitiful amount, really, but I’m no deep-throat and he’s abnormally large.

I slobbered and sucked and moved my hand in random, unpredictable ways and then stopped and repositioned him on the bed and I crouched between his massive thighs and let loose with my hair, my saliva, my swinging tits.

He clenched his muscles and began to tremble.  I moaned a little knowing he was close to cumming and pinched my eyes closed tight, wishing it would happen.  And then he relaxed with no explosion in my mouth.

I let off of him to give him a break, kissed his upper thighs, his belly, let him suckle on my heavy, hanging breasts.  I marveled at him as my breast disappeared into his bearded face, his closed eyes and distant attention so like that of a nursing babe, yet simultaneously manly and erotic.

He popped off and I popped back onto him until he’d had enough and threw me on my back and pulled my panties off.  They got hooked on my foot and he laughed as I swung them around a bit for show.

He nestled himself between my knees and hooked his fingers into me.  I jumped and locked my eyes on his for a split second.  He looked devilish, happy, intense.  I closed my eyes and let his hand rock me to two, three orgasms and I blocked my spray with my hand and an embarrassed grimace.  His grunts of satisfaction told me he liked the mess I made when I squirt.

Hy on all fours, plus a kitty!

Crouching Hyacinth, hidden kitten.

Trembling, happy, surprised I felt him moving over me and then pushing into me.  So easy.  But he was enormous that afternoon, almost too big.  I begged him to be gentle and he only squinted at me and pushed deeper, slowly plowing into my softness.

I moaned again and gripped the rails of my headboard and then he took us on such a ride.  I bloomed and blossomed, screamed and scowled, cried and crumpled.  He pounded into me like a hanged man, for all he was worth.

He bit and nipped my neck and I clawed at his shoulders and flanks.  As the orgasms came from deep within I felt tears hitchhiking their way closer to the surface.

It’d been months since we’d had sex like this: wild, abandoned, deep and powerful.  The intensity of it all unhinged me and the sadness I’ve been keeping tucked away peeked its little head out and said, “I’ve missed this.”  And then the tears came.

I sobbed and cried out in passion, imagined I looked like a hot, blubbering mess, but he kept at me.  His tempo increased as my sobs became louder and they rolled through me not unlike the orgasms they rode beside.

He flipped me over and I left black tread marks from my wet, mascaraed eyes.  I raised my rear and let him bury himself in me, my legs pinned together, my waist pinched by his clutching hands.  I rocked back on him as hard as I could until I thought that life was nothing more than this moment, this connection, this effort and then he was spent.

He never came, but then again, he never does.

Hy in black panties with a pussy foot.

Photo bomb a la Faisal.

I lay there panting, basking, but apparently he wasn’t done.  He jumped up, grabbed something out of my drawer, then ran out of the room.  When he returned,  I felt a tap on my shoulder with something cold and hard.  It was my little pink vibrator.

Somehow I mustered the energy to flip over, my hair wrapped around my face like a wayward scarf in the wind.  He handed it to me and lay beside me.  “I want to watch you stroke yourself,” I said huskily.

“Mmmkay,” he replied and wrapped his hand around his glistening cock.

The little pink vibrator [that could] buzzed it’s little high pitched buzz and my eyes latched onto the pale, hairy, muscular man next to me choking a 9 inch chicken.

His breath began to quicken, his legs began to flex.  My own orgasm seemed distant, but ready.  I was mesmerized by the swiftness of his hands, the reaction of his body.  “Cum on your belly, TN, cum on your chest.  I want to see you spray cum all over your chest,” I suddenly said.

He convulsed and pearl-colored fluid spurted out exactly where I had wanted.  I returned to my own body and zeroed in on the buzz.  Thirty seconds later I was arching and gasping, TN’s mouth full of my breast.

We flopped back down and smiled at each other, kissed.  And then we heard a “meow” and Faisal jumped up between his legs and attempted to walk up his belly.  And stepped in a little glob of spooge.

The romantic, passionate moment was over.  We laughed, horrified, and he tossed the now offended cat off the bed, both of us mildly traumatized and trying not to think about what would happen next.

We showered and kissed and got dressed.  I made us dinner and we cuddled and fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

The next day we spent with friends on the river and The Neighbor welcomed his Thirtieth Year with some college-age vomiting and high spirits.  God, I love it when he loses control.  I’m a sick bastard like that.

And the following day he invited me to look at apartments with him.  I was surprised and thrilled.

I’d already driven all over the place, Peyton in tow with pockets  (and mouth) stuffed with leasing-office-treats, and narrowed down my favorites.  Sadly, my complex was more than he wanted to spend and the amenities not as nice as some comparably priced places.  He had some new ones on his list so off we zipped in his fancy black car.

Or so I thought.  He stopped just past my gate and pulled into my leasing office.  “Let’s check this place out first,” he announced.

We chatted with Matt the leasing guy and went and visited a 2/2 about 12 ft from my front door.  He loved the layout, but didn’t like the idea of being smooshed between two floors.  Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the proximity.  My Doomsday Hy’s voice loud in my ear, “WHAT IF IT DOESN’T WORK OUT?  Then you’re stuck next door again!”  Flashbacks of seeing his car, her car, hearing high heels in the hallways.

Hy in black panties -- with a kitty!

Just a hint of pussy.


Matt showed him a 3rd floor unit behind the pool and TN took notes.  We thanked him and headed out.

Being with him was easy like Sunday morning.  We laughed, we teased, we made disgusting innuendos.  He really is my best friend — if best friends are sometimes oddly reclusive and never spend 24 hrs straight with you — but anyway, it was wonderful driving all over town with him, the wind in my hair and feeling needed.

In the end, I saw him thank Office Lady #6 and then march right back to my front office and sign a lease for the building behind the pool, three buildings and a dog park away from mine.

He is still the neighbor.


I’m finally figuring out technology!

So I’m a big dummy.

Back before I went to self-hosted end of March I would regularly post from my phone — quick pics, thoughts, stories –but after, I soon realized, I lost the ability… until now!!

My IT guru helped me figure it out and I’m posting from my phone again!!

Oh, the possibilities are endless now! I can again keep more connected and post more — you have no idea how many stories and musings have gone unpublished because I wasn’t at a computer!

Anyway, just wanted to send a quick note that I should be around more. And with more pics!!

If anyone needs me, I’m here!


[Note to self: seems I'm unable to include SEO info from my cell. Oh well.]

Friday, June 27th, is RAINBOW Boobday!


Today is the last Boobday until August 1st.  I feel both sad and excited about it, but it’ll be interesting to see how my creativity flows in the weeks where I haven’t committed myself to a weekly meme.  I know that someone suggested that others host it while I’m taking a break, but I never really followed up on that idea, so, here we are: hiatus will commence!  Unless one of you would like to host it for the month of July.  Lemme know if that’s the case and I’ll let everyone know and you and I can discuss details.  Or, we can all take a lazy summer break.  Honestly, it’s up to y’all.

In other news, this whole week was somehow eerily rainbow-themed!  Rainbows in the sky above me 2 or 3 times, in my Instagram feed, and then The Neighbor was this close to making his famous rainbow jell-o shots for softball (before we got rained out).  It’s kinda cool how that worked out.  Sorta like the world was conspiring to give a little rainbow hug or something.

Ok, so without further ado, our comeback theme for August 1st is HOT (Anonymous Aussie and other southerhemi-gals I apologize for my season-centric choices!).



Want to participate in Boobday?  Go here and read the Guidelines and State of the Boob Union to answer any questions, but this is the TL;DR of what I need each time:

  1. an attached pic

  2. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

  3. if you want to be anonymous or not

  4. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

  5. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me and only posted on Friday)

  6. make sure your phone and/or camera does not keep your location information! 

Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.

My RAINBOW tits:

Hy and her rainbow kitty

Faisal joined me on the body pillow for a little nap yesterday.

If I’d really thought about it, I’d have painted my nails with rainbows.

NOT my RAINBOW tits:


I hardly even notice the rainbow in this pic of Krystal.

Making Rainbows!



Dawn gets scientific with a little prism.

This didn’t turn out quite as I really wanted, I would have loved to get a bigger rainbow, but the sun was playing hide and seek and I couldn’t locate a bigger crystal…



This is Renee’s first Boobday and I’m already jealous of her editing skills.


And her breasts are beautiful and I like, that, too.

I just discovered your blog and want to participate for the very reasons you spoke about.  1.  Never have felt like my boobs were big enough  2.  After 60 years and 1 week I want to let go of that notion.



I always love how @SilverDomUK’s love for @SilverDropUK oozes from his words.  And yes!  It fits!

Silverdrop recently purchased this top and I love what it does for her tits. The addition of a rainbow bag makes it fit with this week’s prompt I believe?



Anisa, if mine’s a rainbow, yours totally is! And look at those gorgeous boobies!



This is a woman I’m going to call Trippy. I love the thermal, rainbow and the view point. Beautiful.

His love language is different from mine.

TN lounging in an apron

My sous chef.

If I had to guess, The Neighbor’s “love language” might be acts of service.  It’s not mine — mine is somewhere between words of love and getting loads of gifts — so it’s been a real exercise over the past couple of years to sort out how he feels about me.  He’d say all these stupid, mean things, but then vacuum my apartment or take out my trash, he’d keep my stash of Topo Chico full.  Eventually, I heard from his own lips what I’d suspected from the very beginning based on his actions: he loved me.

The relief I felt over finally being allowed to trust my gut was immense; I no longer had to pit his words against his actions.  They finally matched up!

The last couple of weeks have been tumultuous for me.  I’ve fought my demons and it feels as though I’m winning.  I trust him suddenly and completely.  The time we spend together is fun and light and his attentiveness is off the charts.  Sometimes I’m even overwhelmed by it.  I remind myself to breathe and relax and let his love swirl around me and think, “This is how it’s supposed to feel.” I’m so used to rejection from those I love his acceptance and presence feels like a stranger has come to dinner.

Good thing I’m a decent conversationalist.

TN lounging in an apron

A quick break before we had to get serious with risotto.


[Ed. note: TN Tuesdays is a semi weekly meme which will share more of The Neighbor with my Internet Boyfriend.  All photos will have his approval before I post them.  He is eager to see what you guys think and has requested that I share any comments.]



Friday, June 20th, is GREEN Boobday!


So, I’ve double whammied you guys today with two posts. I began drafting It’s time be honest 4 days ago and didn’t want to wait a minute longer to get it out into the universe.  Sorry about that.

As for today’s pic, I got scared of the dark last night — it happens from time to time — and when I went to bed I saw The Neighbor’s dark green shirt crumpled on my floor.  Of course I put it on to ward off the monsters.  I didn’t even realize I had on matching underpants until I looked at the first picture I took this morning.  Funny how that worked out, right?

I really enjoyed doing this week’s color theme and by the looks of it, so did all you ladies. so I’m going to do it again for next week.  I was inspired both by new, lighter feeling, like I’ve struck gold or something and by Molly’s avatar that was just in my feed as I was catching up on some old comments.

Therefore,next week’s theme is RAINBOW.

Also, when I wrote “double whammied” it reminded me of that old 80s game show here in the States called Press Your Luck.  I found this little gem and laughed my damn ass off.  What maniacs!  Enjoy!



Want to participate in Boobday?  Go here and read the Guidelines and State of the Boob Union to answer any questions, but this is the TL;DR of what I need each time:

  1. an attached pic

  2. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

  3. if you want to be anonymous or not

  4. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

  5. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me and only posted on Friday)

  6. make sure your phone and/or camera does not keep your location information! 

Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.

My GREEN tits:

Hyacinth all in green

I’m also Irish.

NOT my GREEN tits:


Meet Reenie, everyone! It’s her first time participating in Boobday.

This photo I call “Bored at work” i took it there as a means to spice up the day.



Lay back and gaze upon Anisa’s green. And her luscious titty.

My photo this week was taken in the only thing that was comfortable to wear after I got yet another sunburn. Ow.



Kayla gives us a little sneak peak behind the buttons. @KaylaLords

I love how my boobs look in his green shirt.



Serafina gets back to nature.. @SpirtualBDSM



Dawn shows us that a box of chocolates can look delicious, too.


I think the purple background makes this photo.

I was struggling to figure out what green prop to use and then…
This ribbon came with a box of chocolates I received in a hotel room. They were my (our) only sustenance for a wonderful 24 hours…



I love this picture for so many reasons.  Campy, sassy, amazing! @SassyCat38

I picked this one, because it just looked campy to me. Background reminded me of those yearly grade school photos.

Molly reposes in the grass with one very special “flower.” @MollysDailyKiss



I love her ingenuity! @KinkyBikerMom

I could not think of what to do for green boobday so I used some finger paint and made my boobs green lol

Beck looks pretty great in green. @BeckAndHerKinks



Krystal gets industrious. And sexy! Look at that lovely sideboob. Mmmm. @BisexualMinx




It’s time to be honest.

I haven’t been myself lately.  I’m not being real or honest.  I’m terrified of both.

The message I learned growing up is if I were a real and honest little girl about how I felt, then I would be confronted and told I was wrong.  My pain and upset wasn’t real, said my mother, she loved me.  Stop it, Hy.

The question now is  do I have the skills to get honest?  Or am I only good at leading up to honesty and dodging the pain — and change — that comes with it?

Until this year I would have told you I was pretty good at my life and honesty, but the truth is, I’m shitty.  I rarely, if ever, admit to how I truly feel about things.  I’m so scared of being handled roughly, of admitting when things might really be unsatisfying.  In my marriage there were many things which hurt me deeply, but I never acknowledged it to him or me — it would shift the shape of our relationship — so I admitted to nothing.  I lied.

My exhusband was passionate about all things dangerous.  Small airplanes, mountain climbing, riding a bike with no seat, motorcycles, tightrope walking.  He had his pilot’s license before he met me and long, sinewy muscles from clinging to sides of vertical rock.  He also had a little yellow motorcycle.

I didn’t think much of any of this except to say I’d never do any of those things with him.  My nurse-of-a-mother’s voice in my head about how many motorcycle crash victims she’d seen in her career wound through my head like a never ending snake.  He didn’t seem to mind our tastes were different and I certainly wasn’t going to impose my own fears on him; he could do as he pleased.

But then we moved in together and he upgraded his little yellow motorcycle to some big, shiny silver crotch rocket.  I placated myself with the fact that he wore full body gear despite it not being the law here. He loved that stupid motorcycle and drove it everywhere; used it as his main source of transportation.  That meant no errands were run while he was on it, no flowers were bought, we couldn’t ride together to dinner with my parents and he wouldn’t have a glass of wine with us, no calling him up if I needed him or a favor.  I told myself none of these things were a big deal, but what I was really telling the both of us was that my feelings didn’t matter, only his did and that I was a chickenshit.

His old Subaru station wagon finally died one day with a cough and a shake and he was a full-time motorcycle rider.  By now Peyton was born and I had endured his 15-minute suit-up and suit-downs for months, maybe years.  There was no easy way in or out of it.  He knew how much I hated him riding that stupid fucking thing especially since having the baby — what if something happened to him??  I’d be widowed with an infant — but he was stubborn and I always relented, not wanting to pick a fight I knew I’d never back down or recover from.

So I never said a word.

Instead, I seethed and rolled my eyes, held my breath every time he called to say he was leaving the office until the moment he got home, and silently raged at how he could not help me with anything because he was on that goddamned machine.  “I hate commuting,” he’d say.  “It’s the only way I can make it ‘fun’.”  I wanted to punch his face when he’d say that to me.  “Get a book on tape,” I’d say back.

Tick, tock, the clock ate us up and we were living in separate homes.

Not only had I never spoken my true feelings about the motorcycle, but I had also never told him how I truly felt about numerous other things for fear my true feelings would destroy our relationship.  In hindsight, those are exactly the kinds of reasons a relationship should end!  It’s so ridiculous to me now that I feared my own truth so much I was willing to marry a man I probably should have only known for 3 months of my life, not forever.

Not until he was on his own caring for Peyton truly for the first time — not just when Mommy was out getting a quick pedicure during fucking nap time — and after the 20th person off of some message board he was a part of ate concrete and lost his life did he think “Gee, I need to think about someone else besides me,” and he hung up his helmet for the last time.

I never wanted to discuss the rates of death between a car and a motorcycle, it just wasn’t the point.  That motorcycle epitomized what was wrong with my marriage, my relationship.  It showcased his selfish, self-centered existence and my fearful, timid one.  And because that was my nature — is my nature — I could never call him on it and voice a real need I had: that he be present, perhaps sacrifice something for me because I’m worth a little sacrifice, and participate in our lives fully.

Today when I think “truth” I think “pain,” unimaginable pain.  I’d like to change that.  I’d like to think “truth” and think “progress” or “freedom.”

I manage to share something with The Neighbor from time to time, but the truth lies much, much deeper than I’ve been willing to go and until I share it with him I believe I will be agitated, angry, hurt, resentful, suspicious and scared.  There will be nothing authentic about us if I don’t grow up and share my truth with him.  Jesus Christ that sounds so dippy.

TN caught me yelling at him the other night.  I didn’t know he was in my home; I thought I’d seen him just pull up outside my window and as I stalked angrily back into my living room, stark naked from my shower, I growled, “That inconsiderate, disrespectful sonofabitch,” and the second it left my mouth I heard, “What?”  I jerked my head towards the kitchen.

There he was, arms full of his overnight bag, two bottles of wine, and a goofy smile plastered on his face.

Knowing I was caught red-handed I angrily got dressed and yelled at him for making me feel unimportant, angry and stupid.  “But I’m only 10 minutes late!” he started to protest.

I wagged my finger at him and said, “Don’t you dare quote minutes to me!  It’s not important!  I told you I had a need for you today, I told you to be here before a certain time, I told you how fucked up I felt about my family today.  I did everything I could think of to distract myself, hoping you’d be here early to fuck me like we’d planned, but no, you’re late with a dozen excuses…” I ranted on and on as he poured two glasses of wine and shoved one in my hand.

I dumbly took it and sat down, defeated.  “I am sick of you making me feel this way.  STOP IT.  IT’S NOT OK.  I am not some crazy woman who does this!  I don’t want to feel like this!”

The truth was out.  And I didn’t even mean to tell him.

He owned it, apologized, lamented with pain in his eyes that any part of his mother might be in him.  “I don’t know why I do this,” he whispered.  “What will you do if I can’t stop?”  He looked at me and I returned his gaze.

“Something you won’t like,” I said sadly back.  And then to lighten the mood I added, “And kill you.”

But something important happened that day: I was forced to admit that my need was big, it demanded attention and care.  If I hadn’t been caught yelling at him I might have stuffed it down and tried to talk about it calmly later, stripping it of its importance, its fire, its pain.  My exhusband and I were masters at neutering everything, being intellectual and calm.  It got me a divorce and a marriage shrouded in veiled lies and painful resentment.  I wouldn’t recommend it.

We cuddled and kissed, went to our movie, but we did not fuck.  I didn’t want him to touch me in that moment of rawness, newness.  He asked to stay the night and I told him I would have to think about it instead of saying “Of course you can,” because for once in my adult life I didn’t feel like being a fucking liar.  We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I talk about authenticity and being myself, but the truth is I’m often a liar.  TN doesn’t know what I’m really feeling because I’m too afraid to tell him; I’m afraid we won’t survive it.  I have no faith.  Which is so funny to me because I used to have so much faith; my sun and moon hung on the chance that he and I might be together.

Since my outburst Sunday I feel lighter.  I don’t feel scared or suspicious, which proves to me that what I was feeling had little to nothing to do with his behavior (though still weird and sketchy in a typically dude sort of way) and everything to do with my own demons.

Monday night he came to me and I didn’t need to watch the clock.  He needed me this time, not the other way around, and when he filled my line of sight I could see his pain, his awful day wrapped around him and I felt nothing but sugary lightness towards him.  I held him and kissed his cheeks, rubbed his feet as he shared his story.

We cuddled on the couch and watched Game of Thrones, I stroked his temples and kissed him periodically.  My heart full, open, soft, not a trace of resentment or anger to be found.  Later, in the bedroom, I sucked his beautiful cock and he rode me to a passionate release where I groaned, “I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum!” and then released all over the both of us as he bucked and grunted into me.

Then again it happened between us Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning.  The space between us suddenly gone with one honest outburst from me, like a colonic.  The toxins removed; I am cleansed.  A little.

Thursday morning the sun shone down on us, momentary celestial beings rutting like little pink pigs again, and we said I love you and kissed each other’s warm cheeks.  When he left me later I fell back asleep and the cat perched on my head, angry at his empty belly.

When I awoke in an even bigger sunbeam I could still feel him inside of me, my pussy and my heart.  I never considered being caught talking to myself as being a boon, but oh how it was.  It shoved me off the cliff I’ve always stood on too afraid to leap.

This sea of fear isn’t so bad.  It’s not blind fear, it’s honest fear.  I’m being honest.  Or at least starting to be honest.  My paranoia has subsided because I’m no longer hiding anything.  It wasn’t about him.  Yes, he did some stupid man shit, but he’s trustworthy.  He is.  I’m not.  Maybe that’s what I was feeling all along: that desperate grappling that happens when you’re trying to grip sand to keep from sliding off the face of the fucking earth, the feeling of dishonesty.  I was hiding because that’s what I do and it made my belly churn and my eyes see too much of everything and nothing.

I don’t want to lie to him anymore.  I don’t want to keep my real feelings hidden because I’m afraid he can’t address them.  If I do, I’ll be stuck with another goddamned motorcycle in my life and I never want that to happen to me again.  They’re dangerous.

So, into the light I go with all my ugly needs clinging to me like freckles.  We’re one and the same after all.  It’s time to stop pretending we’re not.

There is no filter.

Hy let's the sun shine through

No really. There is no filter and half of me is gone.

My heart is dark.

I cannot shake doubt, this feeling of exclusion.

Something important about him is missing from my vocabulary.  I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there. 

I want to believe him, he deserves my trust, but something is lodged inside of me.

Whether it’s by my own hand or his is yet to be seen.

What is love when alongside doubt?  I think it reeks of guilt.

There are no details to share.  This is it in a nutshell: either I’m creating chaos or identifying it.

Either choice is humiliating.
Sinful Sunday

Friday, June 13th, is STRIPES Boobday!


You guys, I’m giving you a heads up that Boobday is taking a hiatus in July.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m posting them later and later and I drag my feet all day and week.

I LOVE hosting it and don’t want to stop — so don’t worry — but I want to become creative again.  Having one thing I have to do each week on this blog has fucked things up.

It will be back in August, though, so don’t fret!  It’s just a little summer vacay.

Regarding this week’s prompts, you ladies were bad asses in stripes.  I particularly loved Dark and Anonymous’ interpretation.  I think you guys will, too.

Next week’s theme is GREEN.



Want to participate in Boobday?  Go here and read the Guidelines and State of the Boob Union to answer any questions, but this is the TL;DR of what I need each time:

  1. an attached pic

  2. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

  3. if you want to be anonymous or not

  4. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

  5. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me and only posted on Friday)

  6. make sure your phone and/or camera does not keep your location information! 

Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.

My STRIPES tits:

Hy shows a little underboob

Stripes galore.

NOT my STRIPES tits:


Serafina’s stripes are more tactile.



@SassyCat38 does a nice backlit thing with her stripes.

This one is dedicated to one of my newest English bloke’s. I adore my Brits & their sexy accents.



Lovely locks and stripes from @SilverdropUK.

Pastel stripes against Silverdrop’s creamy skin and outstanding cleavage. Oh, and isn’t her hair getting long?



@KinkyBikerMom unbuttons a bit for us.

Celebrating stripes boob day with hubby’s striped shirt on.



I love the creativity you guys bring each week, truly. Check out what Jade’s done here. LOVE IT. @piecesofjade



Dark and Anonymous spills forth with all kinds of stripes. I imagine they taste like marshmallows…

I chose this picture because I’m stripe-y all over–dress, cardigan, fading cane marks… ;)



Anonymous Aussie really loves all of us, you guys, and we are so lucky she does!

My boobday pic was selected by a very dear friend of mine this week, the combination of morning light on cooling flesh through the venetians & open window, & hand positioning made it a clear standout in his eyes :)



Look at the stretch and sexy legs beneath the stripes. Dawn kills us with beauty this week.

I thought of using blinds for the stripes, but I don’t have those types of blinds, so I used a scarf of mine to create a similar effect.



I love Krystal’s balls. (Ha! See what I did there!)

“Take me out to the BALLGAME…stripes on the field…stripes on my jersey…stripes all around..!!!”


Elle STRIPES 061314

Elle spills out and has an extra pic or two on her blog. Click the pic to see!

I chose these pics because I’m wearing what we refer to as “The Shirt” and it’s worn for some really fun role play.