Taking responsibility.


Today it’s grey and drizzling outside and my head aches from the fender bender with a Jeep Wrangler up my backside on my way to take Peyton to school.  But it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
At 4 am Sunday morning I awoke to ghoulish, choked noises from outside.  I ran to my window and peered towards the dark wood line.  I saw a cat-sized grey animal walking calmly in the shadows, but the noises had stopped.  

I raced outside and began to call for Faisal, my sweet, fat cat who loved to be outside and whom I’d let out at midnight when the dog needed to pee.  I called and called and listened for more noises, a rustle in the brush, but nothing.

My sad iPhone light illuminated only the density of the undergrowth.  It was cold and I gave up.  There was nothing more I could do at 4 am.

When the sun was fully up I put on long sleeves and a hood and trudged up into the woods looking for his remains, but calling his name all the same.  Branches and leaves crunched beneath my boots and the hood kept my hair from being dragged by the web of branches I ducked between while calling and calling.  Still no baby cat.

A couple of hours later I brought the dog and Peyton with me.  We hiked over the territory I’d covered earlier and farther in the opposite direction until it seemed we’d gone far enough.  This time I’d left the hood at home and my hair caught in the jagged net of branches and I almost welcomed the petty cruelty.  I deserved it.

Back next to our building we scoured the boulders Faisal patrolled and as each minute passed my heart sank further.  “Pey,” I said with a quivering voice, “I don’t think he’s ok.  I think a coyote got him.”

Peyton didn’t want to help me look at first, but I insisted.  “He’s our baby, we have to look,” I explained.  All geared up in rescue attire my human baby struck out with me wondering aloud if the noises I had heard the night before were Faisal crying for help.  I agreed that it probably was and hid a sob.

It’s been almost 36 hours and he hasn’t returned and I have lost all hope.

I cried all day yesterday and couldn’t sleep last night.  I’ve researched if cats are coyote prey, how they hunt, where they eat their kills.  I know to look for vultures circling.

At 3 am last night I poured over my Instagram account – my other one – and clicked on the hashtag I used for him and my other cat.  You see, “Faisal” is two cats; my strict No Personal Details Policy made them into one, but there’s literally no Faisal now, not figuratively or literally.  The “Faisal” I lost this weekend was the animal that made my little menagerie a family, the only creature everyone agreed they loved.  The dog, Peyton, the other cat, me.  We adored him; he was the glue.

If only I hadn’t let him out, I keep thinking.  If only.

But I know I can’t blame myself.  Peyton said I should blame the animal that took him, that I was only doing what Faisal wanted, and that I shouldn’t be ashamed.  I cried harder at the pureness of empathy coming from that little body and held my baby close.  We cried together.

My feline baby loved to be outside, but he rarely was out at night.  The night I opened the door never to see him again I was deliriously tired, painfully discombobulated.  Had I been in my right mind I might not have let him go out when the dog did.  But I did and here we are.  Perhaps it was inevitable.

After I looked at all the beautiful pictures of my lost kitty — the ones of him buried in my neck or loosely draped across the couch arm or stretched out in a sunbeam or being licked by the dog — I wondered about my surviving fur baby.  They were so bonded and the other half of “Faisal” lived in the sunshine of the other.  

And so I found myself researching if cats grieve, how soon is too soon to get a new cat, should I get a new cat?  Next, I was on a local shelter website looking and wondering what the fuck I was doing.

My entire life my cats have gone outside and survived; this has never happened before and I am gutted.  Yet at the same time I think, But he loved it out there, and I step back a bit from the recriminations.  It’d be like never allowing Peyton outside of the house for fear of death, never letting my child fly on a plane without me or ride in a car with someone else.  Life is death, isn’t it?  

We can plan for everything and still have what we love taken away, it’s the way of things.  We’ve gotten so used to never losing anything we’ve forgotten how commonplace and natural it is, how much a part of living grief is.

As the mother of an only child I have to choke down my stark raving fear almost daily – What if something happens to my baby?!  I wouldn’t be a mother anymore.  I don’t even notice that I do it anymore, it’s just a part of my DNA now.

Living a full, wide life, though, is what I do, it’s how I’ve always done it and I guess I extended that philosophy even to my cat.  You wanna go outside, lil’ buddy?  Ok, you go roll in that dirt with your bad self.  It’s not unlike how I give myself permission to do as I please, to suck all the cocks, to fuck all the men, to fall for a man who isn’t mine, to expose myself online over and over again, to laugh loudly and wrap myself in hedonism.

I never shirk the responsibility of my choices; I own them.  In theory, I’d much rather live in a bigger world like my little Faisal did — on his feline terms — than in paralyzing fear in a shrunken world.  Losing him, though, is quite a price to pay for such freedom and frankly it seems like too big a toll at the moment. 

I’m filled with doubt about everything now; maybe I’m doing it all wrong.  Life, love, career.  Maybe I should play it safer, slower, so I don’t end up with hair tangled in greedy branches on Sunday mornings with tears in my eyes or with random condom wrappers under my bed.

Despite being utterly hopeless, I will make signs and put them up around my building and at the mailbox on the off chance someone snagged him and decided to ignore his giant black dog tag with return instructions.  

My only thought left on this is that he heard me calling for him and knew I was there for him, even if I couldn’t save him.

And that hopefully I also won’t need saving someday.





Friday, October 21st, is Boobday!


Still here.  Still waiting patiently to write.

I told Luke today that I “might write.”  Turns out I didn’t and instead of feeling an anxious knot in my belly I feel fine, albeit mildly bereft.

I still think in post titles and create entire narratives based on my feelings and every day movements, I’m just keeping them to myself.

Hopefully, I’ll be back soon.

Also, I can’t seem to login to my Simply Linked widget thingy, so I may end up copying and using last week’s – can’t!  Already closed it!  I’ll be working on it as soon as I can!

Love you guys.



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.

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


A little smile never hurt.

NOT my tits:

Kim gets "roped" into some flashing. See what I did there??

Kim gets “roped” into some flashing. See what I did there??

South Africa beaded boobs 🙂


God fucking damn I'm jealous of Sandy's tits this week.

God fucking damn I’m jealous of Sandy’s tits this week.

The boy toy got a little carried away delving into an unknown area for him.

Friday, October 14th, is Boobday!


Y’all may have noticed, but I’m informally chillin’ from the blog.  I’m not quitting and I haven’t set any deadlines, I’m just waiting until I feel that bubble come to the surface that lures me to write.  Currently, it feels somewhere deep down and no where near the top.  I’m ok with that.

But Boobday isn’t about my writing, so here we are.

Our lovely participants this week have all accidentally given similar poses and even the one I chose (before I’d seen all of theirs) is close.  Funny how that worked out!

Have a great weekend, y’all.  I love you guys.



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.

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

My tits:

There's a beating heart under there.

There’s a beating heart under there.

NOT my tits:

Kim's being very naughty!

Kim’s being very naughty!

A toast and a smoke to our sexy host.


Handfuls of Kate.

Handfuls of Kate.

Today’s boobday photo was taken by my husband.


Sandy and her accoutrements.

Sandy and her accoutrements.

I’m sure I missed the deadline. How do I let the days pass by me??


Selina keeps it simple.

Selina keeps it simple.

Getting undressed for bed, hey wait tomorrow’s Boobday!

Friday, October 7th, is Boobday!


Thinking about all the people affected by Matthew earlier this week and even as I type.

Seems like we’re all battening down the hatches.

Love to you all.

And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.



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.

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


My tits:

Hy in cardi with coffee

NOT my tits:

Selina gives a good tug.

Selina gives a good tug.

Ooh baby it’s cold outside!
I love the creativity here that Miss S has shared with us.

I love the creativity here that Miss S has shared with us.

I caught a glimpse of my shadow as I was getting undressed to shower.
Kim lets us get a little peep.

Kim lets us get a little peep.

Taken while doing the Plank Challenge with my daughter 😊


Sandy did this just for me!

Sandy did this just for me!

No story behind this. Took this specifically for Boob Day as I was getting dressed in the office post gym workout.


Kate's messy!

Kate’s messy!

A little something left behind and it’s not my husband’s.

Click below for more awesomeness!

I think about quitting.

Writing.  This.  You all.

I feel like I have nothing to share, nothing to say that’s worthwhile or interesting.  My life as Hy is one gigantic flaccid penis: I came months ago in resplendent spurts and opalescent arcs and now I’m flat, dry and flaky.

I’m over.

I don’t have anything current to say, no interesting story, no new perspective.  I’m still proudly flaunting my middle-aged tits, I still occasionally have interesting sex stories to tell, sometimes I have an opinion on things, but generally speaking, I don’t have anything new to say.  Not really.

I’ve made incredible friends, done incredible things, but this isn’t my job.  I have a separate career that I have to keep safe; I can’t even tell you all what it is, though I long to.  God, how I wish you all knew what I did.  I wish I could marry the two sides of me – finally – and flourish in all the Hy/Me glory I imagine is waiting for me.

I am at a crossroads which feels less like a point in which I choose right or left and more like a place in which I choose to continue or not.  I’m not sure I want to keep going.

But when I think about my life without Hy I gasp.  Literally and figuratively.  I’m not at all sure how that would work: I don’t know who I am.  Am I Hy, the body- and sex-positive writer, and advocate, The Sharer of All?  Or am I Me, the professional ________ who ______ and _______ and _________s?

My blogging friend, Livvy, wrote recently about the divisions she experiences in her professional and personal lives and I related strongly, viscerally even.

“It was while I was standing there, squeezing this stranger’s penis, that I began thinking about quite how narrow the dividing line between what is sexual and what isn’t can be, and how blurring that line can be complicated and potentially dangerous.”

I don’t squeeze penises in my professional life, but I “squeeze” other things, and I’m so tired of keeping my lives at odds.  I feel that this life as Hy in particular could benefit greatly from my other life; its openness, its specific familiarity with my heart and trials.

It’s the fear of Hy’s impact on my professional life that keeps me from even breathing a whisper of the real me to you all.  I’d like to think you’d embrace her — I’m actually certain you would — but I don’t trust a single one of my career colleagues to protect Hy.  Why would they??

I spent a portion of tonight with The Artist, just as friends.  I laughed so hard I cried because he likes to send me fucked up videos of him in masks set to flutes and REM.  I like being friends with him.  On his plant-infested balcony I talked endlessly of Luke and how I’m head over heels for him, a man I can never have.  I got to be all of my self in a pseudo-anonymous way while sitting on that third story balcony and I liked it.  A lot.

Maybe that’s what I need here.  Maybe I need a pseudo-anonymity that helps me marry the two sides of me better.  I don’t have much going on in terms of unrequited love (Luke is returning all my feelings in truckloads) and I’m not fucking much.  I feel boring and shriveled up.

I have an entire other life I’m trying to maintain and grow.  This isn’t my life.  It’s who I am, but it’s different somehow.  It’s just a facet.

I owe Girl on the Net a guest post — a year in the making at this point — and I can’t bring myself to create it.  It literally haunts me.  God only knows how others who’ve been blogging for as long as me do it.  I’m losing my will to write, to create.  It all feels false and odd and off.  I’ve been struggling to find a balance and I’ve achieved a place of non-guilt, but I truly don’t know what to do next here.  The apathy I’m experiencing is intense and sticky, pervasive.  I feel mired down, like when that beautiful stallion drowns in the swamp in Neverending Story.

I have jizzed all over my blogging life in big, pearly globs I am satisfied, scared, tired, lost — and above all else — bored.

When I wrote before about new goals and new summits I felt somewhat energetic.  Today, I feel depleted.  All I want to do is curl up in Luke’s arms and purr my happiness into his delicious skin.  Close my eyes and feel him press his heat against me, hear his voice, feel his lips, consume his very essence.

If I take a break will I have anything to return to?  My five-year anniversary is creeping up as quickly as my numbers of visitors are dropping.  You guys are sick of me, too, apparently, and I don’t fucking blame you.   I am no longer viable, no longer interesting.  Nothing is happening!  Do I care??  Does it matter??  Why do I write?  Who am I writing for?  I don’t even know anymore.  So many questions…

I am lost, yet calm.  I’ll be ok, you’ll be ok.  I’ll figure this out one way or another.

Suggestions welcome as always.


e[lust] 86

Elust 86 Header
Photo courtesy of Modesty Ablaze

Welcome to Elust 86

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 #86 Start with the rules, come back October 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On Self-Objectification

Female Orgasms – Addressing Women’s Sexuality

Migraine – A Sexual Spiritual Explanation


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Can You Train a Sub to Orgasm on Command?

Rupert Campbell-Black and me…


~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Yes I’m a Sexblogger and No I don’t care about your dick

*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!


Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

BUTTER FOR LUBE… Salted or Unsalted?
KOTW:Static on the line
Control Queen
Well, That Didn’t Go According to Plan

Writing about Writing

A BDSM Vignette from Two Viewpoints

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex Negative

Erotic Fiction

The Cure

Erotic Non-Fiction

A Polyquad Squad Orgasm
Beautiful Birthday Fuck
Purpose of Tasks
Do You Trust Me
The meanings of “good girl”

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

How Long Is Enough
The Virgin. Unlocking Feminine Power.
The Other Day
Communicate! Communicate! Communicate!
addressing doubts one step at a time
How D/s has taught me to stick up for myself

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Against All Odds


Where I’m From



ELust Site Badge

Friday, September 30th, is Boobday!


It’s officially fall.  Thank fucking God for that.  I need to wear a cardigan in the mornings and evenings now and my heart is lighter and fuller than ever.
I still feel spikes of anger as I drive past The Neighbor’s car every day and I can’t help but notice its location (if it’s higher up the hill that means he came home late, etc.), but the thoughts pass through me much more swiftly now than before.  I guess that’s progress.Thanks – as always – to the women who bare it all and share with us.  Couldn’t do this without you!Have a great weekend, everyone!  I’ll be busy chatting it up with my mega-crush, Luke.  xxHy

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

A man had left my bed this morning.

A man had left my bed this morning.

NOT my tits:

SANDY 093016

Sandy’s got some dangerous curves!

Boobies hanging in your face.



She does look a little sad while she waits.

My second boob day pic.
I think you called me “miss lonley” in my first one. And once again I am lonely.  I only see my guy every other week so the waiting in between in painful. So I send him boob pics to fill the time. Lol


MISS OVER 50 093016

Miss Over 50 and her guy are reminding me of Kayla with their pretty jewelry.

Miss over 50 has been modeling  jewelry for her man again. This is hand-hammered silver from a Navajo reservation, but the photographer seemed to focus on the boobs.

Click the links below to see who else is participating!

Having feelings really puts a damper on casual sex.

Ok, that’s not exactly true.  Having feelings for someone other than the one you’re casually fucking sucks.

I eat, sleep, and shit Luke these days; he’s literally all I can think about.

We text and send video messages all day throughout a day as we juggle our respective responsibilities.  I cum listening to videos of him telling me about the errands he’s running and, chagrined by my constant begging, he sends me selfies and tells me how he thinks about me while he soaps himself up in the shower.

He says he’ll never leave me – though what that means is more theoretical than practical – and I choose to hit pause on reality and bask in the attention of a man I find to be incredible both inside and out.  I let the smoke of his words fill my lungs and infiltrate my system and, as I exhale slowly, bask in the high that someone says he sees me and won’t go away.  Crack, meet Hy, Hy, crack.

I’ve been out with a few men since stumbling upon Luke, but none can clear the room of his scent.  Brad is a loving father, intelligent, filled with Dad Puns which make me cry with laughter, and a nimble lover, but he’s ignorant to his second-chair status.  Kent and I met for dinner after five years apart and argued over whether or not Michael Jackson actually touched those poor boys and though he smelled delicious, I went home alone.  There was another man whose brand of sense of humor left me straight-faced and deeply unimpressed.  He never had a chance past “Hi, all my dates end up saying they don’t want to see me again.”  Franklin’s presence is more life-preserver and less love interest and his existence seems to reside within a conflict-free zone at the moment.  Thanks, Universe, for that small win.

I’ve been doing my Hy thing for so long I’d forgotten that there was more to be had, more to feel.  A friend who knows me as Hy laughed when I told him I was struggling with having feelings for someone.

“All this time you DIDN’T feel alive? Wow. It must be somethin’.”

Indeed, it is.

When I lived next door and slid into a sexual, playful relationship with The Neighbor I was also fucking other men.  He was one of many, no big deal, a young, furry, inexperienced yet exceedingly talented lover next door.  And then we began to talk and hang out more and the sex steadily improved until every man I met and fucked was being compared to him.  That new, next man had to meet or exceed what TN gave to me.

TN was unavailable (and never said he wasn’t), but our attraction and chemistry overrode both of our common sense and eventually, I threw caution to the wind and decided to take what little he’d give me and go all in.  I focused on the positives until it came to a sudden end and now, nearly 2 years later, I am still sweeping away the residue of his chalk outline.  We had something special and I felt a certain way.  That inexplicable measure where suddenly you are real, you are heard.

I haven’t felt so divided, so distracted by anyone else since that early time with TN.  When I tried so hard to find someone to replace him – a man who didn’t want me – but who made me feel alive just the same.  Luke has inadvertently triggered a reawakening in me.  Not unlike the stirrings I felt while in London with Ben, but more strongly.  Perhaps they’re building upon themselves like a snowball down a mountainside or maybe I’m just becoming more comfortable with my softer, open side.

Luke wishes me luck before my dates and asks that I text him at the end if possible.  If I don’t text him until the morning he wishes me good morning and asks me how things went.  He’s jealous of the men in my life much as I’m jealous of his poofy, 5lb dog who gets to sit on his chest and lick his face like a miniature lion.

I have lost almost all interest in local adventures; I can’t muster the energy to focus on a man who isn’t Luke and I feel like an asshole.  It’s not like anyone I’m talking to thinks they’ve snagged all of my attention, but last I heard the polite thing to do is to successfully not think about another man while one is inside of you.  Just sayin’.  I’ve reached new lows.

Obviously weird shit happens in the course of a lifetime.  I have no clue why Luke was thrown into my path or I in his.  All I know is that with him I feel safe to explore the vulnerable parts of me, the parts which are so closely guarded I all but forgot they existed, and the distance between us emboldens me to poke around, find my limits.

It seems the impenetrable Hy isn’t quite the cool Ice Queen she thought she’d become, she’s also a warm-hearted fool who wants to slumber and rise wrapped in her crush’s arms while high as a motherfucking kite.




A different view.

Secret buttons.


Click the lips for more!

Sinful Sunday

Friday, September 23rd, is Boobday!


I can’t believe it’s taken me this long, but I finally added “Boobday” to my Mac spelling dictionary.  Oh… the silliness of that!

Also, I’m crushing so hard on Luke I can’t tell which end is up.  I’m deliriously happy and completely distracted.  I almost feel guilty for fucking other men, but that’s a topic for another day.

Lastly, I want to say again how thankful I am to everyone who participates here, either through me or through their own blogs.  You are all wonderful and powerful and part of a movement towards empowerment and acceptance.  I’ve been thinking a lot about the post I wrote a few months ago “The Debate Goes On” and considering revisiting the original blog article from the other woman.  I want to go deeper into this idea that a woman who shows her body is actually a sheep following her misogynistic shepherd.

That idea runs so afoul of how I view my body and what I do it’s laughable.  And I know it does for all of you.  I’ve received hundreds of emails over the years from women telling me how much Boobday has positively affected their self-esteem and sense of self, both as viewers and as participants.

Anyway, that’s what’s going on in Hy World at the moment.  I’m getting with the program, I’m twitterpated, I’m feeling righteous.

What’s new in your world??



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

My tits:

Hy falls out

Mornings always make me feel sexy.


NOT my tits:

I love this image of Kate. So relaxed and sublime. Reminds me of a pose for a painter.

I love this image of Kate. So relaxed and sublime. Reminds me of a pose for a painter.

Letting it all hang out in this one!
Lauren catches the good light.

Lauren catches the good light. (Click pic for her blog!)

I’m slowly becoming a more active participant of Boobday. This is my 4th submission, and my 3rd in the past 2 months. I feel empowered! Here’s a pic I snapped before a workout yesterday.


I always love seeing Kim's curly hair against her curvy breasts.

I always love seeing Kim’s curly hair against her curvy breasts.

post morning shower!


This is the first sumbission for Miss Over 50. She and her husband collaborated. I love the way the jewelry follows the curve of her breast.

This is the first sumbission for Miss Over 50.  I love the way the jewelry follows the curve of her breast.

My husband loves giving small gifts and taking pictures so this photo captures both.  At first, the photography was a bit intimidating for me, but his photos are so artistic I can’t help but enjoy modeling for him.
Great new hobby for two over 50 lovers!


Click the links below to see more!