Friday, June 24th, is Boobday!

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[Updated below and much later than I’d hoped.]

It’s also a super busy day, so I’m just gonna do this quick link-up post and will add the gorgeous tits I have in my email in a couple of hours.

Hugs to you all!

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Ok, so it’s many hours later and I’m so sorry.  I woke up at 3 am and freaked out about the whole UK leaving the EU thing then made an early morning airport run to drop Peyton off for our first ever unaccompanied minor experience as a family.  Eek.

Fought sobs in the airport and on the way home, rushed to work, had intense meetings, drove home in a fog, got ready for a date I was really looking forward to only to have it cancelled last second and I’ve been in a weird, 4 hour-sleep fog every since.

Anyway, I’m getting my shit together finally!  Please forgive me!

We have lots of amazing ladies this week and I can’t wait for you to see them!

Power to the titties!!

xx

Hy

PS: Hugs to all you Brits who wanted to Remain.  I wanted you to, too!

My tits:

I'm so goddamned tired I can't even sit up straight for a pic this week.

I’m so goddamned tired I can’t even sit up straight for a pic this week.

NOT my tits:

I love this netting on Kate's big, round breast. It feels like we caught something special.

I love this netting on Kate’s big, round breast. It feels like we caught something special.

Sharing a pic that I took for an online friend last night before a cam session. Expanding my horizons and pushing myself out of my comfort zones. 🙂

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Amanda perfectly captures a bright, new morning on her luscious breasts.

Amanda perfectly captures a bright, new morning on her luscious breasts.

Boobday was my first introduction to you and your site.  I knew it was the place for me to learn to love and except myself again.  You’ve been a roll model for over a year now.  I feel I owe you major kudos for leading the way to proudhood!.  A pic I took as the sun came up one morning.

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I am a big fan of Olivia's images. Each one makes me look more closely.

I am a big fan of Olivia’s images (@oliviatarose on IG). Each one makes me look more closely.

Me playing in the sheets. Happy boob day 💋

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These high-waisted jeans somehow accentuate the softness of Sandy's breasts.

These high-waisted jeans somehow accentuate the softness of Sandy’s breasts.

The only thing better than being naked in my office (which I am) is to be having mind blowing sex in my office (which I am not).

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It's beautiful Meredith and her vacation titties!

It’s beautiful Meredith and her vacation titties!

On vacation in SoCal, getting ready for a swim

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Click below to see who’s sharing today:

 

I was wrong.

He didn’t move out this weekend.

His fucking fancy black car is still there, mocking me.

My heart lurches when I pass him on the street, though I’m invisible to him in my new and unfamiliar car.  Lucky him.

I dread seeing him when I run to get groceries and have scathing, vitriolic conversations with him under my breath as I stride angrily through the heat from my car to the produce section.

“You should never have followed me to my complex.”

“You lied to me about who you were.”

“You are a cruel, selfish bastard for invading my home.”

I think twice about getting my mail.  Do I look good enough if I run into him?

I think twice about walking to the office.  Will he see me?

I think twice about visiting the gym behind his building.  Does he use it?

When I park at the bottom of the hill near his building late at night, laced with wine, and with a virile, good-smelling man I wish he could see me saunter up the hill.

When I go to the pool with my little string bikini I worry he might be there and even worse, be with someone who looks better than me.  Because that’s somehow important to the small woman in me.  I’m reduced to thinking looks matter.

The bottom line is, I was wrong.

I got his apartment number wrong — it’s not actually listed on our website — and it feels like he’ll never leave.  I have no idea when it’s going to happen.  There is no relief in sight.

I am trapped in Purgatory and forced to face my mistakes every morning, noon and night.  I ignored all the signs and focused on my love for  him.  His thoughtful sweetness, his throbbing sex, his delicious distance.  I have no one to blame but myself and when I once had power in the situation I no longer do.  I can’t make him go.

I struggle with the word regret.  It feels like I’m admitting I got nothing from my choice when that’s not true.  I loved that man madly and deeply.  I proved to myself I was capable of magic with another human being.  I unearthed parts of me I didn’t know existed.  How could I possibly regret that?

The regret I feel is for ignoring my gut that summer before he moved here — something was seriously amiss — and though I have no actual proof my sleepless nights and early morning searches for GPS trackers were enough for the jury of my heart.

I wish I knew why I felt those things, I certainly wish I hadn’t, but I did and I neither tried to prove or disprove them.  I simply put one foot in front of the other in total denial and love and hope and resistance.

And now I’m afraid to check my mail.

Because I was wrong.

 

I am marked.

I am marked by so many things.

The sun in my freckles and time in my wrinkles.

Life in my curves and the aches in my body.

The wind that dances in my hair and across my skin, the rumble of purrs against my palm and the licks on my calves.

By men in my heart and my parents on my soul.

Sour, salty, sweet and bitter.  Umami on my tongue.

I am marked by my child, a scoring on my existence, and the moon in my eyes when I open them at night.

I am a canvas, once blank, but forever tattooed.

If I hold still long enough, you’ll see for yourself.

Hy and her marks
Click the lips to see who else is being Sinful today:

Sinful Sunday

Friday, June 17th, is Boobday!

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What a lovely week it’s been.  Quiet, calm.  Last Friday I had a little cam fun with Ben, and my post about my time with him in London was nominated as one of the top 3 for e[lust] this month.  Such an honor.

I’m in my spot at the kitchen table again sipping my French pressed coffee with a little sunshine on my shoulder.  Bliss.  Truly.

I think The Neighbor is finally moving out this weekend.  I was curious about the cost of our apartments recently and looked online to see what they were charging.  They had his apartment listed as available July 18th which likely means he’s moving out tomorrow.  I will be busy day-drinking with a friend and then will have dinner with a pretty man to cap it off.  I hope it slips by unnoticed.

I can’t wait to not see his fucking car anymore.  Now if I could just get him to stop checking out my AFF profile every week…

Anyway, today will be beautiful.  I have a busy day, a networking event, then late drinks with an enigmatic man who says his celebrity doppleganger is John Stamos.

Don’t forget, I said this summer could end up being men-free.  I didn’t say it would.

Love you guys.

xx

Hy

My tits:

When I post this, this is literally what I'm wearing and where I'm sitting. Kinda cool.

When I post this, this is literally what I’m wearing and where I’m sitting. Kinda cool.

 

NOT my tits:

Kim shares a little more of herself with us this week!

Kim shares a little more of herself with us this week!

“last minute boob shot in kak (crap) light”

Have a nice weekend all, it’s a long one here in SA…..YAY 🙂

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I don't know if it's just my bias, but I love how we can see Sandy's arm take the pic.  I feel like I'm right there with her.

I don’t know if it’s just my bias, but I love how we can see Sandy’s arm take the pic. I feel like I’m right there with her.

Morning inspiration

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Miss Green is really settling in here and that makes me so happy!  Such a soft, romantic image.

Miss Green is really settling in here and that makes me so happy! Such a soft, romantic image.

It’s not the most flattering picture of my boobs but it shows their natural floppy nature due to the two babies they feed and that makes me happy.
Click the links below to see who else is playing along!

A summer with no men.

Before Peyton started kindergarten my life was set by the sun and moon.  Alarms factored very little into my life.  I led a charmed, though albeit unemployed life for years.

Things changed drastically the spring before school started.  I wasn’t making ends meet and so took a second job that required I arrive by 7:30 am.  It felt like hell on earth.  That fall I quit so I could take my own baby to school and ever since I’ve been a slave to drop-off and pick-up and after-school commitments with our summers chock full of camp commitments starting by 9 am.

This summer we’ve decided to cut way back on all of it.  My ex will take care of his weeks and I’m responsible for mine and since money continues to be tight I can’t afford camps and Pey is dragged to my office on short days and dropped off at my parents’ on long ones.

However: NO ALARMS.

No goddamned alarms kicking me out of slumber.  No groggy morning routines.  No interrupted afternoons.  No stolen pockets of time.  No bedtimes.

And it is fucking glorious.

I'm certain the animals were judging me as I did this.

I’m certain the animals were judging me as I did this.

This is the second week of summer vacation and my first week without my baby.  Each morning I awake gently, early still.  I stretch, I let the dog out, I lay back down, I take pictures of my 40-year-old body and think, Not bad.  I research how to make the perfect French pressed coffee.

And then I sit at my kitchen table with the window open behind me and I write and catch up and read my friends.  My bottom was sticking to my cheap plastic Ikea chair so now I sit on a cheap Ikea lambskin.  It’s like a dream come true.

I’m already trying to figure out how to incorporate this into my life come fall.  I struggled to find time to write during the school year; the only time I had free was in the evenings or an hour or two during the day but I found myself worn out and empty.

Was it Hemingway or London who’d get up at 5 every morning and write for two hours then just chill the rest of the day?  I know that’s when I’m my most creative and relaxed and I feel like a motherfucking winner if I allow myself to write in that space.  And yet, I rarely do.

I get distracted by my phone, IG, sexting (if I’m lucky), crap around the house, whatever.

At the Tate with Ben we wandered into the room with some Picassos and Dalis.  He was impressed — this wasn’t what he was expecting to see that day — then wandered into another room with art by people we didn’t recognize.  “You know what makes this art?” I asked him.  “The fact that these people say it is and work so hard to put it out there.  If they didn’t, it’d just be a hobby.”

I’ll never be a lauded author, but I know this is more than just a hobby.  I’m a writer, a poet, an artist.  This summer I want to reconnect more deeply with what makes me tick, what drives me.  It used to be that I floundered aimlessly.  Lately I still flounder, but I have an idea of where I want to go.

It’s been 3 weeks since London, since I allowed anyone to enter my body.  I’ve shared kisses twice since I’ve returned, but I am in no rush for more.  The thought of anything less than what I experienced with Ben shuts me down.  This summer, I have a feeling, will be one with many early mornings at my kitchen table and quiet nights alone.  I need to catch my breath and embrace the writer in me anyway.  I don’t want this to feel like a hobby.  I want it to feel like motherfucking art.

This could end up becoming the summer of no men.

 

 

 

e[lust] #83

 

Elust 83 Header Holden and Camille

Photo courtesy of Holden and Camille

Welcome to Elust #83

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

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

London Crows and London Kisses

I am Her. She is Me.

You Say You Want to Cook for Me

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Unusual Liaison

Community. Respect. Friendship. Fucking.

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Dirty Little Secrets

*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!

 

Poetry

You Know
O

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

My Bed
Secular Submission
My therapy
from “hard limit” to “want”
We Measure the Nostalgia
The Cure and The Cause

Events

Smut in the 6ix – Porn Conference & Gala

Erotic Fiction

Typing Errors
La Belle Dame
Sex and chocolate
The Imprisoned of HIM-HER-THEM
The Gift
audience
Becca’s Story
Rope and Fixtures
As salty as his cum…
Dominating the Doctor

Erotic Non-Fiction

Teen Sex in Woolly Tights with 60s Beat Music
Dear Sadist: Your Cruelty Is Your Love
A male dom, the straight girl and the bi girl
Owned, Leashed, & Beaten
Jan 2015 Owned & Collared by Mistress Claire
Rinse The Days Filth Away
Power On
Keeping tally

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Formative Kink Epic Fail: “Buck Rogers”

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

If it was easy anyone could do it
What’s a service submissive?
Prescient Words

Writing About Writing

What if aspirational meant something else?

 

ELust Site Badge

Sometimes it’s a strange path to learn to trust.

I pinched my eyes shut and silently moaned with embarrassment.  I didn’t think I could do it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.  His English accent made it seem more official.  “God, so beautiful.  Yes, just like that.”

I adjusted the laptop between my bare legs and my naked pussy and looked down the length of my pale body.  The screen was of him, his large erection and stroking hand, his dark grey eyes riveted on me and then, near the glowing green light of the camera, a smaller box of me.

In it my legs formed a sort of low-M where the downward point was the dark line which drew up from the bed to my center to end in more darkness.  I thanked God I couldn’t see it with more definition.

Above that a smattering of short hair, a soft belly, two mounds of jiggly flesh and beyond that my blonde head peeking down at all the action.  I groaned my discomfort even as his words spelled out enthusiastic approval.

He asked for me to spread my lips for him.

Humiliation isn’t the right word for how I felt.  Yes, there was certainly some of that, but I couldn’t locate the source.  There was also shame, embarrassment, worry, flagrant bashfulness.  I have made it a policy of mine to never send pics of my pussy unless and until I deeply trust the man which means 3 men have gotten pictures of me.

It’s not because my pussy is extra special — though, of course it is! — it’s because I am awash with such emotions it becomes devoid of fun.  I have to beat down half a dozen complicated feelings just to send one pic of my vulva.  It’s an exhausting endeavor.  But here I was, legs splayed, all my bits on an iPad in London with a rapt audience of one.

Two hours earlier I’d come home alone from a pleasant enough date with a man who was a big believer in thin pants and no underwear and wanted to just be alone.  It was a boon to find Ben online and awake at 2 am his time.

He was naked in bed with his big cock in his hands.

“Hello, Hy!” he said.

Our smiles were big.

Soon I had stripped down for him and swiveled the laptop around so I could stand and twirl for him.  I felt silly, out of control, and struggled to remind myself that he had seen me in real life, that I had nothing to hide.

“You are so gorgeous, Hy!  Look at your body!”

I squinted at the little square of me and didn’t see what he did, but I believed how he felt about it and pushed on.

“Bend over for me,” he said.

I giggled nervously and did as he asked, my panties around my ankles.

“More, bend all the way.  Please,” he urged.

I bent more and felt my face turn red from embarrassment.  I thought about how differently boys and girls are with their sexuality.  Even after years of trying to reprogram myself I found myself a slave to my earliest insecurities about my body, such as there’s such a thing as a “good angle.”

Men* have proven to me time and time again that they don’t believe in a “good angle,” they adore them all.  The ones where my ass looks “bad” or my pussy looks however-a-pussy-isn’t-supposed-to-look or my tits hang long and torpedo like.  The assumption I carry there is clearly faulty — that there’s a “right” way to look — so when Ben asked me to contort my body in ways in which I couldn’t control the visual outcome I had to trust his tastes… and him.

I had to trust that he wouldn’t say, “Oh fuck, stop it! That’s horrible!” which is the other side to the “good angle” belief.  I had to trust that he wouldn’t judge me.  I had to trust he was enjoying himself.  I had to trust that he was being honest.

At an extremely formidable age, on two separate occasions years apart, boys I liked and trusted ripped the rug out from under me and I have only just recently begun to realize that though I felt at the time I had moved on and not let it affect me that it became an important part of my programming when it came to men: They are not to be trusted.  Ever.

So even before I began to make questionable choices in mates, partners, and lovers, I already had an infected belief.  How self-fulfilling that has been I can’t quantify, but it has surely affected me deeply and profoundly.

I can get naked for a lover in person, because I believe my charisma will overcome any physical limitation or shortcoming they might discern.  I can suck them till their eyes cross and get him to lose himself inside of me, but what can I do an ocean away?  I can’t make him not see me.  I have to trust him.

And so it came to pass that I was spread wide with his watchful gaze on me and his kind, lustful words emboldened me.

I grabbed the Godemiche dildo Adam and Monika had given me at Eroticon — the longer one, of course.  Still bashful I squeezed some lube on it and began to work it in as Ben moaned his approval.  I added the buzz of my Hitachi and the boom of my orgasm laid me out like a pancake.

“That was fucking hot, Hy.”

“Next time we’re together, I’ll do that with you in me,” I said breathlessly.

“Good.”

“I want to go again, though I really wish it was you.”

“Me, too.  Do as I say then.”

He told me to slowly push the dildo in and out.  It was complicated and naughty and I felt like at any minute someone would burst through my door and catch me while I had an open laptop between my legs, my left hand operating a giant and magical dildo, and my right hand pressing a Magic Wand on me.  But no one did and Ben coached me to go deeper.

I did.

Then faster.

And I did.

Yes, he liked that very much.

The orgasm came up and fucking punched me, turned me inside out and left me like a wrapper beside the dumpster.  I yelled out and began to sob.  I clenched and bore down on the cold ting inside of me as the waves tore through my body.

I heard Ben’s voice in the distance beyond my cries.  I convulsed and shivered and felt that keening, soulful pain I always feel with this kind of orgasm; something is just out of reach.  This time, it was literally him.

I turned off the wand and gently pushed the dildo out, swung my legs over and pushed the laptop to the side, and tried desperately not to cry with very little success.  I didn’t know how this would translate and didn’t want to completely lose my shit when he couldn’t hold me or see all the nuance in my sobs.

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “That was really intense.  I haven’t felt that since…” I searched for the last time.  “Since TN.”

It was a strange sensation to have that intense of an orgasm with a dildo and not a man and though I did love the dildo very, very much, the truth is it was Ben.  His voice, his energy.

“You did that to me,” I explained in case he was thinking I had just given myself the greatest orgasm ever and he had nothing to do with it.

Spent, I asked him what I could do so he could cum finally.  It had been nearly 2 hours since I’d stripped down and we’d begun our camming fun.  “I don’t think I can cum,” he said, disappointment in his voice.

“Well, try, please.  For me.”

Roughly 25 seconds later he was showing me the globs of white he’d shot onto his belly.  “Oh shit!  It’s in my hair!” he laughed.  “And on my chin!  Oh my god!”  We laughed at how wrong he’d been.

We said our sweet goodbyes and hung up.  I washed the dildo and wrapped it in a cloth and put it back in my super fancy cardboard sex-box, put the lube away.  I felt raw and sad, distantly happy.  I had a moment of panic that what if he’d recorded it?  What if he’d try to sell it?  Or hurt me with it?  But quickly realized it was my old pain rearing its ugly head.  Ben would never do that.  I trusted him.

I found the panties I’d discarded over the side of the bed as if I’d had an in-person encounter and crawled under the covers.  I fell asleep dreaming of a sweet British man and hoping I was starting a new trend: to trust again.

 

*I say “men,” but I can expand this to all lovers I’ve ever had, male or female, and I certainly can attest to feeling similarly about all the lovers I’ve ever had.  I think they’re all stunning in their unique ways. 

Friday, June 10th, is Boobday!

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Woohoo!!  Happy Friday, y’all!  I’m feeling about 90% myself these days and that’s a massive improvement from what it’s been since returning home from London.  Still not 100%, but much closer!

I’m gonna keep this brief, but just wanted to say thanks again to everyone who sends in their pics and links up each week.  You are all so amazing and I love you each of you for your creativity and strength.

Have a great weekend!

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

My tits:

Instagram removed a pixelated edit of this.

Instagram removed a pixelated edit of this.

NOT my tits:

Anyone else besides me care to join Kate under her covers??

Anyone else besides me care to join Kate under her covers??

I decided to try an under the covers shot tonight! Some squashed boobage happening. 🙂

Here’s to all the boobs whether squashed or not.

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Miss Green returns with a lovely black and white. I love the crisp, dark shadow beneath the curve of her breast.

Miss Green returns with a lovely black and white. I love the crisp, dark shadow beneath the curve of her breast.

Ms Green decided to try black and white wearing her new bathrobe.

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Kim gives us a quick flash.

Kim gives us a quick flash.

Birds eye view this week

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What's the first thing you notice about Jade here?

What’s the first thing you notice about Jade here?

I picked it because it made me giggle – the picture was to capture the words on my belly (I’d been writing them one letter at a time during the day at the direction of my Dom – my post talks a little about it.) But it was like my boob just HAD to be in the shot – it photobombed the pic! lol

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Sandy is working on some pretty badass tan lines!

Sandy is working on some pretty badass tan lines!

Looks like someone gave me pink belly. lol. I took this for the boy toy to remind him we need a play date

Click below to see the other Boobday ladies!

It’s hard to leave your people: EroticonLive 2016

I’ve gone to ground since returning from London two weeks ago.  I’ve been unable to write, to think, to move.

Somewhere over the Atlantic — mid sobs — my lymph nodes swelled and my head cracked open.  For days after my skull blistered as I went through the motions of mothering and work.  By the following Monday the headache was gone, but so were my words.

I wrote in Heathrow and at 38,000 feet.  It took everything out of me.  I cried because of the beauty of the experience, but also because of the irony of my choice: a young man thousands of miles away.  Ben was safe to practice being all of me, Hy and the other woman.  He won’t want to be in my life full-time or even part-time.  He won’t demand I open up more than I want to.  Basically, he won’t need more of me and that feels fucking great right now as I navigate my way through zipping the two sides together.

It was a revelation to be more of me with one single person than I usually am with all of my closest of friends and those magical 36 hours never could never have happened were it not for the incredible previous 4 days at Eroticon.

I landed in the middle of the tarmac at Heathrow and we had to load onto a bus and drive for 15 minutes to even reach the terminal.  It was 3 am my time and I clung tiredly to my backpack and tried desperately to look like I knew what I was doing.  In a fog I shuffled through customs and angled for wi-fi to contact Michael and Molly, my fairy godparents for the trip, and let them know of my whereabouts.

“I’m here!  Gotta run to the bathroom and grab my my luggage then I’ll be right out!” I texted.

“Ok.  Just look for the short, fat man with a small penis,” was Michael’s response.

I knew at that moment the weekend would be remembered in the grooves of my marrow.

To be called “Hy” by everyone who saw me, to be hugged, to have casual discussions about sexual pleasure, agency and consent, to be in a massive conference hall with dozens of strangers and realize many of them had seen my tits, to know that each night couples frantically coupled high off the day’s activities, to drink and laugh and cry, to speak passionately about writing and sex.  All of this meant that I was a part of this small, yet vibrant and committed community and I felt like I was home.  Real fucking HOME.

There are many people who made my days in Bristol magical and who need to know their impact on me.  Of course my fear is I will forget some since it’s been so long now, but if I do, just email me and I’ll fix it.  My memory is utter shit, which is why I typically write about sexual encounters the day of or following day.

I called them my fairy godparents, but Michael (@DomSigns) and Molly are so much more than that.  At the train station Monday afternoon I had to fight tears as I hugged them for our 3rd goodbye in 24 hours (I had a couple of false starts). I didn’t want to leave them.

Not only did they drive me around western England, but they also took me under their wings and made sure I was fed, knew where I was going, how to get home safely from the “Italian” waiter’s house (he turned out to be Brazilian, for what it’s worth).  They answered my endless questions about the universe in general and never made me feel like a burden.  On the contrary, I felt like part of their little kinky family, their little sister.

Molly was a co-panelist on Ask a Sex Blogger and she conducted a brilliant session on photography and how not to take shit photos.  Michael did tech-y sessions and hauled out their BDSM arsenal for the last session on Saturday where he’d intermittently scare the shit out of all of us cracking his purple whip.  (I’m pretty sure the lovely Honey made that whip for them.)

They even set me up with the most incredible roommate known to man, Girl on the Net.  She wrote she could write an entire essay on me, well, the feeling is entirely mutual.  She’s vibrant and hilarious with a mile-a-minute intellect.  She’s sensitive, but tough and seems to be a shrewd business woman beyond what she’s alluded to in her writings.  She taught me how to get from our apartment to the hotel with long, Londoner strides and what “bell end” meant.

I went home earlyish Saturday night and bought a bottle of wine on my way home just in case.  She burst through the door not long after having DMd me, “Shit!  I didn’t buy any wine!”  We drank and talked until fatigue set in and in the dark in our little twin beds on wheels we talked more like kids at camp until we both suddenly agreed we’d never stop talking unless we just decided to.

The next morning she was my co-panelist for Ask a Sex Blogger and by the end of the night we were deep in our cups laughing until our sides ached.  That night I got home after her and flung open the bedroom door.

“GOTN!  Come talk to me!” I shouted to the mound of covers in the dark.

“I’m tired!” she answered.

“No!  Get up!  THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN!” I insisted.

And guess what she did??  Guess what this wonderful, funny, bad ass, wickedly awesome woman did?

She got up.

And we watched Babestation together and she fed me her peanuts and we drank more wine and she recorded us rambling about what, God only knows, until nothing but sleep was an option.

The next morning she walked with me for a bit back towards the Raddison then gave me a fierce hug and just as hurriedly as she’d run into my life 3 days earlier she was off to catch her train home.

Marie Rebelle is another I can’t forget to mention.  I could lay cuddled in her arms for days.  She’s focused, sexy, and kind and her love for the community was evident each time she saw a familiar face who’d embrace her.  We dined together and drank and talked endlessly about life and kids and kink.  And of course there’s her indelible partner, the quiet Master T, whose wit and sweetness was a perfect compliment to Rebel’s.

Remittance Girl wowed me with her intensity and sharp wit; eye and I somehow found each other in the Raddison lounge and shared at least two bottles of bubbles on two separate occasions; Liza and I talked and laughed like sisters.

F. Dot Leonora and Exposing40 burst into my life simultaneously with hugs and smiles and by the end of the weekend I had promised Leonora some fiction and was saying Hello! just like Exposing40.

The Other Livvy and EA were at the end of at least a couple of friendly toasts to the weekend.  Livvy lent her tits to our Boobday endeavor and EA showed me the edits he made to his reading once he’d taken my session.

I caught Jilly’s session on how to let real life inspire a story and wrote my first piece of fiction in years and Innocent Loverboy helped me with what -ing words are called in my own session and was my go-to guy for all the proper grammar words and then came up with a terrific story in my workshop.

I made sure to meet Charlie Powell and catch her session about writing about disability intelligently and she was everything I’d hoped and more.  Also, an extremely good hugger.

I lusted after Zak’s pants, watched in awe as Pandora paddled Celine’s bottom while Gryphon branded people in the other corner and Kerry used ropes on eye, became mesmerized by Andriy’s eyes which were like an Icelandic pool at dawn as we talked about sex and culture and he nibbled on his pie.  Every chat was another petal on the sunflower that was the weekend.

Adam and Monika are the two masterminds behind Godemiche and the dildo making duo can only be called artisans, really.  Their Technicolored phallic forest a testament to their dedication to beauty and functionality.  I blushed mercilessly as I chatted with Adam while holding a silicon replica of his beautiful cock.  Not every day that happens.  And Monika lent not only her breasts, but also her creativity to the group Boobday pic.

Alyson of Hot Octopuss (makers of ) and I chatted about sexual pleasure and the amazingness of their toy and their #SexWithoutStigma cause and Will from Doxy and I talked about vibrators until my cheeks were red.  The folks from Mystery Vibe told me they were fans of my Instagram account even before the realized who I was and I regret not having more time to speak with them about their creation.

Ruby Kiddell, the creator of this event, deserves a gold medal and every gold star known to man.  She single-handedly carved out a space for us to all meet and though it’s sad that her book is now closed as the steward of this gathering she has nonetheless set the bar high.  And though it was her “job” to run the show throughout the weekend we still shared good laughs and lots of toasts.

She’s a tough cookie and I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next and I hope she comes to whatever incarnation Eroticon becomes next because without a doubt I will be there, too.

The very last person I saw from the weekend was Stella who rode with Michael and Molly and I from Bristol and who then rode with me on the train until her stop which was miraculously just one before mine.  We laughed at the indecipherable message about 4 cars ahead in a London station and any numerous other things and she patiently answered all my questions about how one rides a train.  More excellent hugs were had and given.

Lastly, I’d be remiss if I forgot to announce that while floating on the waves of many glasses of crisp white wine at the very purple Raddison Blu Hotel bar in Bristol, England I got married.

To three stunning women.

I won’t tell you the order in which it all happened since there was some debate about this, but Molly, Girl on the Net and Rebel made me a very happy woman that night.

It’s no wonder my heart broke when it was all over for where else on the planet can a weekend like mine be topped off by three incredible women wanting to be your sister-wives?  Who argued over who should be my #1?

The truth is, I don’t deserve any of them, but I will endeavor to always be that woman they found me to be, because I want to be that person all the time.  I want to be the woman everyone met and hugged and spoke and laughed with that weekend.  I want to be more of me all the time, not just once in a lifetime.

I guess it’s time to let Hy take over a little more

 

Friday, June 3rd, is Boobday!

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This week I’ve been quiet.  I’m dealing with some funky health things and to be quite honest I still miss London.  I miss everyone I met while at Eroticon and I’m still transitioning back to my life after Ben.  That week abroad recalibrated me and I’m struggling to figure out what that means moving forward.

So, I apologize for my silence (and my late Boobday posting) yet again, but I’m still here, not exactly “stewing,” but more or less digesting everything.  It boggles my mind that barely over a week ago I was immersed in a completely different world than the one I continually find my self waking up to here.

Anyway, lots of ladies have sent in their pics to me this week.  Some new, some old.  As always, thank you so much for your continued support and love.

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

My tits:

My "Smile often and always" shirt.

My “Smile often and always” shirt.

NOT my tits:

Kate (pictured here) and Kim (next image) have almost identical photos this week and I kinda love it.

Kate’s pic makes me want to cuddle.

You can always tell when my boobday pic is taken last minute as it will usually be in bed. It’s almost midnight here. 🙂
Very tired boobs tonight. Sun shining brightly over here today. I should have remembered earlier and taken a boobday photo in the sun!
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I love the peak of the South African sunrise over Kim’s shoulder.

Good Morning Boobie World xxx

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It’s my boob-twin, Anonymous Aussie! xx

I finally got my act together for Boobday this week.
As I was leaving the bathroom, bathed in the light from my hallway, I’d noticed how long my hair had grown & the soft glow of the light on my skin. I just had to capture it.

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Welcome, Miss Green, to Boobday! Thank you for sharing with us and showing that beauty is everywhere.

I chose this picture because it reminded me of two water melons in a string bag (you know the 1970’s red string shopping bags lol) all juicy and ripe. I like the way they look in the picture less saggy more luscious lol.

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This is also Lola’s first time here at Boobday. I love the corner of blank space and how her dark hair leads us to her nipple. Check her out at her blog.

Teaching myself to love my bold, bulbous nipples.

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Sandy has been remiss with her sunscreen.

Tan lines (ok ok…sunburn lines)

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Check out the links below to see who else is participating!